


Andraste's Asta

by IncreasingLight



Series: In Their Blood [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE SPOILERS, Adoribull - Freeform, All that darkness in the tags and this is supposed to be funny, All the ships are sailing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And my headcanons get even more complex, Andraste head canons, Anxiety Attacks, Asta Trevelyan - Freeform, At least after chapter 70, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Cole has a crush, Cullen can't stay in character, Cullenlingus, Depressed inquisitor, Descent spoilers, Epistolary, Eventual Smut, F/M, I fail at tags, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Iron Bull/Dorian pavus - Freeform, Jaws of Hakkon, Josie takes everything, Language of Flowers, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Nosy Kirkwallers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rebellious archivists, Rebuilding the Chantry the right way, Sexual Roleplay, Teasing, The Chantry, The Chantry Lies, The biggest game of Wicked Grace ever, The headcanons never end, Tight Spaces, Trauma, Trespasser DLC spoilers too, Trials for heresy, Varric Tethras/Cassandra Pentaghast - Freeform, Varric embellishes, agnostic inquisitor, also more than minor but not the main focus..., attempted mage possession, empowered inquisitor, excommunication from the Chantry, featuring an imperfect inquisitor who will piss you off at some point, i think I hate tags, i warned you I fail at tags, if blood magic references count, implied kenric/harding, its more than just minor but isn't the main theme so... I messed up, like so light that it's not really even there, loss of limb, playing the game to win, possible triggers for military couples, saucy letters from Varric, spies and mages make the best wingmen, tethraghast forever, triggers for claustrophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 173
Words: 504,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncreasingLight/pseuds/IncreasingLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a fine line between devotion and blasphemy, and the Trevelyans have been toeing it for ages.</p><p>Evelyn Beatrix Andraste Trevelyan has been surrendered to the Chantry's service at a tender age.  Showing little promise with weaponry, she has taken vows as an initiate instead of being inducted into the Templar order as intended by her parents.  Once the conclave literally blows up in her face she discovers her life has taken a far different path, one more within her control.  With cultists, fanatics and more to deal with, Asta must use her true skills to rebuild Thedas - research and scholarship.  Oh, and she is going to have to figure out how to defend herself too.  Those dagger self-defense classes in Kirkwall were not nearly good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Given Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever let anyone read my fan-fiction. Please be gently constructive! That said, I don't have a beta. However, I've been working on this for months, and I hope it shows in a good way.

"Her name is Evelyn Beatrix Andraste Trevelyan," her mother proclaimed to the Chantry mother accepting the sleeping child. The carriage had put her to sleep long ago, and her mother was relieved to be spared the otherwise inevitable tears that would have come at parting.

"That is a very unusual name," began the Revered Mother, slightly shocked.

"She was a gift from the Maker's bride herself," Lady Trevelyan cut in, "and her name was chosen to reflect that. It declares her family's devotion and reverence."

The Revered Mother looked solemn. It was hard on a child to be raised as a symbol, but she had seen it before. They tended to either rebel outright or embrace the objectification fanatically.

"I feel I should warn you that Evelyn was not happy about leaving home. She is likely to be quite emotional when she realizes that we have arrived and left. But such a parting would do neither of us any good. She knows her duty to the Maker and she needs to learn to submit to it."

The Revered Mother inwardly cringed. She could see this little one's life stretched out in front of her, and couldn't help but pity her. "As you say, my Lady. We will see her settled in the dormitory with the other girls, then."

"Yes," and Lady Trevelyan looked relieved at her efficiency, "There is no sense in prolonging the inevitable. We will be in the village until tomorrow morning if you need to reach us, and will write regularly, of course. Not often, no point in distracting Evelyn from her studies, but regularly. She is a Trevelyan, after all." She hesitated, briefly, letting her mask drop. "She sometimes has night terrors, Mother. Spiders and the like, running after her. If that happens, don't wake her, just hold her. She can get quite violent if awakened, and it just prolongs the nightmare."

The Mother nodded. "I'm not unfamiliar with such dreams, though," she hesitated, not wanting to offend, "you are sure that she is not a mage?" Just last month a child had been taken to the Circle after freezing all the windows shut in midsummer.

Lady Trevelyan looked shocked, and a little bitter, "None of my children are Magi! Are you suggesting..."

"Not at all my Lady," the Mother soothed. "I should not have said anything."

"Quite right, I will take my leave then." The room seemed warmer after she left, and the mother carried the little one to the outbuilding that housed the Chantry's children. Settled safely in a cot, the little one didn't wake, and the Mother wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a hardship. Perhaps, it was both.

****

"Evelyn Beatrix And..."

"Don't call me that!" Her fist slammed into the little bitch's face, bloodying her nose, surprisingly enough. The brat ran off crying to find a Sister. No doubt to tattle and receive sympathy. Asta, as she insisted on being called - Maker, who wouldn't, given her other options - was used to this. This girl was new. The others had learned that the normally studious and quiet girl could be brought to peak temper with the simple mention of her name. Soon after they learned to leave her alone. This was the first time she had drawn blood, though.

Asta was always alone when she was at the Chantry. Her Great Aunt Lucille had her visit occasionally, and had provided her with lessons in deportment and dancing, but those had been curtailed when her parents had learned of her reluctance in weapons training. She was supposed to be training to be a Templar, but instead of spending the time necessary to learn those skills, she mostly had her head in a book, tome or scroll. Even her mother was pleased at her erudition, but they still wrote rarely, and when they did the letters were filled with words like duty and sacrifice.

Asta had learned early to despise one and scorn the other.

****

"I will have to write to your parents, Evelyn,"

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Asta said through clenched teeth.

"Nonsense, your parents gave you a name before the Maker and I will use it."

"I won't answer to it," Asta said, almost by reflex, thinking more about the latest publication by Genitivi and how it corresponded to what she knew about the Daughters of Song than what the Mother was actually trying to talk to her about.

Realizing this, the Revered Mother leaned onto her hand, hiding her eyes and sighed, "Asta, sometimes we do not get to choose our own fate. You need to accept this, cease this rebellion. Your research is dangerously close to heresy, child, and your destiny as an initiate is at stake. What would you do, where would you go, if you didn't have the Chantry? You've been here for most of your life. You are more than intelligent. Think of the good you could do, turned to a constructive purpose, instead of undermining everything that the Chantry stands for."

The words had penetrated Asta's preoccupation, "What, by donning a chastity belt, shunning elves and dwarves, imprisoning and torturing mages, leading Templars into addiction, all while singing nothing but the edited, censored and abridged version of the chant? Because you know they took all the interesting parts out and banned them. Oh yes, quite a fat lot of good that does."

"Your parents have insisted that you be sent to the Divine's conclave. They have no idea of the misbehavior or the heretical research you've been involved in. I have tried to keep it from them all these years, but even in Ostwick they have been hearing rumors. My child, you want to make a difference? This conclave is the first and only real chance for peace between the Templars and mages since that... insane, misguided abomination blew up Kirkwall's Chantry. At your parent's insistence, and against my better judgement, we are sending you." The audience over, the Mother stood, and motioned for Asta to leave her.

Asta smiled. The Chantry might send her to the conclave, but it didn't mean she would stay.

Finally, a way out.


	2. Running Up a Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asta has a rude awakening and has to make a couple crucial decisions for which she is unprepared.

When she awoke, her mind was filled with hazy monsters, sickly green light that tainted everything it touched, and a glowing woman who was fading away. The light seemed to continue to glow around her, even once her eyes were fully open.

Groaning, she attempted to move and realized she was chained on her knees. The stone floor had done a number on her legs, and between the chains and her shackled wrists, she couldn't move anything except her head. She let her eyes focus on her hands - that light, it was coming from her left hand. Her brain stuttered in horror and attempted to refocus. They had used mage shackles. That was interesting. Stone floor, a room with no windows, and bars. Bars on the cell. Her brain was starting to catch up, she was relieved to notice. Cells - so she was in a dungeon? Wasn't she in Haven? Since when does a chantry have a dungeon? But then again, that interesting cult that thought Andraste had been reincarnated as a dragon had lived here before the Hero of Ferelden had found the Temple of Sacred Ashes. So maybe they had the cells put in? She shuddered. Not a pleasant cult, then. She vastly preferred the Daughters of Song.

Shaking her head at her own irrelevancy, she continued her assessment of her surroundings. None of it was good. Only one door that she could see, and since she couldn't stand, reaching it to see if it was locked was out of the question.

Then the door slammed against the wall and a raven haired woman marched in surrounded by an aura of command.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now," the woman demanded. A second lady, hooded, slinked around the shadows. Asta followed her with her eyes briefly, and didn't respond. If she was to be questioned, she needed more information before she could answer wisely. "Everyone at the Conclave is dead, and the Temple is in ruins! All except for you," the woman obliged.

"And you think I did it," Asta stated, prompting, hoping for more.

"Why shouldn't I?" the woman glared.

"I remember running," Asta tried to concentrate on her dream that may not have been a dream, "and a woman?"

"A woman?" The shadowed woman responded.  "Interesting."

"All those people..." Asta's voice trailed off, "Dead?"

"Yes, and you are our only suspect!" The dark haired woman snarled, and slammed her hand against the bars of the cell.

"Stop, Cassandra, you know we need her," The shadowy woman stood, "Bring her to the forward camp.  I'll meet you there."

Cassandra - and why did that name sound familiar - unshackled her, roughly, and pulled her to her feet without any sign of effort.  Without giving Asta time to get her blood recirculating, she opened the door and pulled her outside, through the chantry, and into the harsh light of day.  Only to be met with a sickening green gash in the sky that somehow echoed into her bones.

Asta fell to the ground, face contorting in pain and horror as the sky crackled through the mark in her palm.

"We call it the Breach," Cassandra said, watching, but not without a trace of sympathy.  "It is a connection between this world and the Fade, a rip in the Veil.  It's connected to the mark on your hand.  It is spreading, and it is killing you."

"And you still think I did this - to myself?!" Asta gasped between the splinters of pain and what must be magic running through her hand.

"Not on purpose," Cassandra looked her in the eyes, "Something must have gone wrong."

Asta managed a snort as she stood, weakly, and brushed the snow off her inadequate clothing.  "This day just gets more bizarre.  But for what it's worth, I will help if I can."  Cassandra stalked off towards the village, the villagers glowering in the background, making Asta shudder with more than the cold.  Such open animosity - she had never encountered such a thing before.  This was the type of hatred that allowed burning at the stake - and it was directed at her.  "Especially since I don't appear to have much choice unless I want to be hung or burnt alive."

Cassandra spoke again, "They have decided your guilt.  They need it.  The Divine's death has hit all of us hard.  I can promise you a trial, however."

Asta, trying hard to keep up with the far more athletic woman, gasped, "Are you trying to reassure me?  Because you are a little short of the mark."

They were through the gates shortly, and the landscape only looked worse. Green bolts of what Asta surmised was Fade energy shot down from the sky, broke the bridge they were crossing and morphed into demons on contact with the earth.  Cassandra shoved her behind as she engaged, and Asta was forced to watch helplessly.  And then she saw them - twin daggers from a broken crate.  Did she dare?  Asta hadn't used any kind of weapon for more than three years - not since the Qunari left Kirkwall and she had to abandon her research there.

Then a fiery claw swiped across her back and her mind was made up for her.  Spinning, she slashed and stabbed the demon in its excuse for shoulders.  It collapsed, and she shook in horror at it and what she had done.  She heard a voice, but it didn't register for moments.

"I said, drop your weapons!"  Asta's shell-shocked eyes met Cassandra's.

"All right, have it your way," Asta gurgled in confusion.  Something changed again in Cassandra's face.

"Wait," she stopped her, picking up the daggers and handing them back, "I cannot protect you.  You'll need these."

Asta gulped and accepted the smeared daggers, "Do you think you could try? I don't know what I'm doing."

"Somehow, I think you'll have a chance to figure it out," Cassandra commented, wryly.

More running, this time up a flight of stairs, Asta wheezing and grunting with her effort at trying to keep up.  At the top of the hill there was a smaller version of the Breach, spitting out demons and wisps.  Cassandra leapt into the fray, fighting alongside a dwarf that looked vaguely familiar and a bald elf mage.  Asta remembered how to use stealth this time, and managed to take out a couple of wisps with only a few bruises.  And then, as she was looking for another target, the elf randomly grabbed her hand.  Power pulsed through and snapped back at her, and the little breach closed.

Still out of breath, Asta gasped, "What did you do?" and stared at her palm as if it were going to attack her next.

"On the contrary, that was all you," the elf replied, not even breathing hard.

"So I can help," Asta breathed in relief.

The dwarf spoke up, "And here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."  He grinned engagingly, "Varric Tethras, at your service."

Asta immediately started gushing, a well of energy she had thought exhausted pouring through her.  "THE Varric Tethras?  The author?!  I have all your serials, and a signed copy of Tale of the Champion!  It's an honor!"

Cassandra made a disgusted sound.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elf interjected, "I am pleased you still live."  Asta blinked at him blankly.

"He means that he kept that mark from killing you as you slept."

Cassandra's patience was up, "Do you think we could keep this pleasant conversation for another time?  I need to get the prisoner to the forward camp."

"Absolutely, and Bianca and I will be fine company on the way." Varric winked.  Cassandra made another disgusted sound, but didn't protest too much.  The four were off and running, again, before Asta could even catch her breath.

Varric was physically capable of trying to have conversations while climbing steep stairs.  As Asta assured him that she remembered nothing, between gasps for oxygen and ice in her lungs, he advised her on lying believably.  She could only wheeze in reply, as Cassandra chastised him.

Finally, they reached the forward camp, and Asta collapsed onto the ground with a health potion.  Her body would never be the same.  Only to realize shortly thereafter that some jumped up clerk was recommending her as a scapegoat.  And even more oddly, Cassandra was defending her.

"You'd think Val Royeaux would be more concerned about the Breach," Asta muttered to herself.  "But I'm not surprised.  The Sunburst Throne needs a butt, after all."  Varric raised his eyebrows at that, and Asta realized that with her Chantry clothing he had drawn certain conclusions.  Cassandra looked vaguely disapproving, but continued her defense as if she hadn't heard the interruption.

"Leliana, we need to get the prisoner to the Breach.  We need the Commander to clear the path."

"Leliana?" Asta's memory finally kicked in.  "You two are the right and left hands of the Divine."

"Yes, what of it?" Leliana narrowed her eyes at her.  "The valley is the shortest way, but not the safest.  The mountain path..."

"Is too risky!  We lost an entire squad on that path."  Cassandra turned to Asta, and sized her up, "What do you think we should do?"

"Now you are asking what I think?!" Asta asked incredulously.

"It's your mark," Solas pointed out.

Asta took a deep breath.  There was no way she could climb another mountain path, safer or not.  "I say we charge.  My thighs can't take any more climbing."  Varric snickered, and Cassandra made yet another disgusted noise.  Asta glared, "I'm an initiate!  The most exercise I get is kneeling several times a day!  I do research on ancient texts!  You try jumping into running up a mountain after spending most of your life in a chair or on your knees!"  Varric was openly laughing now, and even Leliana was smirking around the edges.  Solas appeared to only have one facial expression.

Asta relaxed a little.  At least none of them looked like they were going to stab her in the back on the way to the Temple now.  And the day couldn't get any worse, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did anyone else have a little moment of incredulity about how physically fit the Inquisitor was supposed to be? I mean, even if they were a warrior or mage, I find it likely that the reason they slept for three days after attempting the Breach the first time was that they had to run up a mountain after the Seeker, Ms. Physical Fitness herself.


	3. Valley of Death

The gated entrance to the Valley of Sacred Ashes was lined with bodies.  Asta counted the cost of bringing her here, and wished desperately that she could do more.

Once through the gate, Asta's eyes were drawn to another rift bleeding more of that sickly green light from the Fade.  Soldiers were fighting demons, occasionally winning, but mostly falling.  There were so many to fight.

Her companions had leapt into battle again, reacting with what had to be years of trained reflexes.  Her eyes focused suddenly on a soldier in maroon, with a golden Mabari helm.  He wasn't falling, but he was being flanked by a demon.  Slipping into stealth, a little belatedly, she snuck around and stabbed at them, landing the daggers on either side of the thing's neck, and recoiled a bit, surprised at the resistance.  This one didn't go down right away, but the screech it let out had made the golden soldier aware of its presence, at least.  Pivoting efficiently, almost gracefully, he thrust and slashed and the demon went down.

Asta tried to focus the rift energy, to see if she could close it before all the Fade entities were down.  It was worth a try, and while it didn't work as she intended, the manipulation stunned the creatures temporarily.  Asta noted that without the demons fighting back, the soldiers had a much easier time removing their opposition.  She closed the Fade tear with a little more efficiency than the last time, hoping she was becoming more proficient.

The golden Mabari approached Cassandra with praise.  "Seeker!  You've closed the rift.  Well done."  He took his helm off and Asta's mouth went dry.  With the winter sun behind him and glinting off his armor he looked like... well, Asta was fairly certain she was meeting an honest-to-Maker knight in shining armor.  Andraste's Ass, he was beautiful.

"Not me, Commander.  This was the prisoner's doing."  Cassandra indicated Asta, who drug herself reluctantly back from her daydreams of white horses and sunsets to smile shyly.

"Really?" He sounded incredulous, but smiled grimly in return, "I hope they're right about you.  We've lost a lot of people getting you here."

Asta's face fell, remembering the bodies stacked outside the gate, "You aren't the only one hoping that."  The Commander stared, shook himself slightly, and turned to give further orders to his remaining troops.  Asta couldn't help but follow him with her eyes, watching him single-handedly support a wounded soldier as he retreated past the gate.  With a sigh, she turned as he left the Valley.  Oh, that wasn't going to be trouble, at all.

***

Cullen heard the screeching of the demon behind him, knowing he would too late to avoid injury.  When the blow didn't come, he spun and slashed his sword through the creature.  As it fell, he saw the prisoner, brow furrowed, connecting her mark to the rift in some way.  There was a muffled explosion and the enemy stopped momentarily.  Suppressing his surprise, Cullen efficiently dispatched the rest before they could recover from their incapacitation.  Strangely reluctant to approach the obviously worn out prisoner afterward, he called out to Cassandra instead.

As expected from the forthright Seeker, she deflected and shifted the responsibility to where he already knew it was due.  Cullen opened his mouth to thank her, and his brain stopped working.  Her cheeks were flushed becomingly, she was staring at him with a sweet smile on her face... and his gratitude came out of his mouth as an accusation.

Immediately he cringed, seeing her face fall.  Hearing her meek reply, he felt like he had just stomped on a puppy.  To cover his chagrin, he threw himself into responsibility, ordering his soldiers into a retreat and carrying one casuality from the field on his own.  He didn't even dare glance back at the woman dressed in Chantry robes.  Once again he had made a complete ass of himself.  Maker's Breath, why did that have to keep happening?

***

Asta shook off the encounter as best she could as they approached the Temple.  Why should it matter what he thought of her anyway - everyone already thought the worst of her and only her future actions would help to make a difference.  She gagged, smelling the sulphur and choking on the ashes still floating in the air with every gust of wind.  Some parts of the Temple were still on fire, even days later.  Stunned, she compared the scene with the last time she had been in the temple, all filled with heraldry and banners of the attendees, topped with the crimson sun of the Sunburst Throne.  The old Temple had been impeccable, filled with beauty and steeped in ages of piety.

Now, it was just a graveyard.  Charred bodies giving off the worst of odors, blackened husks of armor, grotesque remains of what used to be Magi, Templars and chantry members.  Representatives of all Thedas were now entombed in Andraste's last resting place, never more aptly named as the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  Asta sighed, and shuddered, simultaneously wanting to throw up and cry at the wasted lives.

Soon, but not soon enough, they reached the heart of the Temple, and stood on a balcony overlooking the Breach.

"How can I even reach that thing," Asta muttered, looking at the height of the Breach, even more dwarfed by it, now that she was up close.

"No, if you seal the rift below, I suspect that the Breach will follow.  It's the first, and the key to the rest," Solas opined.

"Then let us find a way down," Cassandra affirmed, turning down the adjoining rocky passage.  Varric was noticeably disturbed, to the point of shaking by the red crystals that seemed to be growing out of the walls.

"What's it doing here, Seeker?"

But Cassandra had no answers, and Asta filed away her questions for another time.  She could feel the malevolence of the stones, making her stomach churn even more, and wondered if she even wanted to know.  And then the voices started.

"Prepare the Sacrifice!"

"Tell me that you are all hearing this too?" Varric whimpered.

"Echoes from the Fade," Solas claimed, almost reverently.  "Reflections of what happened here."

"What's going on here?" Asta's voice rang out around her, and dropped a dagger in surprise.  Cassandra turned on her, suspicious.

"Run!  Warn them!"

Cassandra's face turned murderous, desperate.  "That was the Most Holy!  And you, you were here!  What happened?!"  Her grief had tipped her over the edge, and she moved threateningly.

"I don't remember!" Asta protested, backing up, missed the drop off, and fell to the floor of the chamber.  Cassandra watched her try to regain her footing.  The rift shifted, and showed a woman, the Divine, restrained by red magic, hovering in mid-air.  Asta opened the door, looking cleaner and well-rested.  "What's going on here?" the other Asta asked again.  Cassandra choked back a sob.

"Run!  Warn them!" the Divine shouted.  Asta collapsed again.  She had been there, but had no memory or recollection of the event.  She tried, futilely to collect herself, her thoughts.

And Cassandra reached out a hand, and helped her to her feet.  "The Most Holy, she called out to you," she said in wonder.

"I still don't understand," Asta protested.

"First the Breach," Solas suggested.

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, gathering herself.  "Yes.  The Breach, and then answers."

Once again, Asta faced a rift, terror slamming through her with every heartbeat.  "Once you connect with the rift, there will be attention from the other side," Solas noted.

"That means demons," Cassandra summed up.  "Prepare yourselves!"

Asta reached out her hand, shaking uncontrollably with adrenaline and fatigue, and the rift opened.  And promptly spit out a massive Pride demon.  Asta threw herself into stealth, ran around the back of the thing, and reconnected to the rift.  As a fighter, she wasn't worth much, but if the rift outside was any indication she was more help disrupting the rift and stunning the enemy.

It worked, and Pride was brought to its knees.  The soldiers threw themselves at it, and Asta followed, as well as she could, diving in and out of stealth and stabbing wildly at what passed for its thighs.  She barely put a dent in its defenses, and she felt more useless by the moment.

Some smaller demons appeared, so she worked on them instead, taking their attention away until the archers could refocus.  Back into stealth, and reconnecting to the rift, Asta lost track of how often she had to do so until at last -

"Quickly!  Close the rift!" Cassandra cried out.  Asta raised her palm one last time, and lost consciousness.


	4. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is when it starts to get canon divergent. Very difficult chapter, but it's the first one I wrote. It's been revised so many times - I think I just need to get it out there and take my lumps. Also, since I am getting braver, I'm opening up for non-archive user comments. I think that putting anything I've written out for anyone to read is the bravest thing I've ever done. Comments though - feedback is a good thing, it turns out. Who knew?

Asta woke, groggy and confused wondering why she was still dreaming about spiders the size of Mabari at her age.  Her head ached dully and she had no idea where she was.  Certainly not another cell - there was a fire, and windows with winter light streaming in, and even a picture of Queen Elissa, the Hero of Ferelden, on the wooden wall.

As she tried to collect her thoughts, the door opened and a sweet faced elf with a box entered, intent on her duty.

"Hello," Asta began.  The elf immediately dropped the box and fell to the floor, prostrating herself.  Asta stared at her blankly.

"I beg your forgiveness!  I am just a humble servant!"

"Don't be frightened," Asta tried again, only to have the elf cringe.

"I've said something wrong, haven't I? Oh!" and the elf, face contorted in anxiety, scrambled to her feet, "You are all anyone's been talking about for the last three days, your worship."

"Your... what?"  Asta shook her head, wondering if she was still asleep after all.  "I don't think you've said anything," Asta attempted to put the strange conversation on a track that made sense, to no avail.

"I must go!" The conflicted elf backed up slowly, as if afraid to turn her back to Asta.  "The Lady Cassandra, she wanted to know the moment you awoke!  At once, she said!"  The elf echoed Asta's fear of the Seeker, and they shuddered together.  "She's in the Chantry when you are dressed, milady."  And she backed out of the open door quicker than Asta would have thought possible, never taking her eyes off of Asta, still sitting on the bed, rumpled and confused.

Without a doubt, this day was going to be strange, Asta thought.  Her stomach was waking up and she had no idea where she could find something to eat.  And the Seeker's ire if Asta did not report to the Chantry 'at once' - well, she couldn't even imagine.  Someone had cleaned her Chantry robes whilst she slept, so she put them on, thankful to have something clean to wear.  It also solved the problem of her hair - there wasn't a comb in the room, and the hat was very good at disguising such things.  Once dressed, she took a deep breath, collecting herself for an uncomfortable interview, and opened the door.

She had no idea what uncomfortable meant, she decided at once.  The entire village of Haven was either kneeling or saluting her.  Her first impulse was to run back inside the house, shutting the scene away in denial.  The icy wind whipped through her inadequate robes, making her shiver with more than apprehension.  She hadn't found a cloak while looking for a comb - just a set of ostentatious armor that clearly belonged to someone illustrious.  She would just have to make do, and find out where she could get a cloak later.

The people weren't moving, she realized.  Maybe they were frozen in place.  She would, if she didn't move soon.  Dropping her head, she started walking, her long-asleep muscles protesting the sudden movement.  She walked quicker, trying to escape the uncomfortable stares and whispers that followed her progression.  She hoped Cassandra would explain.  None of the onlookers made a move to touch her, so she relaxed slightly.  It didn't seem like they were intent on making her pay for her crimes, at least.  She strained her ears trying to hear the mutters, and thought she heard 'Andraste'.  Maker's Breath, how had they learned her name?

After that, Asta sprinted - or what passed for sprinting in a Chantry sister with more brains than speed - to the Chantry, overhearing some other sisters she didn't recognize muttering about her work on the Breach.  Stable, but not sealed.  But no more demons, for the time being.  Asta sighed with relief at small blessings.  She dove into the Chantry leaning against the door, making sure it was firmly closed, hoping none of the people would try to follow her inside.  She took a deep breath, and instantly felt better.

She smelled books.  Old books.  Glancing around, she found the expected copies of the Chant, but also a book about the Fade.  Her face lit up.  Just what she needed!  She began to read, wandering idly down the corridor, barely noticing the other sisters and clerics eyeing her warily.  She could hear voices - louder than those reciting the chant, but the book was as fascinating and informative as she had hoped, so she ignored them.  She opened a door at random and walked into an argument.

She had found the Seeker.

***

Chancellor Roderick was an ass, the worst kind of cleric, trumped up on his own power, real and imagined, and convinced that his opinions were those of the Maker.  Asta's only comfort was that obviously the Left and the Right Hands of the former Divine disliked him as much as she did.  The argument continued with Asta in the middle of it, now, as the Chancellor ordered her to be arrested and the Seeker defended her.

That was very disturbing.  "Wait, you think I'm innocent?"  Asta met the Seeker's eyes shocked into direct contact.

And the Right Hand apologized.  Actually apologized, "I was wrong about you.  I might still be.  But there is no denying you are exactly what we need right now."

Asta snorted, "You need a bookworm Sister with few fighting skills who is scarred by something from the other side of the Veil?"

"Yes, we do," the Seeker confirmed, and the Chancellor flew into another hissy fit, which Cassandra broke off by slamming a book so thick that it made Asta's mouth water onto the table.  "Do you know what this is, Roderick?  It's a writ from the Divine declaring the Inquisition reborn."  The Chancellor blanched.  "We will close the Breach, find those responsible and make them pay."

The Left Hand, who seemed supernaturally talented at making herself fade into the background, spoke. "Whoever was responsible for the Conclave explosion had allies who may yet live."  Her demure tone and calm face belied the implicit threat and Asta hoped that she wasn't on the Left Hand's bad side.  Even the Chancellor visibly recoiled.

"And you think I am a suspect?"

"You, and many others," she countered.

The Chancellor left soon after, and Asta hugged the Fade book to her, trying to quell her shaking.  Her best defense mechanism kicked in.

"When I woke up this morning I didn't think this was how the day would go."  Asta realized she had spoken out loud when the Left Hand snickered. 

"Neither did we," the Seeker narrowed her eyes.  "We need your help," she added bluntly.  "You are the only one who can close these rifts."

Asta took a deep breath. "The Inquisition has a very checkered reputation.  At worst it was made up of zealots and imperialists, and at best it was a group of idealists.  Chantry history hasn't been kind to it.  And you want to bring it back?  Start another holy war?"

"We are already at war.  Mages and Templars are fighting each other, Orlais is embroiled in chaos of its own making... we are hoping to stop the madness and bring sanity back to Thedas."

Asta nodded, somewhat reassured, "If you are truly trying to restore order..."

The Seeker nodded, "We are."

"Then I will help in whatever way I can."  Asta held out her hand, noticing it was still shaking.  The Seeker grasped it firmly.  "Now, where can get something to eat?  And maybe a cloak?  Mine apparently didn't survive the explosion."

***

Several hours later, Asta, fed and outwardly calmer, watched as the Commander nailed the Seeker's decree to the door of the Chantry.  She wasn't displeased when he came to stand beside her at the top of the steps.  The Left Hand was sending letters off via ravens, more of a formality than anything else, but it made a nice spectacle for the people gathered.

Many of the clerics and sisters looked visibly upset, and Roderick openly scowled.  The man meant trouble, but Asta couldn't see what could be done about it.

She was a little surprised to be included in the War Meeting afterward.  The others were all famous in their own rights, and she felt like a country mouse visiting a city cousin.  They were gracious, however, introducing their Ambassador, Lady Josephine Montilyet.  Asta thought she looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place her.  But with the introductions over, she soon forgot the niggling feeling with the announcement that she was apparently "The Herald of Andraste".

Asta stopped breathing for several seconds.  She managed to choke out, "Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?" Her brain ran through the bizarre morning, "Though that would explain the mutters and scared elves running around."

"The soldiers that recovered you from the Temple witnessed a glowing woman.  They believe that was Andraste, and that she delivered you from the Fade."  Asta's eyes swept over the group, stopping on Cullen's, who seemed to be suppressing mirth.

"It's quite a title, isn't it?" He poked fun, "How does that make you feel?" He smirked, and Asta's mind went down for the count.  Merciful Maker, he was deadly when he smiled like that.  She wondered idly if that was how he had defeated Meredith in Kirkwall.

And then she realized he was waiting for a response.  "It's a little disconcerting," she stammered.

He laughed and she decided he needed to do that a lot more.  "I'm sure the Chantry would agree."

Leliana frowned, "Yes, well, it has some declaring you to be our salvation," she started.

"And some declaring you a sign of everything that has gone wrong with the world," the Ambassador finished.  "The Chantry has excommunicated you, and disavowed all connection with the Inquisition," she sighed.  Asta sympathized slightly with the Ambassador's plight, but couldn't help the surge of happiness.  Her smile lit up the room in response.

"Well, it's about time!  Up until now I was only threatened with excommunication.  It's nice of them to follow through for a change.  How else will I learn?"

"I'm sure once the Breach is closed," Josephine began.

"Oh no, I am a heretic!" Asta beamed with enthusiasm.  Cassandra and Josephine blanched as Cullen chuckled.  Leliana raised her eyebrows, waiting for more information.  Asta shot an appreciative look at the Commander, and sighed, ready to explain, "I am - was - a Chantry archivist.  I worked under Sister Dorcas Guerrin for decades - I was her apprentice.  I've been in contact with Genetivi since was sixteen, and before the Blight started.  I specialize in old, obscure Chantry texts and scrolls.  Because of this, I've come to certain conclusions regarding Andraste, the Maker, and many other personages.  I have a particular interest in Andrastian cults."

Leliana was now looking intrigued despite herself.  "What kind of conclusions?"

Asta hesitated, but the desire to talk about her passion won out, "It's well known that Andraste was a Tevinter slave.  Most Tevinter slaves are elves, and that was no different a thousand years ago.  It's possible that she was human, but unlikely.  Given that, she was likely never married to Maferath.  She would have been his lover, at best, but a concubine is more probable.  Explaining why his sons with another woman would have been his heirs.  As for her blood children, I find it likely that they were full-blooded elves, and not Maferath's at all!  Shartan is the logical father, and their parenthood would explain why they were not allowed to marry, and even why one 'disappeared at sea'.  Of course, I think that given the circumstances she chose to disappear, though I have little evidence besides the excision of elves in general after the Exalted Marches." She paused for breath, and surveyed her audience.  "But you didn't come here for a lecture."

They were horrified, and more than a little titillated.  Cassandra was breathing heavily through her nose.  Cullen burst out laughing, "Sister Trevelyan,"

"Sorry, you can't call me that any longer," Asta smiled cheekily up at him, "Excommunicated heretic, remember?  Officially a dangerous person.  Thank the Maker, ever so ironically.  I think I'll go have a drink to celebrate, and find some clothes that don't make me look like a demented chess piece.  Not in that order."  Her eyes slid to Cullen again and grew wicked, "Care to join me?"

The former Templar bowed mockily, "With pride, Lady Trevelyan."  And with that, the war room meeting ended, with the other advisors left in their wake.

Cassandra spoke first, "Do we dare send her to speak to Mother Gisele?"


	5. Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's POV

The next morning dawned clear and bright, the sun threatening to blind the recruits by reflecting off the snow and ice that surrounded them.  The light bored into Cullen's eyes like a drill, and he regretted the drinks of the night before.

But it wasn't just the drinks, the glare, or the lyrium withdrawal today.  The former Sister Trevelyan was a puzzle, and he hadn't been able to solve it overnight.  They had had a drink, after she changed into what she was assured was armor meant for her use.  It looked ridiculous, all shoulder pads and something that was supposed to be a dragon's spine - but no doubt was quite serviceable.  And could he talk, with his fuzzy cape and Mabari helm?  Probably not.  In any case, they had that drink, and then two more, laughing and joking as if they had known each other for years.  They had been surprised to discover a few acquaintances in common, despite Cullen's time in Kirkwall limiting him to the Gallows.  But the Chantry was only so big, and Asta... Sister Trevelyan, he corrected himself, had been cloistered for her adult life.  So their circles had overlapped a bit.

He had discovered a few other things, as well.  Nothing useful, per say, but she loved fruity drinks, but could only handle two.  She read everything - from Swords and Shields, which made him blush, to ancient Tevinter military history.  She had never felt suited to the Chantry, but loved her work, despite it's limited application. And she didn't resent those that were drawn to the Chantry, either - though she believed parents shouldn't be able to just surrender their children into its service.

She believed in the Maker, but wasn't convinced of Andraste's divinity.  Cullen knew that alone should have had her kicked out years before, but apparently her parents were devout and influential.  She hadn't seen them in years.

She thought he should write to his sister.

She was also a very... friendly drunk.  He saw her to her door, telling himself that despite her status as a religious icon he was worried about someone taking advantage of her state.  While he escorted, well, carried her, she had draped herself over him in a not unpleasant way, apparently trying to ruffle his hair.  Then she tried to get him to come inside.

He had, slightly to his sorrow, maintained his chivalry.

In response, she had pouted.  Like a child.  Her lips were pink, and shiny, her cheeks flushed with alcohol and the cold.  His were red, but it wasn't the cold or the alcohol.

"Herald," he started, avoiding her gaze.

"Ugh, don't call me that!"

Cullen reacted in confusion, "Sister Trevelyan, then?"

Asta shivered in horror.  "Maker, no.  Not appropriate anyway.  Heretic, remember?"

"My Lady Trevelyan," Cullen tried again.

"Oh, you do say it well," she purred.  Cullen rolled his eyes.  This was going nowhere good.  "But I haven't been a Lady anything since I was four and my parents delivered me to the Chantry.  You can try to call me that, but I'm afraid I won't know who you are talking to."  Her smile was brighter than the stars.  And then it fell, and she asked almost pitifully, "I don't suppose you could just call me Asta?  I haven't been just Asta to anyone in a long time."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort.  "Is that short for something?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling, but firmly, "but I'm not going to tell you for what."

Cullen gave in.  "Very well, my Lady Asta, I will try.  Now, I should remind you that you have a reputation to maintain." And was he channeling Lady Josephine now?  It's not like he cared two brass nugs about her reputation. But once again he was continuing his knack for saying exactly the wrong thing, despite what he really thought. "And we have to continue our meeting tomorrow.  We need to expand the Inquisition's influence, and as the Herald you are the best suited to do so."

"My reputation can kiss the Maker's Balls," Asta muttered.  "I'm supposed to be excommunicated.  You'd think that would mean that I could have a little fun."  Cullen started to insist that fun was fine - but she interrupted him.  "Of course, Commander.  I will retire and see you in the Chantry in the morning.  Good night, and thank you for seeing me home safe."  And she had shut the door in his face.

Cullen shook his head of the memory, and started towards Leliana's tent.  No doubt her curt dismissal was for the best, but Asta... Lady Asta, was a puzzle he needed to solve, and he knew where to find the solution.

***

"Her full name?  That's simple enough," Leliana eyed Cullen with a face suitable for Wicked Grace Night at the Singing Maiden, and pulled the Herald's scroll over.  She read for a moment and smiled evilly.  "Oh this is too good."

"Why would you say that?  What is it?"  Cullen reached out for the scroll, but Leliana slapped his hand away.

"Now, now, Commander, I can't tell you all her secrets.  You have to find out some yourself!  But I can tell you the Lady Herald's parents were devout indeed."

Recognition flooded Cullen's face.  "They didn't.  They wouldn't dare."

"Oh yes, they did.  Obviously they intended the Herald for the Chantry since her Name Day."

"They named her after..."

"Evelyn Beatrix Andraste Trevelyan, at your service, Ser and Madam."  Asta had been to the blacksmith's, newly outfitted with shiny daggers on her back and nugskin armor.

Cullen blinked.  She was lovely.  He hadn't noticed her hair or eyes last night.  Her hair looked almost red with the morning sun behind it, and her eyes were a lovely shade of greyish-blue.  Her lips looked just as pink as the night before and he shook his head again to try to clear it.

"Now do you see why I prefer Asta?  At what point does devotion turn into blasphemy?  And I hardly need to have the entire village of Haven or all of Thedas learn my real name - for obvious reasons."

"Then why not just go by Evelyn?  Or even Beatrix?" Leliana wondered.

"Beatrix has always seemed too politically charged within the Chantry.  And there were already those who thought I was putting on airs, dining off my title.  Being a Beatrix would have made it worse.  And I hate Evelyn.  My Great Aunt was an Evelyn.  It's an old lady name.  I'm only 28.  No need to sound geriatric. And the rhyming! Evelyn Trevelyan? My parents must have hated me."

Cullen laughed and even Leliana smiled.  He couldn't seem to help it when she was around.  She smiled at the sound, and to cover his embarrassment pointed to her daggers.  "Do you know how to use those?"

"Sort of?  Hypothetically?  There was a brother from Starkhaven, Brother Sebastian..."

Leliana interrupted, "The Prince of Starkhaven taught you how to fight with daggers?"  She sounded dubious.

Asta blinked, and rambled, nervous, "Well, yes.  He said a bow wasn't much use in a self defense situation - I guess he is the Prince now, isn't he?  And he said Kirkwall was no place for a Sister or anybody, really, to be wandering around without knowing how to protect herself.  Themselves.  He gave classes to all the Sisters that were interested.  I have no real experience, but Cassandra - she said she couldn't protect me, that I need to be armed."

Cullen nodded, satisfied.  "I knew him slightly.  He ran with the Champion occasionally."

Asta smirked, "Did you know that Varric calls him Choir Boy?"

Cullen blushed.  Again with the blushing, this had to stop. Commanders just didn't blush.  "There is nothing wrong with being in the Chantry Choir." 

He saw her face light up.  "Do you sing, Commander?"

Leliana interrupted, again, impatient at their leisurely conversation, "Many of us sing, Herald.  Perhaps at a later date we can organize something to boost morale?"

Asta smiled again, sweetly, "Yes, a Singquisition!  Who could we find to organize it?  Maryden, perhaps?"

"As that may be, we need to have a war table meeting to discuss our next steps.  A heretical movement cannot start from nothing.  Commander, would you collect Cassandra and Josephine and meet us in the War Room?"

"At once, Sister Nightengale."  Cullen bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait, Commander, do you prefer the Ballad of Nuggins or Andraste's Mabari?"  Asta called after him.  His shoulders shook in silent laughter, though he didn't reply.

This woman - no one had ever made him laugh like this.  Andraste's ass, he was in trouble.

***

After he left, Asta turned back to Leliana, with a feeling like she was about to be interrogated, be it ever so gently. Instead, Leliana just gave her a mild look. "What? I was just asking! Morale is important, isn't it?" Leliana raised one eyebrow. "Oh, all right. I'll pin him down after the meeting, then."

"Oh I have no doubt that you will," Leliana snickered, her mask breaking for the first time.

Asta stared, and then burst out laughing.  This felt a bit like having a girl friend.  It felt good.  And then her face grew thoughtful.  "Leliana, Cull-, I mean, the Commander was a Templar, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Do you know how devout he was?  Is?"

"Why, Asta!  Why ever do you ask?"  Leliana's mask was back on, innocent as ever.  "Such things are between him and the Maker, are they not?  I'm afraid you would have to ask the Commander yourself."  With a sweet smile that never hinted at the years of experience behind it, she led the way into the Chantry.

***

Cullen had never felt so grilled, not even when the Seeker came to investigate the disaster that was Kirkwall.  How did they get on this topic?  When the meeting adjourned, Asta had asked to talk to him, privately, which had made his heart race on it's own.  And yes, his voice cracked.  Maker's breath, was he 18 again?  He tried deflection, he tried answering her questions logically and informally, warming to his subject, thinking her truly interested.  He found himself telling her how much he loved to learn, strove for perfection in his Templar training, only to have Asta, the Herald, he corrected himself.-Andraste's ass, when did he start having problems with due respect?- ask him about celibacy.  "Why would you ask?"  He somewhat panicked.  Asta sweetly reminded him that as a declared heretic she no longer felt herself bound by any vows to the Chantry or Maker.  And she had confessed as much up front.

So he gave in.  "No, I have taken no such vows.  And I am not a Templar any longer, as I have said before.  Maker's Breath, can we talk of something, anything, else?"

Only to have Asta -the Herald- Maker's Balls, he had a problem - beam at him like the sun and say "That's all I wanted to know!"  And skip - which inevitably drew his eyes to her backside - away, with a heart not much lighter than her feet.

This woman was going to kill him.


	6. Parrying

“You want to contact my parents?”

“Yes, in a nutshell. The Inquisition needs funds and support, and your parents are known to be wealthy and influential. Should I write to them?”

Asta had shrugged, pondering. “I haven’t seen them in years. But from their letters I could see this going in one of two ways. No, three.” She proceeded to count them out. “They may be so proud of their daughter, the Herald of Andraste that they shower you in funds and spread the news far and wide that they knew all along I was destined to be hand-picked by the Bride of the Maker herself. My mother might go so far as to make up a dream she had while she was carrying me, and so on. That would justify many of their choices about my life.”

“Do you find that likely?”

“Not so much. I could be surprised, though.” Asta continued, “They could also proceed to denounce everything the Inquisition stands for, including me in the deal. They could use their limited contact with me as evidence that they knew all along I would go bad, mad heretic that I am. I could see my former Revered Mother using my research as evidence - though I brought copies with me, it was destroyed at the conclave. At least it’s coded - that will take her a while to decipher. Not long enough, but buy some time at least.”

“You should tell Leliana that you have experience with ciphers. She can use that.” Josie made a note.

“Gladly. It would be nice to be useful beyond being a holy symbol with a green hand. I make up my own, actually.” Asta continued to think. “The third option is the most likely. I find it probable they will likely try to play both sides. Support the Chantry from their front door, while funding the Inquisition from the back. They may use any information we provide them to make them look better, more holy, more in touch with the Cathedral in Val Royeaux. It’s a risk, and one that you and Leliana will have to decide on.”

“I see. Are you not on the best of terms with your family then?”

“I heard from them about twice a year. They sent Satinalia gifts. But the closest I was to a family member was my Great Aunt Lucile.” Asta’s eyes flashed in recognition. “That’s where I know you from! Great Aunt Lucile’s Summer Ball!”

“Were you… oh my, this is embarrassing. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I remember the talk - a Sister who could dance like that!” Josie made another note. “That’s something else we could use.”

“Oh, don’t feel guilty about not remembering me. People tend to see sisters as faceless non-entities. I was no different. We are trained to have as little presence as possible,“ Asta paused again, “Yes, Great Aunt Lucile always did love a party. She insisted I attend. She thought I needed an outlet. Thought my parents were imbeciles for sending me away. We got along so well.” Asta’s throat closed up. “I was devastated when I learned of her illness. I couldn’t get permission to leave in time. I would have liked to say good-bye.”

“What about other relatives?” Josie tactfully changed the subject.

“Well, I would interact with a few family members at the Ball, of course. But none wrote to me. Most I haven’t seen since I was four. It’s unlikely, I think, unless my parents lead the way with singing my praises. That is a thought, though. I wonder if Philliam…”

“Philliam?” Josephine thought a moment. “Isn’t he a bard?”

“He most certainly is. And a distant cousin. We did write. I loved to hear about his travels - he made it as far as the Hissing Wastes! I believe he’s mostly retired at this point, but you could write to him. His skills would be invaluable to both you and Leliana.”

“I have to admit, Lady Trevelyan, that I am surprised that you are so proficient at the Game,” Josie hesitated.

Asta laughed, “My Lady Montilyet, I am an admitted heretic that was ensconced in the Chantry for over two decades! I spent my entire life hiding what I really thought, saying what needed to be said, doing what I believed to be necessary in order to continue with my research. Trust me, I’m a master at the Game. And I could tell you and Leliana stories… but some other time, perhaps.”

“Of course, I need to get back to work in any case. Are we in agreement?”

“Yes, you have nothing to lose except what little information the Revered Mother can glean from my research. Contact my parents and see how they counter. I’m curious myself. I do believe the Inquisition is in good hands, Lady Montilyet.”

“I could say the same, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Just call me Asta.”

***

Asta was dragging her feet. Her next appointment was inevitable, but anything - physical - was not her forte. And this was going to be humiliating. In front of Him. The Commander. Cullen.

Her mind rolled around his name as if it were an Antivan Chocolate on her tongue. Maker’s Breath, he made her want to do the naughtiest things. She had spent her whole life in restraint, true, but little was from her own self control. Evidently she was going to have to learn some, or die of embarrassment long before she made her wishes come true. She had scared him the other night, after he carried her home.

But first, training. Cullen and the Divine’s Right Hand - would she ever be able to call her Cassandra? - had both indicated she needed to be, if not battle ready, than at least adequate. And she knew how far from adequate she really was. Yet they were determined to send her to the Hinterlands to meet this Mother Gisele.

She approached the training yard with trepidation. Cullen saw her, and took an eager step forward, as if to meet her. She continued to walk in his direction, noticing his progress being impeded by several runners and a hapless recruit.

“You there! That’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.”

Asta mouth dropped open, and she shut it hastily. It was entirely unfair that a single human should be so blessed with looks, a quirky smile, a throaty laugh and a commanding voice. What she wouldn’t give for that voice to command her to do a few things… and then she realized that was exactly what she was there for. Maybe this would be fun after all.

***

Cullen asked her to walk with him briefly, since he wanted to see what she could do away from the raw recruits.

He was speaking of the Inquisition, and his decision to leave the Order. Asta was an excellent listener, making eye contact while trying to dodge sparring recruits. He got a little too enthusiastic, speaking so passionately about the good they could do, and seeing her rapt face, he was embarrassed, smiled slyly and said, “But you didn’t come here for a lecture.”

Asta smiled in return, recognizing her own phrase from the day before. “No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it,” in a sultry yet cheery voice. Cullen nearly dropped his clipboard. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward, staring into her eyes, those eyes. His own dropped again to her impossibly pink lips, and he stammered.

Andraste’s knicker weasels, it was happening again.  He hadn't stammered this much since... “Uh, there’s… a lot of work… left to do…” he trailed off, watching her smile bloom with his shyness. And then a runner. Thank the Holy Maker for the runner, he could have kissed the man, for giving him enough time to recover. “As I was saying,” he smirked, looking blankly at the clipboard and signing off without reading it. Surely it wouldn’t matter this once, and Asta, the Herald, he corrected himself, would see that he was busy and important. He would make a good impression for once.

The runner took off back to Leliana’s tent immediately.

The two found themselves back in the woods beyond the Chantry, in a small clearing. Cullen cleared his throat.

Asta started, her mind obviously elsewhere. “So where should we begin?” She asked, shyly. “I really don’t know hardly anything.” She started to shrug out of her cloak for better movement.

Cullen tried to find a train of thoughts, “Did Brother Sebastian teach you any thing about stealth?”

Asta’s face lit up, “Yes, I can do that. Before I had to go back to Ostwick, he was starting to teach about knockout powder, but I never got that far. Too bad, it sounded useful.”

Her arms were bare now, and she was wearing a loose tunic with nothing but a breast band beneath. Cullen cleared his throat again, trying to stop staring. “Aren’t you cold?”

“We will be moving soon enough, won’t we?” Asta looked surprised. “This is what I always wore during the Brother’s classes.”

Maker’s Breath, those pants were tight. Cullen dragged his eyes away from her form, with extreme difficulty. It was no wonder the Brother had left the Chantry to take back the throne, if he was being tempted weekly by that… Cullen reigned himself in. He had a job to do. An important job to do. He was very busy and important. Yes. That.

“Okay, then I want to you slip into stealth, and try to attack me.” His voice sounded deeper, much more assured. This was a very good thing. He was competent and… she had wrapped her arms around his neck from behind.

“Like that?” She breathed into his ear. Cullen swallowed.

“Yes, very good.” She let him go, slowly sliding down his back. Cullen mentally recited a short portion of the Chant, to keep his focus. “You are quite fast.”

“Yes, Brother Sebastian said I could use that to my advantage.” She was in front of him again, a picture of an attentive student. “But it’s only good for short distances. I don’t have any endurance.”

“Well, stamina comes with practice.”

Asta rolled her eyes back up to him, concentrating on his mouth. He licked his lips nervously. “I suspect I’ll need to practice a lot.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, and then drew his sword. “Okay, now I’m going to attempt to attack you. I want you to dodge or parry only, understand?”

“Yes, Ser.” Asta saluted with one of her daggers. Cullen’s mind went blank again. She was impossibly cute. And he had to get it together. So he lunged, and she dodged. He slashed, and she parried. He slowly increased his speed, until she was missing regularly, resorting to dodging all the time.

Stopping, without even breaking a sweat, he said, “I think you have the basics, but like you said, we need to work on your stamina and parrying speed. Also, I think we need to try to find a few more attack formations for you to use. Overhand is not always practical. How do you feel about poison?”

Asta blinked, “I have no thoughts about poison. Isn’t it dangerous to run around with poisoned blades on your back? What if you scratched yourself accidentally?”

Cullen laughed, “Ideally you wouldn’t carry poisoned weapons without carrying the antidote as well.” Asta relaxed at that.

“That does make sense. I really have no idea what I’m doing.”

He smiled, more in control now, more in charge. “I wouldn’t say that. You know that you are most effective when you get in fast, attack, and get out of the melee. Stealth is your best friend, speed your second. Flanking is best, when you can, otherwise if someone comes at you directly, dodge or parry.” He cleared his throat to take the next step, wondering why it felt so inappropriate to suggest. “I believe when you are in Haven we should meet every day, if possible. You need to feel comfortable around your blades. Right now, I think you are too aware of even carrying them around.”

Asta laughed, and he resisted the urge to do the same. “You could say that,” she agreed. “Just carrying them around this morning has made my shoulders chafe terribly.” She turned, and dropped the shoulder of her tunic slightly. “See?”

See? All he could see was a slight red line underneath where the harness would lay, and beyond that a large creamy expanse of white skin. Maker, she looked soft. His fingers twitched, and he looked up at her, as she peeked coyly at him over her shoulder.

“Uh, I’d better get back to the recruits. And that report from Leliana probably needs following up on,” he stammered, again. Asta’s face fell, and he wanted to give in more than anything, to spend the rest of the afternoon right there. But she was already shrugging back into her cloak, and strapping her weapons back on.

“I understand, Commander. I can’t take up any more of your time.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Maker, why did he feel like such a heel?

“Will I see you tomorrow? At about the same time?” He asked gently, wanting to at least try to make up for his inevitable bungling.

She smiled at that. “Tomorrow, yes, but the day after we leave for the Hinterlands. Mother Gisele shouldn’t be kept waiting, Leliana says.”

“Then tomorrow then,” Cullen bowed slightly, half smiling. “I look forward to it.”

***

Upon reaching the Chantry, he noticed Leliana smiling that evil smile again. He detoured, intent on finding out what had her grinning. Hopefully she would tell him.

Instead of speaking, Leliana just handed him a report with his signature, claiming that he was the rightful heir to Par Vollen, declaring that Chancellor Roderick was a nug-humping hack, and his undying love for the Herald of Andraste.

“We really can’t afford that level of distraction, Commander.”

Cullen ripped the report into shreds, smiled too sweetly at Leliana, and replied, “It’s a bit too late for that.”

“At least watch what you sign in the future?”

“That I can do.”

“And maybe someone else should oversee her training?”

Cullen immediately protested, “It’s not going to be often enough to inconvenience someone else.”

“I could do it. We have a similar skill set, even.”

Cullen protested, knowing while he did it he was being pushed in a certain direction, “Exactly why she should practice against a different opponent. We both know her real challenges will be from warriors, not other rogues. However, if you have any suggestions, since I have no doubt your scouts were observing us the whole time, I would like to hear them.”

“Hmm, the best one I could make is that next time, you should take your shirt off, too.” Leliana stood up with that, and left the tent to take care of her other responsibilities.

　

 


	7. The Hinterlands of Helping

Mother Gisele was Orlesian.  Asta knew how to handle an Orlesian Revered Mother - she'd been doing just that for decades.  Most important to remember was that they are always convinced that what they want to happen is the right thing.  They won't change their mind, but you can sway it, as long as you keep in mind they will try to sway yours as well.  Deflection of direct questions, never too honest, but a little humor is safe, and ask obvious questions so they underestimate you.  Always appear humble, even when you know that they are less intelligent than you are.  


With that kind of knowledge, Mother Gisele was putty in Asta's hands.  She hadn't gotten much out of her, except for the feeling that she wanted rather than believed her to be holy.  And at least as far as the refugees were concerned, Mother Gisele's motivations were pure.  After she got back to Haven... well, Asta would let Leliana deal with her then.  And she would be returning to Haven, with rather convenient lists of Chantry members that would assist the Left Hand and the Ambassador.  It had been a little too easy, and why did Gisele need her to come all the way here to see her? But Asta was in no position to ferret out the Mother's secrets.  


Still, Asta considered it a victory, and Maker knew they needed a victory.  No sooner had they arrived in the area than a scout, obviously overworked and worried, informed her that the Crossroads was a battlefield.  Asta had swallowed, looked at her companions, and thanked the Maker that Cullen had taught her to use knock-out powder before she had left.  She had been sparring with Cassandra every night when they stopped to camp.  She wasn't ready, would never be ready, but she didn't have much choice.  


The Crossroads was filled with cold, hungry people, caught literally in between mages casting spells down the hills and Templars coming through from a nearby Valley.  Innocents were being slaughtered by those sworn to be their protectors and mages that were both power hungry and never had the chance to learn restraint.  It was a powerful message for Asta, of the responsibility of her new found liberty.  So many of the ordinary people were dead, dying or injured.  The rest were starving, living in caves and ruins - and that's if they were lucky.  


After the skirmish had been cleared in the most bloody way imaginable, Asta stared up at the statue of Andraste that had been erected on the mountain behind the waterfall.  Had this been what she intended?  These people's faith in Andraste hadn't done them any favors that she could see.  She tried to shake off her melancholy.  Someone had to take care of these people, and evidently, thanks to Mother Gisele, that someone was her.  She had to be useful somehow.  In the battle, she had been useless.  She tried, but her lack of strength and only relative quickness left her a hindrance rather than a help.  In the end, a Templar with a tower shield had knocked her out.  She had revived after the fracas to a pounding headache and a frantic Cassandra.  

Andraste's Ass, what could she do?  Gritting her teeth, she marched off to find a quill and a scroll.  She took stock of their resources.  There was clean water that could be boiled from the waterfall that fed the small river that flowed through the settlement.  She wrote that down, feeling better for having something, anything on the page, and then started talking to people.   


They needed everything except water, apparently.  Medicine, healers that knew how to make it and use it.  Food, blankets, warm clothing.  Protection from mages, Templars, bandits and wild animals that were just as hungry as the people.  Asta's notes were getting longer, but she was getting some ideas.  Corporal Vale was training people - perhaps they could assist with the protection side of things.  


Many of the people there had skills of their own, but were too scared to use them.  She spoke to a mage healer, Ellandra, who had been helping, until a Templar had targeted her and killed her patients just for being there.  Asta was beginning to understand.  


It was all about fear.  Templars and refugees feared the mages with powers they didn't understand, even if they wanted to help rather than hurt.  Mages feared Templars because they had been systematically preyed on and oppressed for ages.  Thedas had become a world of fear, and Asta hated what it had become.  She had to try to stop this fear - it was more dangerous than the Blight.  


So she wrote the Commander to ask for troop assistance.  


_Commander Rutherford,_  


_Greetings from the Hinterlands.  Truly, there was never a place so aptly named.  No matter where we visit it still seems like the middle of nowhere.  
_

_Honestly, Commander, things are much more dire than you or even Leliana have been led to believe.  The day I arrived the refugees had eaten their last loaf of bread - and that had been provided by Corporal Vale's people, who aren't much better off, since they have been sharing what little they have.  Mostly the people here are living off of water and pond weeds.  Most of them have been burned off their farms with nothing but the clothes on their backs.  And it was only mages starting the fires half the time.  Templars are locking mages and innocents inside houses and committing murder by arson.  
_

_The tragedy here oppresses me.  We have already provided what assistance we can - we've hunted with Varric and Bianca's help, since baking is beyond our skills, and the local baker is ill with a breathing sickness.  We've located several rebel mage caches that have helped with blankets and winter clothing.  But without removing the threats apparent nothing we can do for these people will last.  
_

_As I have said, Corporal Vale has a small force here, mostly scouts, but needs reinforcements.  We've pinpointed both the Templar and Mage main camps, but lack enough manpower to break them permanently.  And as desperate people are wont to do, some refugees have turned to banditry in an attempt to survive.  In short, we need soldiers, Commander.  A four, or may I say, three and a half, person team isn't enough to make a difference.  
_

_I miss our training sessions, Commander.  The knock-out powder has been invaluable for capturing informants.  I eagerly await my return to Haven and the other knowledge you may choose to impart.  Not to mention I am very tired of losing consciousness at the worst possible moments.  One of my so called 'close calls' may end me.  I'd hate for that to happen before... but perhaps I say too much.  
_

_Leliana, when you decipher this, please make the copy without that last line?  Or even delete the entire last paragraph?  Whichever you think is best.  I rely upon your discretion.  
_

_Sincerely yours,  
_

_A. Trevelyan  
_

Asta rolled the scroll and attached it to the raven.  She should write to Leliana about the suspicious Giles, if nothing else, but she was road-weary, disgustingly gory, sore from hiking all over the hills and just wanted to sleep.  And while she could appreciate the fact that she had a bedroll when so many refugees did not, she longed for a real bed, or even her cot at Haven.  


The Right Hand of the Divine entered the tent at that moment, and threw a jar at her.  It hit Asta in the head, naturally, but she still picked it up.  


"It's liniment.  A... friend of mine used to make it for me."  She said, almost shyly.  "It will heal your muscles, dull the pain, and allow you to rest."  


Asta blinked, "I have a hard time believing you ever needed such a thing, Seeker Pentaghast."  


Cassandra sighed, "I was born into Nevarran royalty.  My uncle treated me like a porcelain doll on a shelf.  Until I was a teenager I barely saw a sword, much less used one.  I assure you, when I was training to be a Seeker, there were many nights I needed such a thing.  And if I am to call you Asta, Herald, then you should call me Cassandra."  


"Will you hit me if I don't?"  


"We've already sparred for the day.  I will not take further advantage."  


"Was that a joke?" Asta smiled.  "Very well, Cassandra.  It's nice to be something other than a title."  


"I quite agree."  


***

She was trying to use the basic map that Cullen had provided to find a way to Master Dennet - apparently a rancher in the area who was known for his superior horseflesh - without having to go by the main Templar encampment.  They just weren't prepared for that, no matter how out of practice the Templars were, in Solas' opinion.  If they got the horses, they could go home.  


All infatuation with a certain officer aside, Asta was longing for a real bath, and food that had something other than hunger to season it.  Varric was whining about ale almost every night now.  Even Solas was hinting at delivering the roots and herbs they'd been gathering to people that could use them.  But the horses - Cullen had asked specifically for the horses and she wasn't going to let him down.  


If she brought him horses, he might be grateful.  And she would have a good excuse to talk to him, instead of babbling about how he thought the recruits were coming along, or if he liked working with Josephine.  And it had been a week since she had sent her letter.  And no reply had been forthcoming.  He probably didn't have time to reply to silly girls that didn't know which end of a sword to hold.  


They turned around a large rock and suddenly Asta's head was under water.  Gasping, she floundered back to the surface, and grabbed the hand that was in front of her face.  It pulled her effortlessly to solid ground, and whacked her back while she spit up stagnant water.  She focused on her savior, with difficulty.  


"Thank you, Ser..."  


"Dennet.  Master Dennet.  These are my lands, Miss..."  


"Trevelyan.  Asta Trevelyan.  And you are just the man I'm looking for.  I'm an agent for the Inquisition, and we need some horses."  


Master Dennet burst out laughing.  Asta blushed, knowing his opinion was being colored by her, dripping wet and covered in Druffalo pond scum, apparently incapable of watching where she was going.  


He recovered eventually, and invited them to camp on his land, while he discussed his terms.  


"Watchtowers?"  Asta put her still wet head on her still wet arms.  "You want us to build watchtowers."  


"And take care of the wolves," Elaina, Master Dennet's wife threw in.  "That's prime horseflesh you are asking for, and not wanting to pay for it in coin, either.  I heard what my man said, and some towers and a pack of wolves and a rift or two on the property isn't too much to ask."  Master Dennet nodded, arms crossed.  


"Do you have a quill and some paper?"  Cassandra made a disgusted noise.  "I swear, I'm never leaving without writing tools again.  But I have to write a letter."  


_Commander Rutherford,_  


_Greetings from Master Dennet's farm.  I'm currently writing to you with my boots - my white nugskin boots, mind you - caked with Druffalo and horse shit, and my hair full of pond scum.  Build this man some fucking watchtowers, please.  He saved me from drowning in his Druffalo pond.  I'll kill the demon-cursed wolves - Maker's Balls, I hope I'm not being literal right now - and close his rifts.  But I don't know anything about construction.  And we can't have the horses before we start the towers.  
_

_I'd wish you well, but I know that you have to be better off than me.  You are probably sitting in a warm place, with a flask of whiskey or rum, reading my letter between reports.  Hell, you are probably in a warm bath right this second.  I might hate you.  And regards to Leliana.  I hate her too.  And Josie, sweetheart?  Antivan chocolates would be nice.  I'm saving the Inquisition a ton of money with this deal.  My parents raise horses, and these are the best of the best.  Don't tell Dennet I said so.  He's got too much advantage already._

_Filthily yours,_

_A. Trevelyan  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So true story - I swear in my first playthrough I drowned just as I turned the corner onto Dennet's farm. The little pond just before the camp is deep in places. It never happened again - maybe it was a bug - but I couldn't resist throwing it in here.


	8. Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two dorks continue flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's mostly fluff, and probably isn't strictly necessary, but I wanted a little space between now and Val Royeaux, because Val Royeaux is going to be messy.

Cullen was trying to write a letter. It wasn’t going well. He had been trying to write the letter for three days. Half a dozen drafts were in the waste basket behind him - and those were from today alone. Maybe he was doing this wrong, he thought. Maybe he should just treat the letters as another report, however informal in tone.

He started again,

_Lady Trevelyan,_

Ugh, already he was in trouble. He could just see the faces she was making upon reading her title. Too late, he had to get this written. Leliana would nag him about it again if he didn’t, and then threaten to write it herself and sign his name. Maker only knew what she would write if that happened.

_I have received your correspondence and fully agree with your assessment._

He paused, nibbling his quill. So far so good. Stuffy, but concise. It was late, and he was tired. He raked his hand through his hair, and moved a candle closer, for the better light. He needed to get this done, so he could try to sleep. He slept so little that every hour was a gift. He re-read the single line, painfully aware of how cold and detached his words sounded compared to hers. But press on. A letter, any letter, would be better than Leliana taking matters into her own hands.

_I’m sending who we can spare, and they are under Lady Cassandra’s command upon their arrival in the Hinterlands. Unfortunately, that will delay your own return until the objectives have been reached and the dual encampments quelled._

_I have attached a Master Builder to the corps, who should, with the manual labor of the soldiers, be able to build the requested watchtowers._

_Lady Asta, I would like to enquire about the necessity of you killing wolves…_

And he stopped, his desire to communicate his worry warring with his need to be professional. And then declared aloud, “To the Void with it!” and continued.

_…and while I am glad you are finding my instructions, limited as they have been, to be useful, Minaeve has recently begun to suspect that all animals are affected adversely by the rifts. Please, Lady Asta, be cautious. Let Cassandra be your shield, as I cannot be._

Maker’s Breath, that was too forward. He nearly crumpled this draft as well, but he braced himself. Was he afraid of a few words?

_I, too, miss our sessions, and imagine there is much we can teach each other, given time and opportunity._

He wanted to add something about how her description of herself, covered in shit and pond scum, dripping with water while negotiating an important contract for the Inquisition had made him laugh out loud, startling his lieutenants and several recruits, but couldn’t think of how to phrase it. So instead…

_Lady Josephine informs me that, in her words, she is ’exceedingly grateful at your personal sacrifices for our cause.’ I suspect that means that Antivan chocolates are beyond her at this point, but that perhaps in the future, she will be able to express our gratitude in other ways._

_Now, my bath has been drawn, so I will sign off. After all, Cleanliness is next to Holiness, as they say._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Commander Rutherford_

Before he could regret it he left his tent for Leliana’s, attached it to a raven while she watched, impassive. And left, saying nothing, and trying very hard not to think of Asta curled up in a warm bath in his tent, dripping of pond scum.

***

Her return was understated, as they had sent a raven ahead after ousting the Templar and Mage camps, informing them first of their success, and second of their imminent arrival.

The bath was waiting for her, no doubt Josephine’s doing, since she and the Commander apparently worked so well together. She stripped quickly, swearing that she could still smell Druffalo shit and algae on the once white, now grey and green, leather. Maybe she could burn them. Would leather burn? Even if she had to wear her Chantry robes, she was never putting those things on again.

Dunking her head under the water in a attempt to dislodge the dirt in her hair, her thoughts strayed. The Commander’s letter had been surprising. All business, it had appeared, almost formal, until his not-so-subtle hints right at the end. The line about the bath had been cruel, but because of it her group had made record time on the return trip. Her thighs were proof of that, still stinging where the hot water touched them. The copper tub gleamed in the firelight, casting off a soft glow as she worked shampoo, blessed shampoo, into her hair and rinsed. Maybe she was reading too much into their relationship. After all, ‘I enjoy working with her’ could mean anything. Just because he called her by her given name in a letter. They saw each other every day. Just friendship, nothing more.

And it’s not like she had any claim on him. Little flirtations, a bit of teasing. A massive infatuation on her part, to be sure, but it didn’t have to go anywhere. Though it would be nice if it did, could, go somewhere. Asta reined herself in. Restraint. Self-control. She would not be like the other ex-Chantry sisters who had elected to stay, only to promptly start sleeping their way through the soldiers. That was okay for them, but if she was going to do this, she was going to be picky.

It was Cullen or no one. No one had caught her eye like that in years, and if she had even the slightest chance with him, she was going to take it. But she had to learn discretion. She couldn’t scare him away again. Obviously he was shy. Slow and steady would win this race.

She only hoped she didn’t have to compete against Josephine. Because slow and steady versus fast and Antivan? Antivan would win every round.

She got out of the tub, stretching and examining her chafe marks, gingerly. She needed to report to the advisors, Antivan or no Antivan. And she rather liked the woman. Maybe luck would be on her side.

And there might be chocolates.

She walked over to her chest for something to wear, and upon opening it, busted up laughing. An entirely new set of armor, but in Druffalo hide. It also happened to be shit brown. She put it on immediately. Harritt must have kept her measurements, because it fit perfectly, boots and all.  She owed Josephine more than just her thanks.  She wouldn't have thought the woman would have such a sense of humor.

***

For once, the war meeting was over quickly, despite the little fracas at the Chantry doors upon her arrival. Asta was destined for Val Royeaux, accompanied by Cassandra in an effort to rein in her more heretic tendencies. Josephine had been quiet, after she thanked her quite sincerely for her efforts and apologized for the lack of chocolates. Asta had decided to be the better woman, despite her little surge of misguided jealousy, and told her not to worry about it, and thanked her for the bath and armor. Josie looked confused, and glanced at Leliana who shook her head and nodded at Cullen. Asta caught the exchange and started laughing again.  She should have known.

After that, the three women left, shaking their heads.

Cullen spoke, almost shyly, “When do you expect to leave?”

Asta started, lost in her own world as she played with one of Cullen’s map markers. “Two days from now, I suspect. We all need a rest and I need to let my thighs heal.”

“Are you injured?” Cullen forehead creased in concern. His eyes looked shadowed, like he hadn’t slept for several nights. “Do you need a healer?”

“No! I’m just… saddle sore. I’m unaccustomed to riding for such long hours. I’m… chafed.” She blushed, and he blushed along with her confession, trying not to think about her thighs.

“Will you be up for training with me tomorrow?” Cullen asked, fiddling with another marker.

“I imagine so. I need to train in any case. There may not be much chance of being attacked by rogue Templars in Val Royeaux, but I got the message in the Hinterlands loud and clear - the Inquisition is no place for a scholar.”

“Nonsense, the Inquisition needs your skills, Asta… Lady Asta.” Cullen cleared his throat. “The quartermaster told me of the fine notes you had kept on our resources, and even Revered Mother Gisele spoke highly of your help with the refugees. Apparently you saved more than one life.”

“And I killed several trees, I’m sure, using up paper to do it with!” Asta shook her head. “I couldn’t just let them starve or freeze. They were so desperate for anything to hope in. It backfired, though. I’m now irrevocably the Herald of Andraste to the entire Hinterlands.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Cul… Commander, I am not anything divine. I am not even sure Andraste was divine, or touched by divinity. I am human, and weak, and blessed with a little intelligence. That is all.”

“You are also kind.” And Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, “That is to say…”

“Thank you, Commander.” He met her eyes, and she was smiling, softly. “So are you, to spend your busy hours writing to me while I’m away, and training me while I’m in Haven. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me.” He held her eyes, “It’s all self serving.”

She colored, again, not sure what he meant. “For the Inquisition?”

“That too.” He suddenly lost all confidence, and blustered around gathering his papers in his haste to get out of the room as soon as possible. “Now, to work?”

And with his absence Asta let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

***

Training the next day culminated in Asta being backed up against a tree with a sword to her throat. Apparently the little confidence that she had gained with participating in the recent campaigns was false confidence. She still needed Cassandra’s shield, and still needed Solas and Varric to rain down terror from above to distract her prey.

She sighed, and slumped, defeated. “I’m not getting any better, am I? Despite the sparring with Cassandra, and the fact that I haven’t been knocked out in two weeks. I’m just not any good at this.”

“On the contrary, it took me twice as long to corner you this time. Your parrying has much improved. And don’t judge yourself against Cassandra. She is a remarkable warrior, and has been training for a quarter century.” Cullen sheathed his sword, and looked pleased.

“And I’m a 28 year old glorified librarian who once took a self defense class.” Asta mocked herself. “I know my limitations, Commander. But it’s nice to think that perhaps I can get a little better. I worry that Cassandra or others may get hurt while trying to protect me from my own foolishness. Solas’ barrier spells are good, but not that good.”

“You are still doing all the right things. You just need…”

“Practice. And stamina. And upper body strength.”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like I should thank you again,” and she peeked up at him through her hair, “for taking this time.”

“It’s a nice break in my day, honestly. When you aren’t here, it’s easy to just lose myself in my work and forget to eat.”

“Or sleep, from the looks of your eyes,” Asta stopped, “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, you are right, I don’t sleep much these days. I didn’t think it was that obvious, though.”

Maybe just to me, Asta thought. “You should try to carve out more time for taking care of yourself. After all, I’ll be in and out of Haven all the time because of rifts. You can’t count on me when you need to take a break.” She poked him in the side, and he winced. The pain was worse today.

“Easier said than done,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “Well, since you haven’t eaten, and I haven’t eaten, should we eat together?” Nice, he thought. That was smooth, lady-killer. And he wasn’t even hungry - he had thrown up his breakfast. No doubt from the feel of things his lunch would follow. But he didn’t want to even waste a moment of what little time he could have with her before her next trip. If that meant eating, just to throw up soon after, well, he would do just that.

But she smiled, “I’d like that.”

Totally worth it.

　

 


	9. I will end you

Val Royeaux was majestic, steeped in history and culture. Asta was more than a little intimidated as she gawked like a tourist at the endless towers, sculptures and gardens. Her first impression was that Val Royeaux was a place of grace and beauty.

Her second was that it was rotten to its core. An Inquisition scout met them just on the outside of town, spouting warnings of a trap - the remaining Revered Mothers had asked the City Guards to arrest Asta on sight, and hand her over to the Lord Seeker, who had taken control of the remaining Templars at the White Spire.

“That doesn’t sound like the Lord Seeker,” Cassandra puzzled.

“How well do you know him?” Asta pointed out. “Personally, I don’t want to be arrested and handed to a group who has already determined my guilt.”

“I agree,” Solas affirmed. “Entering the city now will nearly guarantee at least two deaths. I doubt the Templars will be merciful to an elven apostate, either.”

“What other choice do we have?” Cassandra sighed.

“Easy for you to say, Seeker. They haven’t signed you up to be executed. Yet.” Varric huffed.

Asta paced mindlessly. “If we don’t enter the city, we’ve wasted the trip, but we haven’t lost anything. If we enter, is there any chance they’ll listen to you, Cassandra? As the Right Hand…”

“I have raised up a heretical figurehead and started a cult following that is determined to tear apart the foundations of the Chantry itself. They will have no mercy upon me.” Cassandra was as blunt as a training sword.

“Then we must leave, now.” Asta determined. “There is nothing for us here but a not so swift trial and probably death by burning.”

“I thought you would say that,” a familiar voice said.

Asta turned slowly, her face pale and suddenly a million times more frightened. “Revered Mother Victoria, you are a long way from Ostwick.”

“Evelyn, child, you should have realized that they would send for me as soon as they identified you. Seize her and her companions!” Guards stepped out of the shadows and held them fast. “Take them to the Spire.”

“My dear Victoria! How well preserved you look! How long has it been, darling?” An elegant woman stepped out of the gates, and swept into the midst of the group like she belonged there. “Whatever brings you of all people to Val Royeaux?”

“Madame Vivienne,” sneered the Mother, “You certainly did well for yourself. Your council member keeping you well, is he?”

“He certainly is,” Vivienne assured her. She turned to the Guards, imperious. “I want you to take the prisoners to the Ghislain estate. They are to be paroled there, under Duke Bastien’s and my word.”

“Very well, Madame de Fer,” the Guards nodded, and Cassandra furrowed her brow. Speaking quickly to the scout, “Return to Haven. Inform Leliana and the others of our situation, post haste.”

Asta scrutinized Madame Vivienne. “It seems we owe you a debt, Madame. However can we repay you?”

“Darling, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Vivienne smiled coolly, and Asta tried to ignore the shiver of apprehension that crawled up her back.

***

_Commander Rutherford,_

_Here is where I admit it was a massive misjudgment for us to visit Val Royeaux, and say those three little words, “You were right.” Not only has our entire party been arrested, pending trial by a Divine that doesn’t exist, but we were to be sent to the Spire. And if not for the timely interruption of Vivienne, the Madame de Fer, a mage of no little talent, a lady of great physical presence, and mistress to the Duke de Ghislain (have Leliana fill you in on Orlesian politics), we would be there now instead of comfortably ensconced at Ghislain’s residence in Val Royeaux. I apparently cannot leave, since Vivienne and her Duke have vouched for me, but I cannot stay, either, between the fact that there is no one to try me and in the meantime rifts are spitting out demons all over Thedas._

_In addition, upon Vivienne’s intervention, we were informed by a reliable source that the Lord Seeker threw a hissy fit, punched my former Revered Mother, and led all the remaining Templars out of the city. I would just leave, but it would reflect poorly on my hosts._

_Perhaps Leliana has some thoughts?_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_A. Trevelyan_

Leliana lifted another letter out of her stack of reports and smiled slyly. “I have just the thing.”

***

“Calm down, Commander!”

“She’s been arrested, Leliana! I knew this was dangerous and ill-advised. Even Cassandra couldn’t protect her. And now all four of them…”

“Are having a lovely time at one of the finest homes in Val Royeaux. Possibly feeling a bit of cabin fever, but hardly subsisting on bread and water. Madame de Fer, by reputation, is a consummate hostess. They are guests, not prisoners.”

“I should have gone with her.”

“They would have arrested you, too. And probably given you lyrium. You’ve come too far…”

“How do you know about…”

Leliana just looked at him, “Commander, do you really want to ask me that?”

“Never mind. Forget I asked.”

“My point is, within two weeks I will have Asta and her team headed back to Haven, Vivienne as a major agent of the Inquisition, and at least a dozen other minor players in Val Royeaux and the vicinity.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to call in the Red Jennies.”

***

“It was my plan all along to join the Inquisition, darling. Otherwise I would not have intervened.” Vivienne watched Asta as she paced the garden alcove where she was supposed to meet the Jenny, nervous, but ready to get back to Haven. The group was packed and ready to travel. “I wish you wouldn’t furrow your brow like that. You’ll get wrinkles. You should think of such things at your age.”

Asta snarled at her wordlessly. “They were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“And here we are!” Yet another familiar voice spoke up, and Asta’s face went white.

“Maxwell? _”_

“Little Sister!”

Asta pulled a dagger on him. “What the Void is going on?!”

“I’m Red Jenny. One of them, anyway. Your other contact will meet us just outside of Val Royeaux. She’s tying up a few loose ends. The plan is, ostensibly, you are released into my supervision as a relative. That gets you out of the city with no toes stepped on.”

Asta put away her dagger, a little self-consciously. “And what is really happening, if I’m not truly being ‘released into your supervision’?”

“Once you are back in Haven, Leliana will make use of the Red Jenny network, and I get to escape my fate as the Trevelyan heir for a little longer.”

“So Mother and Father?”

“Are playing both sides. I have gifts for you and your Inquisition, however, and while I have to report back to them occasionally, I assure you I will not murder you in your sleep.”

“I knew they’d pull something like this. I warned Josephine…”

“Quite. Shall we leave this fair city, Sister? Or should I call you Herald?”

“Don’t you dare.” Asta sighed. “Everyone, this is Maxwell Trevelyan. My oldest brother and a complete arsehole. I apologize to you all for subjecting you to his company.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Maxwell’s eyes twinkled.

“Can we get on with it?” Cassandra groaned. “I cannot abide.”

***

“You must be the Herald-thingie! I’m supposed to make sure you glow.” Asta waved her hand around idly.

“Right then. And you are?”

“Right here, in your face, I’m Sera. My group, the Red Jennies, sticks it to nobles we hate. So I’m a ride-along, back to Haven to make myself useful.”

“Charming,” Vivienne rolled her eyes.

Sera stuck her tongue out. “My point is, you glow, we get the hole in the sky fixed or whatever, and the world gets back to normal. A nice, well-paid normal.”

“Sounds like a plan, Sera. Let’s get out of here.”

“Just a mo. I have a bag full of Guard breeches that I have to bring with me. We stuck it to the blighters that arrested you. Oh, and an entire shed of pointy hats?”

“Leave the hats, take the breeches,” Asta ordered.

“Oh, this will be grand!”

***

Asta and her expanded company trudged back into Haven, leading the horses. Vivienne and Sera had bickered the whole way. Cassandra’s glowering had affected the whole party. Maxwell had flirted with everyone, especially Cassandra, and it had put her in a horrible mood. He had also bothered Varric about The Tale of the Champion until even the garrulous dwarf was anticipating solitude.

So the entire group split like a banana as soon as they could. Asta led Cassandra, Vivienne and Maxwell to the Chantry, intending to report in and get resettled.

The war meeting that followed was charged. Cullen was pissed off.

“No one ever listens to me.”

“I already told you that you were right!”

“And not listening to me almost got you executed!” The shouting match was only going in circles, and everyone had a headache.

“This is getting us no where,” Leliana stated. “Cullen is right, Asta, you need further protection. We’ve been contacted by the Bull’s Chargers, a mercenary group. They’ve sent a representative inviting us to meet with their leader, the Iron Bull, at the Storm Coast. Before the Commander lost his temper,” and she shot him a quelling look that made him throw up his hands, “he was supposed to suggest you meet him there as soon as possible.” She placed a marker at the Storm Coast, and walked to the other side of the table, placing another at the Hinterlands. “Also, I continue to be convinced that the disappearance of the Grey Wardens is connected somehow to the death of the Divine.”

Cullen groaned, “Not this again. Wild theories and suppositions.”

Leliana glowered, and Cullen shut his mouth. “I have word of a Grey Warden in the Hinterlands,”

Asta groaned this time, “Not the Hinterlands again, Leliana…”

Another look had her stopping mid-sentence. “In the Hinterlands, a Warden Blackwall. This may be a chance to determine where the Wardens have disappeared to. If nothing else, if he can be recruited to our cause, then he will be another reliable warrior to take point and shield the Herald.”

“And what are your plans for my charming brother?” Asta narrowed her eyes at Leliana.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Asta. You needed a rescue, and your parents had offered his services,” Leliana pointed out diplomatically.

“They, much like you predicted, are playing both sides of our conflict. Publicly backing the Chantry, and disavowing all knowledge of your brother’s involvement, but privately sending the heir and funding our cause,” Josephine added.

Cullen sneered, “Despicable.”

“But smart,” Josie sighed.

“Either way, they win, and they still have Leonard if Maxwell is executed for treason.” Asta sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I need a nap.”

She didn’t get one. The meeting ended, but Cullen was not finished. “You have to take better care! Marching into traps, trading on your birth to spare you from…”

“I have never traded on my birth, Commander!”

“Nevertheless, I cannot be responsible for training such a careless, foolhardy…”

“Are you quite finished, Commander?” Asta’s eyes were all ice and dagger points.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Very well, since I require more protection from myself, I must prepare to visit the Storm Coast. I take my leave.” Asta hissed and left the room.

“Lady Herald.” As soon as she was gone, Cullen paced and rubbed the back of his neck. He punched the war table. It didn’t help. Why did he have to always say the wrong thing?

“I find punching things only breaks them. Try a training dummy,” Cassandra suggested drily.

“She is maddening. Why won’t she admit…”

“If I remember correctly, she did admit you were right. Multiple times. You didn’t listen.” Cassandra looked at him closely. “How are you?”

“Not good.” Cullen’s hands were shaking, with emotion or withdrawal, he couldn’t tell for sure. “I can endure the pain, but suspect I’m having mood swings. And the nausea is… bad.”

“You only suspect you are having mood swings?” Cassandra barked a laugh. She eyed him, “You should tell her what you are attempting.”

“Why? Why would she care? I’m a broken shell of an ex-Templar who can’t even control himself.”

“On the contrary, your control is excellent. Perhaps too much so. And as someone who has also left behind everything she has ever known, I suspect she would understand.” Cassandra stood to leave.

Cullen stopped her. “Cassandra, I want you to watch me. If I cannot do my job…”

“It will not come to that But I will watch you in any case.” As she left, Cullen sank to the floor, head in his hands. He hadn’t felt so at sea in his emotions in a long time. He told himself he would apologize to her in the morning.

But in the morning, she was already gone. Cullen had been delayed by dry heaves and the shakes. He cursed himself while wondering if it were for the best.

Leliana wandered in, almost at random.

“I’m not in the mood,” Cullen growled at her.

“I was just going to tell you to write to her, or I would.” Leliana said, and left immediately.

Later that day, Maxwell came into Cullen’s tent without announcing himself.

“Yes?” Cullen was still tense. The letter wasn’t going well and paper was everywhere.

“I wanted to tell you that if you talk to my sister like that again, your intestines will be wrapped around your neck,” Maxwell looked closely at his manicured fingernails. “Just because my parents don’t care about her doesn’t mean no one does.”

“Oh, yes, a brother that doesn’t write or visit her for years at a time.”

“Funny, several people have given me the impression that sort of thing was fairly common in the Inquisition. Pot meet kettle, I suppose.”

“How did you know…”

“Asta wouldn’t stop talking about you. She didn’t mention some obscure text, or talk about Shartan fathering Andraste’s kids, or discuss the true meaning behind Transfigurations. She talked about you. I know enough about you to have your family killed. I could blackmail you… but I won’t. Because my only sister, whom I care about, whatever she thinks, is taken with you.” Maxwell leaned in, dagger at Cullen’s throat. He hadn’t even seen it coming. “But, Maker and all his children, if you hurt her, I will end you. Is that clear?”

Cullen couldn’t help but be impressed, in a strange way. He hoped Branson had taken care of their sisters like this. “Perfectly.”

“Great. Take a break and have a pint with me.” Maxwell sheathed his dagger efficiently. “I’ll help you write your letter of apology to Asta.”

　

 


	10. Proven Worth

The Storm Coast was desolate, wild and rocky and Asta loved it. It fit her mood. The Iron Bull and his Chargers were another happy surprise. A Qunari spy, to be sure, but very open about his intentions.

“How many double agents does an Inquisition need?” Asta grumbled pointlessly.

Varric scratched his chin, “As many as we can get, if we can control the information flow.”

“Right. Sorry I asked. Ask a stupid question…” So Asta signed him on and sent him and his Chargers back to Haven while the smaller group headed back to the camp. The cliffs were steep and slippery, and Asta was winded when she finally arrived, sometime after the others.

“Word for you, Ser,” and the requisition officer handed her three letters. The seals looked like Leliana’s raven, her brother’s horse, and Cullen’s Mabari.

Asta gave in to her impulse to cuss at both her brother and Cullen. “That ass. Not a single letter in twenty years… And what is the Commander playing at?” She marched into the tent, still winded from her climb, flopping down on her bedroll and opened Leliana’s letter first, as the least likely to make her furious.

_Herald,_

_Haven is positively gloomy without you. A certain officer is putting the latest recruits through the Void. I know he wrote to you. Maybe take pity on him and write him back before the recruits quit and decide farming is the better option? Just a suggestion._

_Did you realize your brother flirts at anything that moves? If he hurts Josie, I will kill him. I think she likes the distraction though. She certainly approved of the gifts your parents sent, so that might be making her slightly more tolerant of his antics._

_When you return, we should discuss allies for closing the Breach more thoroughly. We have pinpointed the Templars withdrawal to Therinfall Redoubt, and may have an idea or two for contacting the mages at Redcliffe._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_L_

Asta gritted her teeth. As if she had any control over a brother she barely knew. She should just let Leliana kill him. Good riddance. But instead she opened his letter next, bracing herself.

_Dearest Little Sister,_

_I am very pleasantly surprised at the quality of female company you’ve provided for me at Haven. The barmaid Flissa is delicious to look upon. Too bad she only has eyes for your Commander. No worries upon that account though, I am keeping him company quite often, and he only thinks of you. It’s a little tiresome, honestly. I hope you appreciate the letter. He agonized over it for days. Despite his little temper tantrum he seems a decent sort. I think he isn’t entirely healthy though. Just a suspicion._

_Oh, and about the ladies… Leliana is a bit too scary to be enticing, but Lady Josephine… she’s delightful. Do you think our parents would approve? No matter, I suppose, since while I'm here I’m persona non grata. I can do as I please, if the lady is willing…_

_Hope you are staying dry! I hear the Storm Coast lives up to its name._

_M. T._

Asta’s hands shook slightly over the last envelope. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal.

_Lady Asta,_

_I should probably be more formal with you, after my boorish behavior. I intended to apologize in person before your departure, but was detained unavoidably. I could make any number of excuses, but they would all be empty._

_Instead, I offer my apologies. You did nothing but try to further our cause, and I should have supported and encouraged you, instead of taking my fears for your safety out on you. I am more of an asshole than your brother, and that’s saying something. You are not careless or foolhardy. In every situation you have shown yourself capable and eager to improve._

_Asta, forgive me. I hope we can resume your training upon your return. If not, I understand, and can recommend a few likely instructors beyond Cassandra, if you will allow. I will leave the list with Leliana if you do not wish to speak with me more than is strictly necessary._

_Again, I beg your forgiveness._

_I remain yours,_

_Cullen Rutherford_

Asta let out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. She was still mad, but she would use her anger wisely. Clever Leliana. Her stupid brother. Idiot Cullen. She would show all of them how capable she was.

“Pack it up! We’re going to find a Warden! And bring me some ink and paper, please.”

Right after she spoke to Warden Blackwall, they were going to Redcliffe. But first she had to write a short letter.

_Commander,_

_Apology not accepted. Do it in person, or not at all._

_Sincerely,_

_A. Trevelyan_

***

Blackwall was eager to be recruited, so the slightly larger group made their way across the Hinterlands. In other moods, Asta would have taken the time to appreciate the area’s natural beauty while riding. As it was, even her companions were disturbed by her relentless focus.

When they took a right at the Crossroads instead of heading for Haven, Varric spoke up. “Little Sister? Where are we headed?” He sounded nervous.

“We are going to Redcliffe,” Asta bit out.

“Um, do the advisors know? That whole place is locked down with the rebel mages inside.”

“No, they don’t, and no, I don’t care. They will speak to me one way or another.”

“Curly ain’t gonna like this, Little Sister,” Varric tried one more time.

Asta spun her horse around to face him. “Don’t call me Little Sister. My brother thought it was funny when I took my vows. It is not cute, it is a reminder that I have no family and a future that only revolves around Andraste. Just stop.”

“Sure, Asta. Sorry, I didn’t know.” Varric was taken aback. He’d never seen her angry for so long. Usually her temper blew out like a candle in a draft.

Cassandra spoke up, “It is good we are going to Redcliffe. We’ve delayed getting help with the Breach for too long.” Asta glared at her, too. “Not that our other tasks were not important as well…”

Varric chuckled. Asta when angry even made the Seeker recoil.

“Why the mages?” Vivienne asked smoothly. “Surely the Templars…” Asta turned her glare on her, and Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “Have I missed something?”

“Sensitive topic, Madame. I suggest you drop it,” Varric shook his head.

“Very well.”

But Redcliffe did not provide Asta’s hoped for revenge. 

“Really, I had no idea Fiona was so incompetent at her job! Indentured to a Tevinter magister?” Vivienne tossed her head. “She should have retired years ago and taken up gardening.”

Asta sat by the docks, thinking deeply.

Cassandra spoke up next. “We cannot let a Tevinter magister remain on Fereldan soil. And there is no sign of Arl Teagan.”

“I can tell you about Arl Teagan," A young man stepped around the corner.  "My uncle rode for Denerim to ask for King Alistair’s assistance."

“Uncle?” Cassandra asked, confused.

“I’m Connor Guerrin. Teagan is my uncle. Please, you’ve got to help us - the mages, I mean. Surely enslaving us all to Tevinter isn’t the way to stop this conflict!” He was obviously distraught.

Asta stood up, no longer waffling. “You are both right. And Redcliffe is filled with children. Trap or no trap, we are going to meet this person at the Chantry.” She shook her head, “Andraste’s Tits, why is it always the Chantry?” Refocusing, she stared down Varric. “In the meantime, Varric, get everyone out that you can. Quietly. Concentrate on the Tranquil and other innocents. It won’t be many, I know, but maybe the healer close to the gates can help? Maker’s Balls, this is a disaster. Blackwall, Cassandra, Vivienne, you are with me.” She braced herself. “It’s time to light a candle.”

The Chantry itself was a mess - partially looted, pews askew, with a massive rift inside spawning demons. Demons that were being repelled for the moment, by a rather flamboyant mage. Asta paused to appreciate the irony of a single mage fighting to preserve the Chantry.

“There you are! Help, please!” The mage chirped, almost cheerily. The warriors were already engaging with the demons, so Asta just did her best to disrupt the rift. With only a minor delay, the rift was sealed. “That was bracing! How did you do that?” The mage looked at Asta and laughed. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and ‘poof!’”

Asta scowled at him, but liked him in spite of everything.

“Careful, Herald, he’s another Tevinter.” Cassandra warned.

Instead of being warned off, though, Asta looked at him with greater interest. “I was expecting Felix. Are you a magister?”

The mage sighed in an exaggerated manner. “Dorian Pavus, at your service. I’ll say this once, I’m an Altus, not a member of the Magisterium. Alexius was my mentor, a long time ago. I’m here to try to stop him.”

Asta frowned. She wanted to like this man, but she knew better than to trust blindly. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith.”

Dorian demurred. “On the contrary, I have details on the magic Alexius used to get here so soon after the Conclave. This magic is wildly unstable. I have no idea why he would go to such lengths…”

“I told you, Dorian, he did it for me.” Felix stepped into the Chantry and shut the door.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” Dorian looked concerned.

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d never stop fussing.”

Dorian nodded and turned back to Asta. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I need it to stay that way.”

Asta stopped frowning and decided to take a risk. “Very well, speak to the sister, Sister Tanner, right outside the Chantry. She’s a smuggler for the Inquisition. She’ll see you safely to Haven. We will speak more there.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Smuggling Chantry Sisters? The South is full of diversions!”

Asta grinned at him, her foul mood finally broken. “Altus Pavus, you have no idea what our Sisters are capable of.”

***

In Haven, Cullen was pouring his heart out to Asta’s brother. Again. Maxwell was drinking. Again.

“Or not at all, she said,” Cullen gulped his ale as if the answer would be at the bottom of the mug.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Never has a single written line caused so much angst. Look, just the fact that she wrote at all is promising. I’ll tell you what to do.”

Cullen looked up, bleary eyed from lack of sleep and alcohol. “You will?” He looked a little like a lost puppy.

“First, you need peonies.”

“Flowers? Isn’t that kind of trite?”

Maxwell sighed. It was for his sister, he reminded himself. He’d do this for her. “Just any flowers, yes. But peonies have a meaning. Most flowers do. Presented properly, they mean ‘I am ashamed’. Then, you need purple hyacinths.”

Cullen looked skeptical. “And those mean?”

“'Please forgive me.' Round the whole thing off with some white tulips for forgiveness and you are set.”

“And she won’t just think I’m giving her flowers.”

“I guarantee this will work.” Maxwell smiled and stretched. “I’d guarantee you’d get laid, but it is my sister you are talking about. Remember you like your intestines where they are.”

Cullen snorted, “Don’t worry, I’ll be a gentleman.”

“No, I’m a gentleman. A gentleman would have had her two months ago.” Maxwell looked at him, critically. “You need to be yourself. Relax a little.  For some reason, Maker knows, she likes you.  Quit second guessing yourself.”

***

It was two weeks later, and Cullen had never felt so awkward, not even at his first barn dance in Honnleath at the age of twelve. Asta had been back just long enough to report on Redcliffe and look at him as if he were a bug.

All the advisors had been surprised at her proactively contacting the mages. Cullen suspected it had been out of spite, but was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. He hadn’t been subtle about his preferences. But after the update on the situation in Redcliffe, Asta had told them to get off their collective asses and make a decision, and then retired to bathe.

So an hour later Cullen found himself outside her cabin, bouquet in hand, with her brother, Varric, and surprisingly Cassandra, cheering him on from the shadows.

He rubbed the back of his neck and knocked.

“Enter!” Panicked, he saw Varric flash him a thumbs up, so he opened the door.

It was evening, and the setting sun was dying the room golden. She was drying her hair in front of the fire, the golden and orange lights casting interesting shadows about her form.

Cullen swallowed. “Um, Ast… Lady Trevelyan?”

“Yes, Commander?” She didn’t turn.  Maker's Breath, she was still angry. 

“These are for you.” The flowers, especially the tulips, had started to droop, but considering the circumstances - having peonies, hyacinths and tulips delivered in a mountain pass was difficult - he had done his best, as had Josephine. And he had the chocolates in his desk in his tent as a back up plan.

She finally turned, and stared blankly at the posy he held out. He had another flashback to being a farm boy from Honnleath, awkward and shy, offering dandelions to a giggling girl.

She didn’t move to take the flowers so he decided to leave. “I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea.”

Inexplicably, Asta’s face softened then. She took the flowers gently, their fingers touching just a moment in passing. “I had forgotten,” she nearly whispered. “Hyacinths are for…”

“Please, forgive me,” Cullen said, looking down.

“Peonies say…”

“I am ashamed,” he continued.

“And white tulips are for forgiveness.” She plucked a single tulip out of the bunch and handed it back to him.

Cullen took the flower and finally looked her in the eye. Did this mean what he thought?

“You are forgiven,” then Asta smirked, “However, you should tell my brother that while it worked this time, he should have warned you about tying it up with a purple ribbon.”

Cullen sighed, defeated. “And a purple ribbon means?”

She laid the flowers aside, pausing to remove the ribbon. Slowly, she twisted it around her fingers, looking up at him and moving closer. “It stands for passion. You gave me a bouquet to apologize, like a gentleman, but tied it in a way that told me you had suppressed desires.” Her eyes were candle flames, reflecting the light of the fire.

“Oh.” It would be so easy to kiss her, he thought. “Well, your brother did say that a gentleman would have had you two months ago.”  Damn it, I just said the wrong thing again.

The flames in her eyes died. “I need to have words with my brother.” She moved to leave the cabin, but Cullen stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Lady… Asta, before you go…” Cullen swallowed again, “He wouldn’t have been wrong. If he had told me how to bind it, I mean. I do… have…”

Asta laid her hand on his, and smiled. “That’s good to know.”

“It is?” Cullen’s voice broke. “It is! Of course it is. Good to know. Right.” He stepped, closing the distance, daring himself to take the final step.

And then a crash from right outside the door made them jump apart. “And that would be my brother, I imagine,” Asta said in a loud voice, meant to be overheard, “Determined to intervene before we consummate our love! Ser Knight! I cannot resist you any longer! Pray, have your way with me!” Her eyes twinkled at him to play along.

“My lady,” Cullen’s voice deepened, and it made her mouth go dry, “never would I dream of defiling such a flower, when her family is so against our passion.”

Another knock at the door, louder this time, and a muffled voice that sounded like Cassandra’s. “Move over, dwarf! I can’t see!”

Asta kicked her performance into a gallop. “Alas, for I cannot bear to be apart from you! Please, Ser Knight, take this favor,” and Asta handed him the purple ribbon. “To remember our impossible,” and she winked, “attraction.”

“With pleasure, my lady,” and Cullen kissed the ribbon, deadly serious beneath his smirk. Asta was biting her lip, trying not to laugh or lunge at him, and undecided as to which was more likely.

And then the door fell in, followed by three adults, shocked, sheepish and suspicious in turn.

Maxwell was the first to bounce back. “So have you two kissed and made up?”

“No,” Asta said, glaring. “And since you were listening at the fucking door you already know.”

Cassandra stood, looking wistful and ashamed. She started to say something, but left instead. Varric just winked and closed the door after him.

“Just being a responsible brother,” Maxwell rocked back on his heels, unrepentantly.

“Responsible, Andraste’s Ass, you voyeur!”

“Now, now, Little Sister. You shouldn’t take your name in vain like that.” Maxwell’s eyes shot to Cullen. “Can I see you out, Ser Knight?” His lips twitched.

“Die in a pile, Maxwell,” Asta gritted out.

“Sleep well, Little Sister.”

Cullen was the last to leave, ribbon still in his hand.  "Good night, Asta."

"Good night, Ser Knight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: I love the language of flowers. I have tattoos designed around the language. And since Cullen is notoriously bad with words when he doesn't have 'help'... I made him say it with flowers.
> 
> Second: Yes, I've played Bioshock, and know that 'Little Sister' is a super creepy weird nickname in that context. But if you have older brothers, you know how annoying they can be. I'm very afraid that Maxwell is out of my control - send help. Maybe I'll be able to send him back to Ostwick soon. I am having to rewrite half my chapters because of him. Maybe he can mature? That would be nice. In the meantime, I have no intention whatsoever of anyone being called Big Daddy. You are welcome.


	11. Life Choices

Asta faced Maxwell the next morning. “You took a risk. How did you know that I would remember Mother’s obsession with hidden messages?”

“Oh please, you were just as obsessed. And I know that you and she had discussed them at least once when you were barely in your teens.” Maxwell was lounging on her bed, head in his hands. “And I knew from your work that you still played with ciphers.”

“My work?! How closely has the family been watching me?”

“Asta, you were always watched. In Kirkwall, I know of at least two mugging attempts that never happened thanks to the family’s surveillance. Just because you were serving the Chantry didn’t mean you weren’t family any longer. Mother was horrified for years by your research. But even she came around, in the end.

And that’s the thing. You think the family is betting that you will fail? Quite the contrary, we are all taking the odds that you will be successful. No one other than you knows how much the Chant of Light has changed. No one else even cares. Little Sister, you are the last great hope for the Chantry, and probably for Thedas itself. The only one that doesn’t realize it is you.”

Asta scowled. “I don’t want to be the savior of Thedas. I want to travel and study.”

“You are thinking way too small, Little Sister. Play your cards right and you could end up the next Divine.”

“That’s the last thing I want. And you are insane. I’ve been excommunicated, didn’t the Ambassador tell you?”

“Yeah, but seal the Breach, save the world - I think you’ll find yourself a little less excommunicated and a little more in a position of asking for whatever you want.” He angled himself off the bed. “Well, I have an Ambassador to harass, and now that you have brought Cassandra back to Haven, I want to talk to her as well. I’ll see you later, Little Sister.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Not until it stops bothering you.”

***

The advisors had been arguing again. Sleep hadn’t brought clarity to their decision about Redcliffe, and Asta was fed up.

 

“The mages are also sheltering children and Tranquil, neither of which can protect themselves,” Asta pointed out for what felt like the dozenth time. “Between that and the political situation of having a Tevinter magister hold Redcliffe Castle, we have to intervene. You don’t just let a foreign power take root like a weed on your doorstep. Commander, I expected you at least to understand that.”

 

“Redcliffe is one of the most defensible strongholds in Thedas! We cannot just lay siege and expect it to crumble!” Cullen’s irritation was growing with every word. “And our ultimate goal is not defending Fereldan from Tevinter, or even saving the mages from their own short-sightedness. It is closing the Breach, and the Templars…”

 

“The Templars are adults - they didn’t take recruits with them, all our sources say so. The mages aren’t the greater threat, but the magister controlling them is.”

“Has anyone thought of the fact that King Alistair would likely not welcome an Orlesian army marching through his country?” Josephine added, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That would definitely cause a diplomatic scene, if not outright war. The mages have made their bed, perhaps now they should be allowed to lay upon it.”

“There has to be a way,” Asta said, desperate. “These are children. Varric only got half a dozen Tranquil and youth out. They didn’t vote, they didn’t sell themselves into slavery. And none of the mages deserve this, whatever their misguided leadership has agreed to.”

“Misguided? Is that what they are calling it now?” Cullen nearly roared.

“I would have expected better of Fiona,” Leliana interjected. “She was once a slave, long ago. Before she became a Grey Warden.”

Cassandra pleaded, “The magister…”

“Has outplayed us.” Cullen spoke firmly, his knuckles white on his sword’s hilt.

“Can we contact Arl Teagan? Connor said that he was in Denerim…” Asta trailed off, realizing that she was gripping at straws.

“Wait,” Leliana spoke again, memory clearing her mind, “There is a way. An escape route for the family. A small force could infiltrate the castle, but we would need a distraction. Perhaps the meeting with the Herald that Alexius desires so much?”

“No,” Cullen put his foot down, “You said yourself he wants this meeting so badly it cannot mean anything but attempted assassination. Absolutely not.”

Asta thought hard. “Cul… Commander, you were sworn to protect. If I don’t do this, the Tranquil in Redcliffe will die, and their skulls made into Ocularum. The mage children will be transported and turned into cannon fodder for Tevinter’s campaign against the Qun. I have that from Alexius himself - they are destined for the military. Yes, this is a trap. And I’ll be walking into it with my eyes open.” Asta looked at him. “I don’t see any other option.”

“And fortunately, you’ll have my help!” Dorian slammed the war room’s door open, a chagrined scout at his heels protesting his entrance futilely. “Asta, my dear, your smuggler friends put me in amongst the cabbages. I will never get the smell out of my robes.”

“I recommend avoiding nugskin in the future,” Asta joked, “Now then, Altus Pavus, how can you help?”

“Asta, don’t do this,” Cullen eyes spoke volumes. “You don’t have to play the bait. We can still go after the Templars.”

“If we did that, we would be selling the mage children into slavery.” She looked away. “I will not be complicit. I am sorry, Commander, but my path is clear. The Templars are on their own. We will not turn any away that seek asylum, correct, ladies?” The other advisors nodded. “But they will have to make their own way here.”

***

Two dead guards lay in the water at Asta’s feet. “I should never be allowed to make decisions again,” she said, hyperventilating. “What happened? Where are we?”

“Not where, but when!” Dorian was giddy, muttering about displacement, almost excited with what had just happened. “We must still be in Redcliffe. But Alexius’ spell, probably meant to erase you from time entirely…”

“You mean it meant to kill me…”

Dorian waved away such a trivial concern, “Well, yes, but that’s such a crass way of putting it. As I was saying, I countered it and it sent us through time instead!”

“We traveled through time.” Asta felt faint, and tucked her head between her knees in an effort to improve blood flow. “What date is it? How much time has passed?”

“Those are excellent questions, Asta. May I call you Asta?”

“Whatever. You can get us back, right?”

“I have some thoughts on that. They are lovely thoughts, like little jewels…” Dorian trailed off, looking dreamy eyed, as Asta stripped the keys from the dead guard’s belt and stood up.

“Good, because I have a future, and this isn’t it.”

***

Asta threw up when they found Fiona, somehow alive but more lyrium than flesh. She panicked more upon realizing that all of the destruction had happened over the course of a single year. As if that encounter had opened the floodgates, she cried when they found Lysas, the elf from Redcliffe, chanting about how Andraste had blessed him, when she had merely told him to be careful.

Cassandra, glowing and injured brought her back to her knees. Dorian had to help her up after that. And the Iron Bull, seeing her distress, kept her talking and talking about anything and everything, seeing how it helped her cope long enough to function.

And then they found Cullen, his once strong form emaciated and hanging upside down from the ceiling, completely enclosed in lyrium, with new scars and a look on his face that suggested he had died screaming.

Asta heaved, there was nothing else to bring up, no water to offer, even if they could trust it in this corrupted keep. Dorian rubbed her back and Cassandra said a prayer to honor the dead. When she was done, the Iron Bull took his axe and destroyed the pillar of lyrium with one blow.

He spoke, “Boss, I don’t know about you, but I know a ‘Vint who should die for this.”

Asta nodded, and stood, shakily, but on her own. “Let’s find Leliana. Maybe she still lives.”

The Iron Bull agreed, “Yeah, the Nightingale is one tough broad. Too tough to die.”

Asta whirled on him, “And Cullen wasn’t?”

“Love makes people vulnerable, Boss. There is a reason there is no room for love in the Qun.”

“He wasn’t in love.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Boss. Whatever gets you out of here.”

Leliana lived, but was a changed woman. If she had been harsh before with traitors, now she was a spirit of death incarnate. She refused to talk about her experiences, for which Asta was grateful. They were written on her skin in any case, scars upon scars over shrunken skin pulled over her bones.

Asta stumbled almost blindly through the castle, fighting when necessary, and watching horrors play out in front of her eyes. She watched Connor commit suicide, saw children being used as blood sacrifices by a mage she had talked to in the tavern. Rifts upon rifts she closed, leading to a courtyard that glowed green from an omnipresent Breach.

She slumped against the ground again, nearly defeated, yet knowing she couldn’t give up. “All this happened because I wasn’t here.” She was finally out of tears, dry eyed and empty.

“Yes,” Leliana said, ruthlessly. “It did. More people died for you than you can ever imagine.”

“Stop it, Leliana,” Cassandra leapt to Asta’s side, supporting her weight. “It was not her fault.”

“Perhaps not, but her absence had these consequences,” Leliana shot back.

The Iron Bull broke in, “Ladies, let’s just get to the ‘Vint. We can argue about whose fault it is later.”

Asta stepped away from Cassandra, a little more stable, a little more focused. “Yes, let’s do that,” but blaming herself the whole time. Cullen had been right, again.

When would she learn to listen?

***

“I want the world back,” Leliana slit Felix’s throat, ending his suffering. Asta watched the whole thing, eyes blank and emotionless. Felix wasn’t there, after all, only his husk. And watching his son die had taken the fight out of Alexius.

With Alexius gone, Dorian started casting. Asta had to argue with her friends, who were absolutely determined to sacrifice themselves for her. One by one she watched them fall to demons, the Iron Bull tossed aside like a rag doll, Cassandra crumpled like waste paper, and then heroic Leliana saying the chant like she believed it, shooting arrows until they were gone, and then fighting with what remained of her strength until at last even she was overwhelmed.

She tried, at the last, to run to them to help somehow, but Dorian restrained her. And then, at last, he shoved her through the spell and they landed, where they began, dizzy and disoriented, in a world more grey than red and green.

Alexius fell to his knees in surrender. Asta wanted to do the same. Instead, she ordered him taken into custody, just in time for Fereldan’s sovereign to march in and give Fiona an ultimatum.

“When I offered the mages sanctuary in Redcliffe after the circles fell, I did not expect you to invite Tevinter to the party.” King Alistair’s famous wit had lived up to his reputation. “You are hereby exiled from Fereldan.”

“But where will we go? What will we do?” Fiona was well and truly trapped.

“Your problem, not mine,” King Alistair replied. “You have abused Redcliffe’s hospitality for long enough.”

Asta saw her opportunity. “You could join the Inquisition. We still need assistance in closing the Breach.”

“I suggest you take her offer. It’s far more generous than any others you are likely to receive.”

Fiona’s ears drooped. “Very well,” she answered, resigned. “It appears we have no alternative.”

“I expect you to be out of Redcliffe by the end of the week.” King Alistair turned to Asta. “Herald, I would like to speak to you privately, if I may.” Pulling her to the side of the room, he muttered, “Elissa would have my hide, exiling like that but it serves her right, leaving me to deal with everything on my own. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He looked at her. “I thought you’d be taller. No matter, I want to ask you to keep an eye on Connor, Teagan’s nephew.”

“We’ve met,” Asta began.

“Good. He’s my cousin, of a sort. He’s never been the same, after the Blight, after what happened here. I suspect you’ve heard the stories. No wonder, really. I would tell you the Crown of Fereldan is in your debt and all that, but… blah, blah, gratitude. And honestly, I still have to deal with Teagan who is beyond angry at the damage done to his lands. So… we’ll be in touch. Say hello to Leliana for me.”

Asta’s head spun. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

He smiled wickedly, looking more like a small boy than a sovereign ever should. “Hang in there, Herald. Saving the world can take a lot out of you. I’m sure my wife would agree. After all, she has to put up with me.”

***

Asta made it back to camp, since Arl Teagan was in no mood to offer hospitality to anyone associated with the mages. Dorian and Cassandra made her eat and drink something. She crawled into her tent and stared at the canvas walls, seeing only green light and red crystal, Cullen inside. And then Leliana with a broken neck. All the people, including her now living friends, dead from protecting her.

And then she saw herself, for the first time, as the savior of the world. She wept, at last, for the loss of her friends, for their sacrifices, and for her own - the ones she had yet to make.

She was trapped by more than vows, now.

***

The worst part of returning to Haven was that no one knew anything about that future except for Dorian. When Cullen reprimanded her for making the mages allies she burst into tears, knowing that it was pointless, that he hadn’t seen what she had seen. That he, no doubt, had his own nightmares to deal with.

It happened again when Connor arrived. He just looked bewildered and confused, as Asta ran off to deal with her outburst alone. When Lysas walked through the gates several days later, she had to lean up against a scaffold before her knees gave out.

She tried to thank Leliana, who blew her final sacrifice off as a good bargain. Solas seemed merely envious and disbelieving, as if it were a fairy tale adventure and she had left him behind.

She kept trying to talk about it, but no one understood. She even tried speaking to Mother Gisele, in a last ditch attempt to be heard. But her platitudes and well meaning calm just grated on Asta’s nerves, and she left her without saying goodbye.

But Dorian was there. He let her blab on about never wanting to make decisions again. About sacrifice, about how she hated the word duty. About how she was trapped in a religion that she didn’t believe in. And eventually, they started to compare notes, and Asta found herself wishing for a sheet of paper.

“So in Tevinter they think Andraste was a mage? That makes so much sense! Have you heard the saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe?”

“I know, right?” Dorian looked at her. “You know, even saying that in the South could get you tossed out on your pretty little ass.”

“Good thing you can’t be excommunicated twice.” She laughed, then stopped, aware that it was the first time she had laughed since Redcliffe. “Not that it matters. I’m bound to the Inquisition until this is over. And it may never end.”

“Now, now, my dear. Everything ends. And don’t think about it like that!”

She gave him an evil stare. “How should I think then?”

“You should be looking over that direction,” and he moved her chin so that she was facing the training yard, where Cullen was facing them, watching them talk, “And telling yourself that you may be stuck here, but at least it’s a nice view.”

 


	12. For What It's Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought about noting this NSFW, but it's still innocent. If you blink you'll miss it. I will change ratings and tag appropriately before things get explicit. As they probably will, if I'm brave enough to post the smut I've already written.

Cullen had been distant to Asta since she left for Redcliffe. The trouble he had staying professional, separating Asta from the Herald, was only getting worse. His violent rejection to her playing the bait for Alexius at the war table was evidence enough. She was Asta to him almost all the time now, and his work was suffering for it.

It wasn’t safe for him to think that way. He had other lives to think of besides just one woman. But he wanted… for one of the first times he could remember he wanted something of his own. He flipped his coin over and over in his fingers, a nervous habit dating nearly from the day his brother had given it to him, so long ago. The picture of Andraste on the face was worn down with his fingers. Over the years he had nearly rubbed her away.

He rolled over on his cot, restless with the temptation. Ever since he had quit taking lyrium it seemed his mind and body delighted in bringing up things he would have rejected in Kirkwall. Fancy armor played to his vanity. Commanding forces toyed with his pride. A beautiful, intelligent woman stringing along his lust.

And now, seeing her with that mage, smirking at him when he was caught looking, his envy was threatening to overthrow him entirely. He should have been more forward, should have been clearer. He should have kissed her when he gave her the flowers, as soon as it was evident that she had forgiven him. Eavesdropping brother or not, he had lost his chance, all because of a mustached Lothario from Tevinter of all Void-begotten places.

The crux of the matter was that he had caught them embracing earlier, and his heart had split between jealousy and rage. He had imagined himself, in the magister’s place, wondered how warm she would be compared to the cold in the snow-blown air. Would she kiss his neck as he held her? He imagined cupping the curve of her ass with one hand, soft and supple beneath the leather. Would she be bold, squeezing back? Or just press herself tightly against him as he kissed her?

He had to stop thinking about these things. His body and mind had long since turned traitor and he had only meant to lay down for a moment, just to close his eyes and let his headache recede before he went to organize the mages and meet the others for the war meeting before the Breach.

He groaned, knowing that dealing with the mages was already driving Cassandra insane. He only expected more of the same. Circle mages were not used to being autonomous like Solas or even that Altus. And it appeared many more than originally thought now missed their gilded Tower cages versus the reality of life outside the Circle. Apparently the grass truly was always greener on the other side of the fence. He groaned again, half pain, half dread.

“Was that groan on my sister’s behalf?”

“Max, would you please announce yourself before entering?”

“Why? Afraid I’ll catch you doing something inappropriate?” Maxwell looked interested for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, you are far too uptight. It’d probably do you good, though.” He sat down at the corner of his desk. Cullen opened one eye and peered at him resentfully. “Fine, I’ll go. Just wanted to tell you that from what I can tell it’s innocent.”

“What’s innocent?” Cullen’s thoughts were only on the mages and the troubles they brought with them. His mind flashed to blood magic and abominations, body tensing.

“Pavus and Asta. Yeah, they bonded in the future and all that, but, my uptight friend, the two of them have spent more time checking you out together than they have embracing in private corners. And the embracing, which I know you witnessed, was accompanied by tears.”

“How the hell did you get close enough… Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Cullen sat up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head. “Maker’s Breath, you mean…”

“Yep, Pavus bats for the other team.”

“Not that, I don’t care about that.” Cullen rubbed his head, cursing the fact that he had missed something so obvious. “She’s hurting.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard it all. Pavus is way more patient than I would be. Not that she’s tried to talk to me. I’m literally the only one she hasn’t tried to talk to, except you.”

“Why not me? I mean, I can see why she would avoid you like the plague, but surely…”

“You yelled at her. Again. She saw you dead in that twisted future - I stole Leliana’s report - and the first thing you did when she got back to Haven was fucking yell at her about the mage alliance and make her cry. Seriously, if Josie hadn’t convinced me you were necessary to the Inquisition’s success you would probably be dead at the bottom of the lake right now.”

Maxwell stood, brushing off miniscule dust motes. “You really should stop making my sister cry. Everyone is worried about her, and not just because we need her hand in order to seal the Breach. For that matter, sealing the Breach could fucking kill her - it knocked her out for days before, didn’t it?”

Cullen put his head in his hands. He had never felt so inadequate.

Max nodded, “My work here is done. Go speak to Leliana, and take those Antivan chocolates Josie says you’ve been hoarding.” Max hesitated. “She still likes you.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“I know. But she’s always made up her own mind about things. And let’s face it - if you wait too long she will be in Val Royeaux, fenced around with even more vows, unattainable in every way. This is your chance, Cullen. Don’t blow it.”

“Val Royeaux? Why would she be in Val Royeaux?”

“My parents are posturing with the Chantry for a reason. They want Asta to be the next Divine. I don’t think either of us wants that to happen, and I know my sister doesn’t. Give her what she does want, Cullen. One of the only things she’s ever let herself want.” Max shook his head. “Look at me, I’ve turned into a blighted love expert. The Chantry certainly fucked up both of you. Good thing I’m not in charge. I’d be inclined to let the whole thing fall to pieces.”

After he left, Cullen sat for a moment longer. Max was an annoying jerk who was far too fond of doing exactly what he pleased when he pleased, but… damn it. He stood up. He had to find Asta.

He found her half-hidden sitting in a patch of elfroot next to the Chantry, accompanied, of course, by Pavus.

“Well, look at that! Reinforcements!” Pavus struggled to his feet, encumbered by Asta clutching and glaring at him. “Asta, my dear, I’m freezing. I’m used to temperatures far more temperate. Please, let me go inside and warm up before the next round of angst?” Dorian left them alone, winking at Cullen cheekily.

“May I sit?”

“No one is stopping you.”

The stone was cold behind his back, but her voice was colder. He shivered, knowing which bothered him more. “It really is freezing out here. Aren’t you cold?”

“No. Druffalo hide protects pretty well.”

“I’m glad you liked it, or at least found it useful.” Cullen ran out of small talk. He picked up her hand, encased in a rather large mitten. “I have to apologize again. But I don’t have any flowers to do it for me. Is that okay?”  He cursed himself for forgetting the chocolates in his desk.

“I guess. It depends what you have to say.” Asta’s voice didn’t betray any curiosity.

Cullen picked a stalk of elfroot. “In the language of flowers what does elfroot stand for?”

“Restoration and healing.”

Cullen snorted. “That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

“Nobody said it was always subtle.”

“Right.” Cullen quit putting it off and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled, and made you cry. That future didn’t seem real, just reading it on a page. You faced horrors that none of the rest of us will ever understand, and it isolated you. We… no, I didn’t intend for that to happen.” He stopped for a breath. He had to stop there. If he went any further this would be about his feelings, and there were too many for one conversation. She didn’t need to carry his burdens.

“Thank you for apologizing.” Her voice still sounded numb.

Cullen stifled his disappointment. What had he expected? It had been a week since her return, and he had made himself unavailable in every way. “I am sorry.” He stood to go.

“You died screaming.”

Cullen’s face went blank. “What?”

“Your face, it was obvious. You were encased in red lyrium from the ceiling, they hung you there like a fucking chandelier and you died screaming.”

Cullen’s nightmares rose to meet him. He swallowed hard, “That sounds sadly familiar,” and thought of Meredith in the Gallows at Kirkwall.

Asta reached out suddenly and hugged him around the legs. “Don’t go. I can’t be alone right now. All I see in the people of Haven is their twisted futures, and the green of the Breach and the red of the lyrium…” Cullen eased himself back down after detaching her gently.

“I understand, a little. Some of the things that happened during the Blight… well, I’ve never forgotten. I don’t like to speak of it, but if you need to, I’m here.”

She slumped against him, as if her muscles refused to hold her up for a moment longer. “I’ve talked a lot. It was unfair to Dorian. He didn’t know any of you, but he was the only one that remembered. And that’s a good thing.” She drew a shuddering breath. “It was horrible. And when I got back…”

“I was an ass.”

She snorted. “Well, yes.”

“Thanks for the honesty.” Cullen bumped his shoulder with hers.

“You can be a real jerk. I mean, I’ve known you for a couple of months now, and you really are excellent at saying exactly the wrong thing.” She was giggling, actually giggling, and Cullen’s mood lightened at the sound.

“It’s a gift. Someday you should ask Varric the kind of stuff I said to the Champion in Kirkwall. And Leliana knows what I said to the Hero of Fereldan right after she saved me at Kinloch Hold. It’s like my brain stops working, and when I open my mouth only the worst possible thing gets said.”

“Wow, with a gift like that I’m surprised you talk at all.”

Cullen squinted at her. The light was failing and he couldn’t see her face clearly enough. “Well, I don’t much. It’s safer that way.”

They sat, watching twilight fade into dusk, and the twirling snowflakes fall through the torchlight cast from the Chantry’s sconces. She leaned further against him and shivered slightly.

“You know what? Don’t talk to Varric or Leliana.” Cullen said, gloomy. “You’ll just hate me afterward. And I don’t want you to hate me.”

“We all say stupid things. I keep telling you that you’re wrong just before I walk into a trap and nearly get myself and everyone else killed in an apocalypse.”

“What I said then, it wasn’t stupid. It was prejudiced and wrong. You have a poor enough opinion of me as it is. I don’t need to add to it.”

Asta turned her head and met his eyes. “I don’t have a poor opinion of you.”

“Really?” Once again, she was right there. But he didn’t dare ruin this moment. “Could have fooled me.”

“Ahem!” Leliana cleared her throat, a sheaf of reports in her hand. “You both are late. Herald, Commander, surely there is a more appropriate place for whatever intimacies you are indulging in than a Chantry courtyard?” Asta rolled her eyes as Cullen blushed. Leliana continued, “When you two are done acting like teenagers, please join us inside. The most senior mages have organized themselves and are ready to approach the Breach in the morning.” She started to move away, back into the warmth of the Chantry.

Cullen and Asta looked at each other.

“Teenagers, huh?” Asta smiled.

“More appropriate settings? What would those be, with your brother haunting your every move?”

“Only when he’s not harassing some poor female. He needs a better purpose for his time.”

“I wonder if we can convince Leliana to assign him elsewhere?”

“It’s a thought.” Asta clambered up and offered a hand to Cullen. He took it and stood as well, hardly needing the assistance. “Until then, I’m thinking we should find one of these ‘appropriate places’. Any ideas?”

“You know, Leliana should have experience with teenagers. When the Hero and Alistair were at the Tower they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, despite all the demons. I remember. It was embarrassing.  I almost took her down thinking he was under the thrall of a desire demon.”

Leliana popped her head back out of the Chantry door. “I heard that. For the record, it was cute. Adorable, even. But you two are adults. Act like it.” Considering a moment, she added. “And I’ll think about someplace to send your brother. He’s bothering Josie. And Cassandra. And Scout Harding. Everyone but Flissa is complaining about him, and I bet that’s just a matter of time. Just get your asses in here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 


	13. Into the Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent the weekend cleaning this up. Hardest chapter I've had to write so far. Still not hitting the bar I wanted for it, and shorter than I'd like, but I'm going to post it anyway. I can't see how to make it better right now. When the fic is done I'll probably edit the whole thing like crazy anyway. Still don't like the beginning.

The Breach was closed, the Breach was closed. The words hammered with his heartbeat against the pulse in his ears.

Asta had lived, they all still lived, and anything was possible. Cullen had taken a turn at watch, to enable another of his soldiers a chance to celebrate. There had until now been so little to celebrate, but with the Breach closed, morale was at an all time high. The bonfires were brilliant, ale was flowing, and even Adan the sour alchemist was dancing.

And she was alive. He watched her, not bothering to be subtle, talking to Cassandra, overlooking the revelry around Varric’s campfire, without participating herself. She looked disturbed, worried even. Surely she didn’t doubt the place that she had earned amongst them? He would speak to her in a moment himself and set in stone what was beginning between them. The anticipation, the hope of it almost made him smile.

And then everything fell apart. A single scout ran through the camp, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Commander! There is a massive force coming over the mountain!”

Cullen sprung into action, years of training overcoming his shock. “To arms, to arms!” Cassandra and Asta both were at his side in moments. He demanded that someone to find him a spyglass, and with the knowledge it gave him he almost sunk to his knees. There were so many, swarming over the mountain like ants on their hill. Haven wasn’t defensible, had never been meant to be. This was going to be bloody.

Josie of all people was right there. “Commander, what banner are they flying?”

“None,” he gritted out.  Did she honestly think they could negotiate with a superior force such as this?

“None?”  In another time and place he could have laughed at her incredulity.

A fierce knocking at the gate pulled them all out of their reverie. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

In no time, Asta was at the gates, opening them, and Cullen’s protests died against his lips. An awkward looking man stood on the other side of the door, a dead Templar fallen at his feet, his daggers dripping with blood.

“I’m Cole. I’ve come to warn you. The Templars, they want to hurt you.” The disturbing man looked up through his stringy blond hair. “You probably already know.”

“The Templars?” Cullen snarled. “Is this their response to us treating with the mages?”

“The Elder One is very angry that you took his mages,” Cole said seriously, pointing.

Cullen looked through the spyglass again, and saw two figures, one familiar that made his stomach drop, and the other, twisted and sharp and taller than any man should be. “That is Samson, but that… What is that thing?”

Asta snatched the spyglass from his hands, his hands that were suddenly too limp to do anything. She looked and whirled upon him, suddenly. “Cullen, give me a plan, anything!” She snapped, desperate in her fear and shocked into using his first name.

“If we are going to survive we need to control the battle!  Man the trebuchets!” Cullen found his inner commander again, set aside his wonder at what had become of Samson in favor of fighting back. “Give them everything we have!” Cullen spun to the gathered soldiers, scouts and mages. “Mages! You… have sanction to engage them!” He swallowed the ghost of his fear and kept going. “That is Samson. He won’t make it easy on you. For the Herald! For your lives!” He roared, thrusting his sword into the air.

***

Asta’s knees were weak with fear and something else, watching Cullen plan the attack. As soon as he roared, she sprinted out of the gates and into the waiting madness. The closest trebuchet was under attack, and she ran for it.  She furiously fought, dropping in and out of stealth, only distantly noting the monsters she was slaying, more than she had ever been capable of taking on before.

The Iron Bull yelled at her in an all too brief lull, “Pace yourself! There are reinforcements. If you use all your energy and stamina now, you’ll be dead before you are of use!” Asta nodded, took a deep breath, and jumped back into the fray.

She heard the trebuchet release and the officer directing her to the next. Her group ran through the village. This one was loaded, but unmanned and not targeted, the soldiers that were meant to be in charge of it dead on the ground. Asta looked at her companions and knew what she had to do.

“Dorian! I need you with Chain Lightening - it arcs from their armor and temporarily paralyzes them. Hit as many at once as possible. Use glyphs to fence off a safer area around us. I have to aim and fire this thing. It’s going to take a while. I don’t have much strength, but you and Bull and Cassandra will be of better use fighting them off. Cassandra and Bull - keep their attention. Do whatever you can!”  She tossed them the remainders of her grenades and potions and got to work.

Dorian immediately started zapping the Templars that were still over the hill with a little too much glee. “Oh, I could do this all day!”  His enthusiasm made her smile, despite the terror that ran through her veins.

With all her upper body strength, which she noted hadn’t improved much since she stepped out of the Fade, she ponderously turned the machine toward the forces on the mountain. She hoped Cullen had calibrated the thing recently, since she had no idea exactly how accurate this hit would be. It moved slower than she would have believed possible, giving her way too much time to realize her companions were nearly overwhelmed, until at last…

“Firing!” She yelled and watched with something like pride as the ammunition arced through the air, and an entire mountain of snow fell on the approaching forces.  She smiled. Cullen would be so proud.

***

Cullen watched her run - at his direction - towards the trebuchets in an attempt to protect them. How far she had come from that shaking girl at the Temple. Did she even realize? He pulled himself out of his thoughts, praying to Andraste to let her return. Too many would not.

His own strategies took all his attention and energy for quite a while, and he lost track of her group until an entire mountain collapsed and buried two thirds of the attacking forces. Cullen couldn’t help but stop and smile. He had a feeling that he knew exactly who was responsible for that. With that one stroke, the tides had turned, despite the Templars fighting with supernatural strength.

His relief was all too short lived. A dragon came. Because of course there would be a blighted dragon. It flung fire and death as it winged through the night. Cullen shouted pointlessly for a retreat, looking desperately down the path, hoping against hope that she would appear out of the darkness. He held the gates open longer than he should have, praying she would make it back.

Miracle upon miracles, she was there and he slammed the gates shut right behind her. He cut directly to the point. “Any time you might have bought us with the avalanche is gone. The Chantry is the only building that might hold against that beast.” Asta started to hyperventilate, and Cullen grabbed her arm to ground her and grab her attention. She would be better off with a focus than fighting her own demons. “Some of the villagers are trapped. Round up the survivors. Bring everyone to the Chantry! Go!”

He flung her away, as if impatient, but she stumbled only slightly, breathing more normally as she ran up into the village.

He felt like he had stabbed himself in the gut as he sent her back out into the firestorm. He needed every person, but... _Sweet Andraste, let her come back_.

He fought his own way through men too red, too monstrous to be Templars until he reached the Chantry door with his small group of survivors. Flissa and Harrit the blacksmith ran through, Harrit carrying what looked like a hammer. Cullen shook his head, not wanting to ask.

And there she was a minute or two later, gasping and winded from exertion and smoke, and slightly singed, as the Iron Bull carried Minaeve into the building, and Cassandra limped through with Threnn the quartermaster. Dorian shook his head, regretful as he confessed, “I couldn’t save Adan. The pots exploded.”

“Fuck the Maker and all his children,” Cullen cursed, counting heads. They had already lost so many, mostly civilians. The strange boy, Cole, he remembered vaguely, came in carrying a very pale, very bloody Chancellor Roderick and Cullen shut the Chantry doors behind him.

“He tried to stop a Templar’s blade. It went deep. Red, inside and out. He’s going to die.” Cullen nodded in understanding and despair.

Asta was gathering grenades and potions, ready for another assault that he couldn‘t stand to plan. “Cullen?” She asked, awaiting her orders. He forced himself out of his thoughts realizing only one strategy remained, and it wasn’t a good one. In his mind, all his earlier hopes for the night, for his life, crumbled into dust, defeated by Samson, a dragon and red lyrium. In despair, he spoke, “We could turn the remaining trebuchet, cause one last landslide,” he started.

“To do that we’d bury Haven…”Asta looked shocked.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about Haven.” The odd boy blurted out. “He only cares about the Herald.”

“If it will save Haven he can have me,” Asta started to say, and Cullen’s protests died in his throat, he felt them, stuck and smoldering halfway down, like the smoke and fire that covered the remains of the village and the people that had lived there. They were all dead, just some of them didn't know it yet.

“It won’t. He’ll burn and destroy it anyway. I don’t like him,” The boy opined as an afterthought, turning his attention back to the Chancellor.

“You don’t…” Cullen shook his head, tossing the momentary distraction away with the movement. “Asta, nothing about this situation is survivable,” Cullen confirmed. He took her hand, gently. “We can choose the manner of our death. Many don’t get that chance.” He looked at her longingly.  He didn’t want to die without saying it, without tasting her lips just once.  "Asta, I..."

The strange boy drew their attention just in time. “Chancellor Roderick wants to help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path. It was overgrown when I walked it on a whim. It must have been Andraste who showed me,” the Chancellor’s eyes locked with Asta’s who swallowed visibly at his inference. “To be the last who remembers…  Andraste must have...”

Asta flung her attention back to him. “Cullen, will it work?”

“Yes, if he can show us the path, but…” Cullen looked at her, hope in his eyes but pleading silently for her not to do this again. But if she didn't... “What of your escape?”

Asta only looked at him, squeezed his hand, and smiled. He felt his heart break under the weight of duty and sacrifice, both welling up from his chest to choke him.

“Maybe you will…” he started tentatively, “Find a way,” he ordered, forcing his transition from Cullen to the Commander. There was no room for Cullen here right now. He had to command. He turned, facing the survivors, now his primary focus, even while retaining his firm grasp on her hand. “You heard me, people! This is not a drill! Grab everything you can carry! Stick to necessities! Move!” He flipped back to Asta, needing one last goodbye, knowing in his heart of hearts that he would never see her alive again, but denying the knowledge all the same. “Asta, if we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you!” He squeezed her hand back, fiercely, as if trying to leave the heat and the pressure of his hand upon her, so that she would feel it the rest of her days. “Asta,” he said softer, “Find a way.” He released her hand, and she backed to the door, slowly. She brought one of her daggers out, and saluted mockingly.

And then she was gone, disappeared into the red and orange night.

Cullen turned back to his charges, focused and despairing. _Sweet Andraste, bring her back._

 


	14. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is hardly explicit, but maybe a little racy. Possibly NSFW, though pretty mild as these things go. Just figured I'd throw that out, in case it matters. I don't want to get anyone fired over something as mild as this. If you want to get fired, go look up Felandaris. :D

Asta woke, cold and disoriented at the bottom of what appeared to be a mine shaft. She sat up too quickly and promptly threw up the contents of her stomach - mostly health potions. Her head hurt and spun dizzily, like she had had too much wine. And her arm felt wrong, weak and detached.

It was her arm that brought her memory back in a flash. She remembered that thing, Corypheus, dangling her by her marked hand, angry at her ‘flailing it against rifts’, undoing his work, making it… permanent. Her mind stuttered on that, but she forced it to keep going and made herself stand.

It had thrown her, tossed her to the trebuchet’s platform. She had seen Cullen’s signal arrow, knew that they were safe. And then she had picked up the sword, powered on adrenaline alone, taunted the creature and kicked the trebuchet’s release, flinging its burden into yet another mountain and starting a slide to bury Haven. She sunk back to her knees, knowing exactly who she had failed to save, counting every life she had caused to be lost.

Maker, what had she done?

***

Cullen was angry, and using his anger to good purpose. He kept them all moving, kept the scouts lighting fires ahead of them so that they never got too cold to function. He had them traveling as quickly as possible, to keep them warm, to keep them moving away from where Corypheus might decide to return. They were sitting ducks in this mountain pass - one fly-by from the dragon and the Inquisition would be gone.

He tried to care, knew that he had a higher duty. But it felt very empty. _Sweet Andraste, let her live._

Every pause in his movements drew his mind back to her, to her inevitable sacrifice. Even as he prayed he knew it to be pointless.

A Chantry sister, inadequately dressed and carrying one of Haven’s few children, stumbled as she muttered, “Make me to rest in the warmest places…” Cullen silently took the child from her and placed him in one of the remaining wagons. They had to torch a couple at the start of their trek, due to broken axles and not enough horsepower. The child was slight, surely the horses wouldn’t struggle with such a little burden added to it.

“Thank you, Ser,” the Sister attempted, but Cullen was already onto the next straggler.

They finally stopped to camp the next night in a narrow valley that blocked most of the wind and snow. His urgency to find Asta, to search for her despite the odds of finding anything in a snowstorm and the fallout of an avalanche, was set aside once more while he helped civilians set up tents and allocated bedding. He was bone-weary but wouldn’t, couldn’t rest until his work was done. The last tent was finally set up, the injured that survived were being treated by a mixture of mages and Sisters. Now he had a choice, he could stop and sleep, or he could go find her.

His body knew his decision before his brain had registered it. Cassandra caught up with him as he grabbed rope, a shovel, some potions and other basic first aid supplies, as well as a blanket.

“Cullen, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He stated. “I’m going to find her.”

“This is madness,” Cassandra started. “You haven’t slept in two days. You can’t possibly…”

He spun on her, “Cassandra, do you believe she was sent by Andraste to save us all?”

Cassandra stopped, faith warring with common sense. “I am not sure. I would like to believe so.”

“If that’s the case, then do you think Andraste would let her chosen savior die in an avalanche?”

Cassandra was already shaking her head, “Cullen, it doesn’t work that way.  Andraste let herself be burned at the stake.  We can't understand what she intends...”

He was already marching out of camp into the snow, “Well, if she’s dead, I’m going to make sure she gets the funeral she deserves. And if she’s not dead, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t need one. Are you coming?”

Cassandra fell in with him as he left. Neither of them said a word as they trudged back up the slope, calf-deep in drifting snow. “I know it’s hard,” Cassandra said, softly, “There was a mage at the Conclave. I will always grieve for him. But when hope is gone…”

Cullen ignored her, scanning the white horizon. Already it was hard to tell where the survivors had walked just a few short hours before. And then, a slight flash of fade green caught his eye. “There! It’s her!” He yelled and started to run, nearly tripping over the snow in the attempt to reach her sooner.

Cassandra gasped out, “Thank the Maker!” Cullen pushed the snow aside with every step, frustrated at it’s ability to keep her from him. She had fallen, face half covered with ice crystals coating her hair and eyelashes, her eyes glazed, her lips blue.

“We’ve got to get her back,” he said, taking her pulse, slightly reassured by its beat, too slow, but still beating. He started to wrap her in the blanket, but noticed her arm, “Her shoulder is dislocated. Hopefully not broken. She’s going to need healing. I don’t dare try to pop it back in while she’s this cold.”

Cassandra agreed, “She is hypothermic. We must hurry. Warmth is the only thing that will save her, and that is more important than her arm right now.”

The trip back to camp went faster with a half-broken trail ahead of them and the wind behind. Once back in the valley, the campfire lights guided them back in, promising safety, however illusory.

The entire camp gawked at his armful as he pushed his way into the healer’s tent on the far side. “We found her,” He had found her, his heart sung. He placed his burden gently onto a free cot, and dropped onto a stool, scared to look away as the healer and surgeon jointly triaged Asta. “I think she has a dislocated shoulder.”

The surgeon looked at him and Cassandra. “One of you needs to strip. She needs body warmth, now.” Cullen stood to leave and Cassandra grabbed him.

“It should be you. The lyrium withdrawal keeps your temperature slightly higher. That would be very useful right now.” Cullen started to stammer, but the surgeon stopped him.

“Fine, I don’t care about your false modesty,” the surgeon bit out. “Just strip and get under the blankets. I have a patient to save.” She consulted with the healer, “Yes, I suspect a slight concussion as well. Can you tell whether she is in a coma or is this a more natural rest? We might have to try to wake her if you can’t tell. And the arm is definitely dislocated, possibly fractured. That will have to wait until she is warm. We can’t keep her warm and reset it at the same time. Let’s save her life and then worry about her bones, shall we?”

With that in mind, Cullen divested himself of his armor and clothing, embarrassed but knowing it was logical. It was hard to fight logic, skin or no skin. With luck, he wouldn’t be needed long, and he could get away before she woke up. He curled himself around her, gingerly.

“Don’t be daft, man, she needs your body heat,” the surgeon scolded. “Maidenly distance isn’t going to get her warm!” Obeying without thinking, he shoved himself up against her. “That’s better. Now, Ellandra! Come cast your spells and figure out what you can. We’ve got to figure out how bad this head wound is.”

Cullen lay there, awkward and stiff against her cold body, a little afraid to move lest the surgeon snap at him again. The healer cast spells all around him, but for once he could only think of her, in his arms, cold as a block of ice and unresponsive.

He prayed once more, but this time in gratitude.

***

Several hours later, Cullen was still very uncomfortable. He knew basic first aid, and knew he was logically a good choice for body warmth. He could even put up with the inevitable giggles and smirks from the other advisors and Asta's inner circle once they knew how he had been trapped into this… situation.

But the noises that Asta was making now… they were making him hot in an inappropriate way, in a very inconvenient place. And he had been fighting her attractiveness, her humor and her intelligence for months now. This... position was not making anything easier. The healers had said he could leave and find them when she woke up - but she wasn’t awake yet. In the meantime, thanks to the surgeon, he was spooning her, knees behind her knees, and her ass right up against the problem area.

So Cullen tried to think of cold things. Showers, icy horse troughs, waterfalls, but in each case a naked or nearly so Asta popped up front and center - just like something else was attempting to do. He tried focusing on the moment he had found her, icy and limp, only to remember the pleasant weight of her in his arms as he rushed her back to camp, and how she looked with the fur from his cape against her cheek. Less erotic, yes, but hardly helpful.

She moved suddenly, flipping herself and flopping a leg over him, and it was Cullen's turn to freeze, scared to disturb her much needed rest or hurt her still damaged arm. She was half on top of him now, both laying on their sides, facing each other, his hand on her thigh, and another under her head.

Her lips were so close, rosy rather than blue now, and soft looking. She moved again, a sudden stretching movement that put her lips right over his. His eyes bulged at the contact, and other parts of his body reacted in turn, the tingling intensifying in a very pleasant way.

Her eyes opened, bleary but surprised. “Cullen,” she breathed, her voice sounding better than any daydream, sleepy and happy.

He jumped out of the cot, nearly knocking it over in his haste to be elsewhere, and trying to hide his half-erection. He stammered out an explanation, an excuse, an apology, but he wasn’t even aware of his words. He was gone from the tent in moments, somehow cold beyond the chilly air, and feeling inexplicably lonely.

***

Asta was having the most wonderful time. The party shone like diamonds, milling with colorful people dancing and talking like so many tropical birds. Her own gown was… sheer… she was shocked to note, but no one seemed to notice but her, or even think that it was odd. They must be Orlesian, she thought idly. She was warm enough, to be sure, surprising for such a large ballroom with so many windows, despite the number of people in it. They pressed against her, kissing her hand, whispering compliments.

And then she saw him and everyone else disappeared. It was very convenient, Asta thought, as she glided across the room to where he stood. She was distracted for the moment at whether her feet were even touching the floor, but decided that in the end, she was there in front of him and it didn’t really matter.

“My lady,” the man said, bending over her hand. He looked familiar somehow. With the contact of his lips to her hand their clothes disappeared - had he even been wearing any to start with - Asta asked herself, confused. But again, she was distracted by the fact that she now was in a far more intimate embrace than before, his long, lean and hard - in what felt like all the right places - body up against hers. He shifted to stand behind her, arm across her stomach, hand brushing against her lower breast, closer than before. She moaned slightly, enjoying the sensation, but wanting to see him. She spun around, more slowly and awkwardly than her movements had been thus far. Almost by accident, his lips pressed tenderly and firmly against her own.

Her eyes opened gently, to find her dream was reality. “Cullen,” Asta breathed, confused and undeniably aroused.

His eyes were as big as saucers, his pupils blown wide, their lips a breath apart.

Cullen threw himself out of the cot, stumbling towards his clothes and armor. “I apologize, Herald! The healers suggested that body warmth… and Cassandra that I… Nothing happened!”

“Oh,” Asta sounded detached and disappointed. She still wasn’t fully awake and didn’t look away as he dressed himself hastily, and without the precision he might normally have applied to his appearance.

“Excuse me, my lady,” Cullen had to escape, “I will let the healers and surgeon know.” And he was gone in a moment. So Asta closed her eyes and let herself drift off again.

It had been such a nice dream.

***

The next time she woke she was clearheaded, and covered with only a light blanket.  She went to sit up, and Mother Giselle was instantly at her side to help her, since her arm was still in a sling.

"What is this for, Revered Mother?"

"You had a dislocated shoulder and a slight fracture of your forearm.  The sling is to help keep it immobile.  The healers were far more concerned with your concussion, mild though it was.  You kept falling asleep.  Luckily the healer Ellandra were able to assure us that it was a natural sleep, not a coma.  That was the extent of your injuries, Herald.  The Maker has been kind to you, or perhaps it was his Bride."

Asta knew that she was likely just trying to be kind, but her injuries still ached and the memories of Corypheus attacking her home, her friends made her short tempered.  "The Maker had nothing to do with it, Mother.  Corypheus... do we even know where he is?"  Her eyes were dilated strangely from the aftermath of the concussion, and they searched the Mother's face for answers.

"We aren't even sure where we are."  The mild-mannered Mother looked her over gently.  "There has been no sign of him since he flew off on the dragon."  At that point, the noise from outside the healer's tent began to intrude on their conversation.

The advisors were arguing again.  Their discussions penetrated her preoccupation with Corypheus.  "I should be out there planning."  She made to stand, shaking slightly.

But the Mother wasn't finished.  "The uncertainty of our situation has made many question.  They saw you leave, sacrificing yourself for all of us, saw you confront Corypheus, saw you fall, and then, saw you return.  To many, it seems like a miracle."

"I didn't die and come back to life, Mother," Asta was horrified at even the suggestion.  "I am not the Herald of Andraste.  I'm not the Herald of anything except maybe extreme bad luck.  Corypheus claimed himself that I was an accident, in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or the right time.  Just because you don't see Andraste's hand on what has occurred doesn't mean it is not there."

Asta stood up finally, impatient, "Mother, I don't see how what I believe has any bearing on what needs to happen next.  Please, excuse me."

Her first instinct was to make a beeline for Cullen, who typically, was shifting and rubbing the back of his neck, and trying not to look at her.  Then she saw Leliana and Josie, looking dejected and forlorn, and Cassandra frantically trying to figure out where in the Void-begotten Frostbacks  they were.  When the song started, Asta had to close her eyes.  She knew better than to ever trust an Orlesian Revered Mother.  They always thought they knew best.  She would pick this hymn, of course. 

Shadows fall and hope has fled.  Steel your heart, the dawn will come.  But no one ever said that it would be better in the morning.  Asta had a strong feeling that for her, this morning was just the beginning of a very drawn out end.

And it wasn't likely to be her happy ending.

In the end, Solas reached her first, like an elf with a mission, and commanded her attention.  The story he told of an orb, a foci, seemed like something she would have read in a Tevinter fairy tale.  "The Creepy Magister and his Stolen Orb of Power", perhaps.  Asta shook her head, trying to concentrate on what Solas was saying.

"So you want me to direct the Inquisition north.  That's not much to go on, Solas."

"I promise you will find what you need, Herald."

Asta eyed him, "What we need, or what you need?"  Her conversation with Mother Giselle was forefront in her mind, and Andraste's knicker weasels, she was tired of being manipulated.

"Does it matter?  Right now our goals are the same.  It does me precisely no good to allow all of these people to perish in the snow, after all."

 "Very well," Asta considered carefully, "It's not like we have a ton of options after all.  I will discuss this with the other advisors.  Thank you."

"Certainly, Herald."

"Please, don't call me that," Asta closed her eyes again, weary.  "Though at least you don't believe in Andraste."

"Not in her divinity, perhaps."

***

Asta's next stop was Cullen, who was still trying not to look at her and failing.

"Herald!  Should you be up?"  He wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Cullen, is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" His voice cracked.  "No, not at all.  I'm relieved to see you are up and about."

Now she knew something was wrong.  Asta eyed him dubiously.  "Cullen, what are you not telling me?"

Cullen blushed up to his ears.  "Nothing!  I mean, nothing happened, I swear.  Cassandra said, and the surgeon... but I... you were... Andraste's Tits!  No!  That's not what I meant!  Damn it to the Void, Asta!  You were naked!" Cullen hid his face in embarrassment.

Asta blinked, trying to follow the string of non-sequitors.  "All right, then," she suddenly remembered her hazy dream.  "Wait, did I?  Were you... Andraste's tits is right."  She looked amused, "Did you like what you saw?"

"I didn't look!"

Asta's face fell, "Wait, you were naked in a cot with me and you didn't look?"

"Yes!  I mean, no!"  His face was cherry red.  It was a good look for him, Asta decided.

"Can you answer one thing in a clear and concise manner?"  Asta's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Maker's Breath, I will try."  He finally met her eyes, bashfully.

"Did I... kiss...you?"

Cullen blanched, "Yes..."

"Damn it!"  Asta  was furious.  "And I can't remember a thing!  Maker's Flaming Ballsack!"  She stormed away.

Cullen sat down on the ground.  She hadn't been angry.  Well, she had been angry, but only because she didn't remember.  He smiled, a little wickedly.

He certainly did.


	15. Waiting on Skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have some triggers here, non-consensual sex and sexual abuse mainly. Nothing explicit, as before, but again, NSFW just due to the discussion. Again, I don't want anyone fired because of this. Also, I am purposely keeping this a light discussion of a very dark topic. We all have our own demons that we battle in various ways. I have no intention of being anything other than respectful.

Skyhold certainly appeared to be exactly what the Inquisition needed. A large main hall for pomp and circumstance certainly satisfied Josie, a dark rotunda in a tower offered Leliana a place to keep her birds close and her secrets closer. It would take a while to get everything cleaned out and repaired, and it definitely needed some crucial upgrades, like a study tower for the mages and a place for the wounded, but the keep’s bones were perfect.

Asta surveyed all of this after her induction as Inquisitor. She had been waylaid by the request, apparently unanimous, which shocked her more than actually being offered the job. How the disparate opinions of her advisors had managed to coalesce into agreement upon her fitness was the real miracle, not surviving the avalanche.

She had to admit that it was nice to have a title that wasn’t associated with the Chantry or her family, but it still sounded weird. The grounds had rung with people that couldn’t wait to call her Inquisitor, and she still didn’t know who they were addressing half the time.

After the ceremony she had been left halfway up the stairs, holding an overlarge sword that she didn’t know how to use, or where to put it. So she made her way back down to where Cullen had set up a temporary desk. She watched him work for a few minutes, knowing they had just a little while until their first war meeting in Skyhold. She was feeling uncharacteristically shy, and decided to wait for him to be free before she grabbed his attention.

But of course he already knew she was there. “Inquisitor!” Asta winced a little.

“Are we going to have to go through all that again?” She asked, “I told you to call me Asta. You were doing so well.”

His smile was distracted but friendly. He gave some scattered orders to a soldier about the armory and Asta grabbed her moment. “Here, you can take this with you as well,” and she handed off the enormous sword to the random recruit. “Find it a safe place in there somewhere.”

Cullen turned back, “Now, what can I help you with?”

“I just wanted to see how every one was settling in. Have you found yourself an office yet?”

Cullen indicated one of the towers in better repair. “Up there, I’m afraid. It’s central to the battlements, at least, and accessible to the soldiers. It’s seen better days, but is mostly intact.”

Asta had avoided him for most of the trip there, between being busy and still angry about missing the kiss, such as it was. She had also started to wonder whether his bashfulness was really disgust.

It had all seemed so easy back at Haven. Girl meets Knight. Girl wants Knight. Knight likes Girl. Girl and Knight talk and drink too much. Knight carries Girl back to cabin. Knight is entirely too perfect of a gentleman. Girl travels too much and tries to overcompensate when she is around. Girl gets village attacked, Knight saves villagers, Girl sacrifices herself to save people…

Asta could see that it wasn’t so easy after all. Maker’s Breath, their love story - was it even a love story?- was messy. And now she was sort of his boss. Was this fraternization? There were usually rules about that in armies, she had read about them. Worse yet, was she pressuring him into something he didn’t want? The dream kiss had been sort of an accident, after all.

But when she remembered sitting in the courtyard at Haven and joking about finding appropriate places… surely she hadn’t been reading him that wrong?

And if her dream had any truth to it, he had been just as aroused as she was. She sighed loudly. Why was this so difficult?

Cullen had kept talking, almost babbling on about morale being higher since she accepted the post of Inquisitor. That brought her back to the present, blushing slightly.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan. It sounds strange, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.” He was smiling at her again, with those lips quirking upward on one side, and those eyes shining. She had to try to focus on something besides those lips.

“Is that the official response?”

He laughed. Damn it. “I suppose it is.”

Asta dipped her toe into the figurative water. “I am glad that you… that so many made it out of Haven safely.”

“As am I.” He looked sad, momentarily, and then something changed. His glance altered to that strange magnetism that kept drawing them back together. Her brain had stopped dead, so with nothing else to say, she turned to leave, despite the polarity of their gazes trying to yank her back.

And then he stopped her, a hand on hers. “You went back.” His voice was deeper, and she could have drowned herself in it. “You could have… I will not let what happened at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

And Asta rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. I need to stop running headfirst into traps, using myself as bait, or otherwise potentially compromising the primary goals of the Inquisition. Especially now that I’m supposed to be leading this merry band of rebels.”

Cullen stepped back, involuntary, but retained his hand on hers. “Not at all! Well, I do want those things, but mostly I just wanted…”

“To tell me to be safe?” Asta suggested.

“Well, yes, and also…”

“To tell me that you care what happens to me?” Asta was sick to death of tiptoeing around the issue of Them. She leaned over the desk to be closer to him.

“Quite right,” Now he looked nervous and Asta decided that she wanted to see him in cherry red again.

“And maybe, that I’m not the only one who keeps thinking about what happened in the healer’s tent?” A couple of his recruits stopped and looked interested in their conversation.

“As you were!” The cherry red Commander ordered them along.

“At ease, Commander,” Asta cocked an eye at his breeches cheekily.

“Maker’s breath, Asta,” Cullen groaned. “Would you stop teasing me?”

Asta leaned further over. Despite the altitude, she had been working before the ceremony, and she had been hot. Her tunic clasps were undone, so her uniform was a little less formal than intended. It was having the desired effect, because Cullen was looking right down her cleavage. “Whatever makes you think I’m not serious?” She looked around and spotted the Iron Bull.

“Bull!”

“Yo, Boss!”

“How many times have I flirted with you?”

“None, boss.” He sounded slightly regretful.

“And how many times have you come on to me?”

“At least a dozen. Why, you offering? ’Cause you are the last holdout of the ex-Chantry sisters.” He shook his head, smiling at the memories. “Those girls are wild.”

Cullen looked a little shocked. “Inquisitor, I hardly need…”

“No, you need to hear this. Varric!” Asta waved him over imperiously.

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“You are my self-proclaimed life chronicler, correct?”

“Sure, why not?”

“How many men, or women, let’s not discriminate, have I flirted with since I joined the Inquisition all those months ago?”

Varric blinked, “One.”

“And that one is?”

“Curly, here.” Varric looked interested, “Should I get my notebook?”

“Don’t bother. Thanks, Varric, I owe you.”

“No problem,” Varric left, grinning widely. “See ya, Curly.”

‘Curly’ cleared his throat. “So, you are saying…”

“All along, since the first time you killed a demon for me.” She had maneuvered so that she was on the same side of the desk now, and she shoved him, gently. “So get over yourself, already. If you don’t want to be wanted, we need to talk. Otherwise, I’m ready when you are.” And she walked away, not sure whether or be angry or invigorated. And then something occurred to her, and she turned and came back. Cullen hadn’t moved an inch. “Actually, there is one thing I haven’t asked, and I should, just to make sure. Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?”

Cullen stood there as if he had been hit by chain lightening while wearing full armor. “What? No, I fear I made few friends there, and you know my family is in Fereldan.”

“No one special caught your eye?” She was smiling again, and he knew, just knew that this woman was going to be the death of him and that he would go to his death willingly.

So he smirked, a little half smile. “Not in Kirkwall.”

***

Maxwell found him considerably later that evening, still making requisition requests and allocating armor and weapons to the recruits.

“So! Some of the soldiers tell me you and my Little Sister are finally making some progress.”

Cullen glared at him. The light had failed a while ago and his headache had started. “Only because a certain brother has made himself scarce.”

“Well, don’t worry about stepping on my toes. Leliana is sending me out - back to Ostwick. She wants me to recover Asta’s research. Has some idea about it being useful. So I’m heading home to steal a ton of dusty scrolls and books out from under an overly suspicious Revered Mother, and check in with Mother and Father. Who knows, maybe I’ll get laid, considering all of the choice women around here are either otherwise entangled, grieving, apparently celibate or not attracted to men.” Maxwell leaned back against the stairs, “Seriously, Josie is engaged to some Count. And Cass? She’s grieving for some mage who died at the Conclave. Leliana says she has taken vows, and Sera swings the other direction. I can’t win.”

Cullen snorted. “Well, maybe if they were actually attracted to you their responses would be different. What about Flissa? She survived Haven.”

“And so did Harrit. She’s hung up on him now that you’re taken.”

Cullen blinked. He was ‘taken’? He needed to think about this. “That’s a shame,” he answered automatically. Asta had been very clear earlier that day, but it was just that morning. Surely gossip wouldn’t have spread that quickly?

“Hey, Thedas to Cullen. You there?”

“Yes, sorry.”

“So, what happened in the healer’s tent? The sentries couldn’t stop talking about it today. You carried her in, all icicly, you were in there alone for several hours and…”

Cullen managed, for one of the first times in his life, to keep a straight face. “Nothing.”

Maxwell scanned his expression, looking for weakness. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. The healers requested my assistance, I stayed until she woke. At that point we knew that she would recover so I left to resume my duties.”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

“Now, speaking of duties, I have a million things to do. Safe trip home, Maxwell.” And for once, Cullen left having said just the right thing.

***

A few days later, Cullen had been invited to the tavern, dubbed ‘The Herald’s Rest’ by Varric who thought he was being clever, for it’s opening night, by Iron Bull and his Chargers. He had been impressed by how professional they were, despite their appearances to the contrary. They did good work, and the Iron Bull certainly knew how to keep Asta safe. His only complaint was more personal, especially since he knew that the Iron Bull had hit on her in the past, refused or not. Still, he didn’t think the Bull would be the sort to force himself where he wasn’t wanted.

So he found himself sitting next to the Qunari, drinking a bit too much ale and talking about the Inquisitor who had left for Crestwood some days before, intent finding Hawke's Warden friend. Her first letter had been full of undead and rifts under water and suspicious floods. She wouldn’t be back for weeks at this point, and he hadn’t been able to have more than a professional discussion with her over the War Table before her departure.

The Iron Bull didn’t pull any punches, “So, you and the Boss, right?”

Cullen slumped against the table, glad they were in the corner of the room, rather than at the bar. “Not really. We haven’t discussed anything of the sort.”

“What’s to discuss? You two are goofy over each other. Dorian keeps threatening to be sick over how she gushes about you in the field. Why aren’t you already fucking each other senseless?”

“It’s more complicated than it seems.”

“Why?” Bull took a drink. “The Qun did this right. We don’t have love, and sex is a transaction. Like seeing a healer. Wham, bam, see you next week. You people get yourself way too twisted up about it.”

Cullen couldn’t deny that. “That does sound easier.”

“So make it easy! Unless…” the Bull narrowed his gimlet eye on him. “Wait, are you a virgin?”

“That’s… complicated, too.”

“Cullen, how complicated can it be? Have you or haven’t you?”

“Does sex with a desire demon count?”

The Iron Bull scooted back in his chair, squealing it against the stone floor. “Damn, Cullen, that’s some freaky shit!”

“Yes, well, it is not my intent to tintillate.” Cullen scowled into his glass. “It was not my choice or in my control.”

Iron Bull grew serious. “So you were cock-teased by a demon. Fuck, that’s screwed up, Cullen.”

“Yes, rather.”

“So, you are all in your head about doing it with the Boss. It had to be something. A blind man could see that you wanted her.  I get it now.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to have to go into detail.”

“No, even my sexual proclivities have limits.” Bull stopped for a moment “Did you love the girl? Desire demons, they take other faces, right?”

“I thought I did. At the time.”

“Okay, so a first love thing.”

“Sort of. She was a mage at Kinloch Hold.”

“Whoa, you are a kinky bastard.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Of course not. If it had been you wouldn’t be all confused about whether or not you were a virgin. Do you still have nightmares?”

“Yes.” Cullen drank deeply, once again lost in his own thoughts. “Only, they’ve changed.”

“Changed? How?”

“Before, it was always things being done to me. As an object, almost.” Cullen couldn’t quite believe he was talking about this, and not even to a healer, to a seven foot tall Qunari. When had his life become unrecognizable?  And why did he still think this was better than what he had before?  “Now, my nightmares are more personal, and far scarier. About what I could lose or drive away.”

“Hmm,” Bull took a drink and called for another round.

“But it isn’t just the idea of having sex. Sex with Asta, that would be…” Cullen sighed. “I can only imagine.”

“For now. We’ll get you there, my friend.” Bull tapped his mug against Cullen’s.

“Thanks, I think,” Cullen slurred. “It’s very kind of you.”

“So what is it? The lyrium thing?”

“How did you…”

“Ben-Hasserath, Cullen. I know lyrium withdrawal. It was used as an interrogation technique under the Qun. Damn ‘Vints overindulge in everything. Their Templars don’t take it, though.”

“Am I surrounded by people who know everything about me?”

“Probably. You’re good at your thing, but spies, well, we’re good at not getting noticed, while we notice everything. You have precious few secrets, I’d wager.”

Cullen slammed his head into the table this time, a little harder than he had intended. “Ow.” He rubbed his forehead. “Well, I haven’t told her what I’m attempting.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Constant, but endurable. I’ve been through worse.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Cullen. You are one tough guy. But telling her, that’s easy. She’s the Inquisitor now. She should know.”

“Easier said than done. I’m not good with words around her.”

“Nonsense. You’re just stuck in your own head. Just tell her what you’re thinking. Who cares if you stumble a bit before you find your stride? Boss is so into you, I know she just thinks it’s sweet.”

Cullen scowled, “Sweet is not the way I would like to project myself.”

“Too late. Better get over it. Being ‘sweet’ is like icing on a cake. It usually happens when they like you or want you first. It’s just what they use to justify their attraction to something they think they shouldn’t find sexy. Like, my horns. Orlesian women don’t want to find them attractive, so they describe them as ‘virile’ or ‘phallic’. Whatever lifts their skirts up, I say.”

“You think the Inquisitor finds my stammering attractive?” Cullen found that extremely unlikely.

“That and you rubbing the back of your neck when you are trying not to look at her. And the way you blush.” The Iron Bull’s eye twinkled. “Cullen, she already told you she’s waiting. So talk to her already about the skeletons in your closet that are waiting to jump out, and get on to the parts where you are grinding your bodies together in every closet in Skyhold instead.”

Cullen shook his head, and stood up, slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. I’ve got good money riding on whether or not you are making the beast with two backs by Satinalia.”

“What!” Cullen sputtered.

“What? I’m at least betting in your favor. Varric says it will take at least three years. Dwarf acts like he’s talking from experience. Thought Hawke would have moved faster than that, personally.”

“The Champion? Never mind, I don’t want to know,” but Cullen suddenly did feel a little better at their slow progression. It had only been months, not years.

“That’s right! Apparently you are a smoother mover than the Champion of Kirkwall.” The Iron Bull winked, or blinked, it was hard to tell for sure. “Surprising, maybe, but the facts don’t lie.”

And with that, Cullen left the tavern feeling slightly more confident and greatly indebted to the Iron Bull.

 


	16. Forging Chains

Crestwood had potential, Asta thought. Despite the destroyed Chantry that smelled like burned corpses, the undead, the mayor who seemed a little too desperate to blame a flood on darkspawn, and the Maker-be-damned rift under the lake, it still had potential.

Because Caer Bronach had a library. A lovely, well-stocked library with real bookshelves. A little oasis of knowledge in the midst of disaster.

Oh sure, Leliana’s scouts had locked her out of it in order to play Wicked Grace, but Sera’s lock picking lessons had come in very handy. She had let herself in, told them in her best ‘Inquisitor’ voice to carry on, and promptly lost herself in words, glorious words.

It felt like ages since she had been this close to a printed page. It was heavenly. She breathed deep, ignoring the pointed stares of the scouts across the room. The smell of ancient glue and dust and ink and leather bindings… how she had missed it.

She was lost for an hour before Dorian found her, buried deep in a tome about the Anderfels and their king who loved cats.

He shook her shoulder and she came back to herself with a shudder. “My dear Inquisitor! Where were you?”

“In the Anderfels!” Asta laughed. “I’ve missed my books a little too much, I fear. This one reached up and grabbed me.”

Dorian understood, “Oh, how I’d love to show you the library at Minrathous. But then, once inside I’d probably never see you again. We couldn’t have that. I’m far too valuable an acquaintance to ignore in favor of a good book.”

Asta sighed wistfully, “I doubt that the Inquisitor will ever be welcome in Tevinter.”

“True, it wouldn’t know what to do with you. Tevinter does have a way of not knowing what is in its best interest. After all, they made me a pariah! Their loss, on both counts.”

Asta stretched. “I suppose I should get changed and eat something before we meet Hawke. I just got so sidetracked. And it was nice to do something for an hour that didn’t involve stabbing something, or hiking over hills the size of mountains.”

“That would probably be wise. Oh! I had almost forgotten. Charter said you received a letter.” Dorian raised his eyebrows, “It’s from the Commander.”

Asta hesitated and looked thoughtful, “Had it been opened?”

Dorian laughed, “Of course it had! We have a keep full of spies, my dear! Everything here has been pried into, peered at, and replaced as if it were never touched at all.” He handed her the letter and left her alone with a wink and a smile.

She opened it, and a single half-opened, rather wrinkled, red rose fell into her lap. She blushed, hoping the scouts playing their game weren’t watching too closely.

_Dear Asta,_

_Skyhold’s library is improving, I am happy to report and you’ll be even happier to hear. Amongst the books that you, Solas, Vivienne, Dorian and Varric ordered was one on the Language of Flowers. It made its way into my office, and proceeded to educate me. I hope you enjoy the results. It has informed me that red roses are, despite being associated with love, also symbolic of respect, courage and beauty. Naturally I also noted that half-opened blooms are for blossoming feelings. The enclosed, therefore, seems appropriate._

_I will say no more than that for fearing of scaring you away. I know that we have much to discuss upon your return, and I have many things I both wish and need to tell you, things that you should know before…_

_And once again I assume too much. In any case, now that you are the Inquisitor, there are things I want you to know. I would have told you eventually, even without your new title, but…_

_Damn it, and this started out so promising. Even in letters I apparently lose my grasp of language when addressing you._

_Inquisitor, no, Asta, I miss you. If I could find a pomegranate flower in the middle of the Frostbacks, I would send it to you. Instead, I can only write “Come to Me” and hope you will._

_Please, be careful. The last report you sent said you saw a dragon in the area. Please don’t fight the dragon. I’m pretty sure that there is no flower that indicates “Don’t fight the dragon, you aren’t ready.”  I thought maybe the snapdragon, but it's apparently 'deception'.  Not what I'm looking for._

_I await your return,_

_Your Commander_

Asta barely finished the letter before she was down the stairwell yelling for Dorian and ignoring the knowing smiles of the many spies who had also read her letter. It didn’t matter. She needed to meet Hawke, kill a wyvern, observe a dragon and get the fuck back to Skyhold.

Back home, where there was someone waiting for her. That was new.

***

Cullen was practicing his words. He was going to be fluent, concise, and competent, all while letting the Inquisitor know exactly why he was not taking lyrium. He could do this.

She had been back for an hour, though. Surely that was enough time to bathe, dress, cover the essential things that needed to be done and come to his office? He adjusted the lyrium kit on his desk so that it was perfectly aligned with the corner. At least today the lyrium’s call wasn’t loud - just a whisper, a gossiping hint.

There was a knock at his door and she entered, hair wet and shining.

“Afternoon, Commander,” she said, beaming.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor. I hope your trip was successful?”

Asta snorted, “Yes, considering we had a mayor framing darkspawn for mass murder, a rift under water in a Dwarven Thaig that made Varric piss himself, and a whole keep full of spies reading my mail out of boredom until the bandits were taken care of and travel through the area could resume. What’s not to love?”

“They read your mail?” Cullen blushed. He was really glad he hadn’t told her about the lyrium in the letter. He had been so close.

“They read yours too. No secrets from the Nightingale.” She came around the desk, somewhat interfering with his plan, and took his hand. “From the way they looked at me they enjoyed your most recent letter as much as I did.”

Cullen cleared his throat. It was time to get this back on track. “I have something I need to tell you.”

Asta purred, still holding his hand. “You can tell me anything.”

This was getting more awkward, not less. “Yes, thank you. What do you know about lyrium?”

Asta tilted her head, puzzled about where she had thought this conversation was going versus the direction he had taken it in. “Not much. It restores magic, if you are a mage. Templars take it. It’s addictive.”

“Exactly. Templars take it to enhance their abilities to cancel magic.” He took a deep breath and plunged into the most difficult part of the topic. “I no longer take it.”

Asta dropped his hand in shock. “Cullen, won’t that kill you?”

“It hasn’t so far. I stopped when Cassandra recruited me in Kirkwall, when I decided to leave the Templar Order. I will not be bound to that life any longer. I think you understand.” _This is going well,_ he thought. _I’m tough, I’m confident, I’m in control._

Asta freaked out. “Are you in pain? Maker, your headaches - I never realized! Do the healers know?”

He reached out and touched her shoulder. “I can endure the pain, Asta. The point of this conversation is that I needed you to know. Not just as the Inquisitor.”

Understanding flooded her face and she stepped back. “Of course, Commander,” at once professional. “I understand and respect what you are doing.” Her face was down, looking at her feet. He tried to meet her eyes. Something had gone wrong, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me. Her Seeker abilities can monitor the lyrium in my blood. She thinks that I can do this.” _Do you think I can do this?_ He wanted to ask, so badly, but the words got in the way.

Asta’s face crumpled, and forgetting professional distance she rushed into his arms. “Cullen, you could _die._ I found so many Templars dead to no obvious cause in the Hinterlands. The healer, Ellandra, her lover was among them.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cullen felt extremely awkward, not knowing where to put his hands. “If my symptoms get worse, Cassandra will recommend a replacement.”

Asta hit him on the arm, face still buried in his fur. “I don’t fucking care about the Inquisition. I care about you. This better be worth it, Commander.”

“It will be.” Cullen promised, “I have no intention of dying, but even if I do, I’d rather die than be leashed to the Chantry.”

“Right,” Asta pushed herself away and repeated, “I respect what you are doing. I never thought lyrium should be used as it is. Stupid Chantry. Maybe my brother is right and we should just let it fall to pieces.” There were tears on her face, Cullen noticed, and he longed to wipe them away, but something held him back. “We’d better head to the War Room. There were developments in Crestwood, I need to have you or Leliana track down their former mayor, and we need to discuss the dragon…”

“Asta, I am…”

“No, Commander, it’s all right. I will be fine. We have work to do. I’ll see you in the War Room shortly.” She left him alone, and feeling that maybe being in control and competent wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

***

Leliana nearly broke down his door that evening. “What did you do to her?”

“Who?” Cullen had a feeling that he already knew.

“The Inquisitor. You know, Asta, the woman you’ve been writing love letters to?” She was furious, and Cullen started to watch her body in case she decided to pull a dagger on him.

“It was one letter. And I did nothing! I only told her that I wasn’t taking lyrium any more!”

“She’s been crying all afternoon in that decrepit library in the depths of the keep, asshole. She missed dinner, not that you’d notice since you apparently don’t eat.” Leliana didn’t pull a knife, but Cullen knew that she didn’t need a knife to make him very dead. “Go make it right, or I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.” She vanished from his office like a spirit into the Fade. Cullen blinked, and went to obey her.

The library in question was a dusty, spider-ridden place, with a lone candelabra and a raised dais that was surrounded by bookshelves. Cullen had only been there once, by accident, when he had gotten lost looking for the kitchens. He found Asta huddled behind the reading desk covered in cobwebs.

“There you are! I thought you were afraid of spiders?”

Asta just glared at him, “Why did you write me that letter?”

“Because I wanted to say…”

“Cullen, you led me on. You sent me a red rose, knowing exactly what it meant, and then told me to come back.” Asta’s eyes were tear streaked, rivulets running through the dust on her cheeks, a picture of tragedy. “And then as soon as I returned, looking extremely forward to seeing you, thinking we were on the same page, seeing where this,” and she waved her hand between the two of them, “was headed, you tell me you’ve sentenced yourself to death rather than be chained to the Chantry any longer. That’s really… Maker’s Children, Cullen. Why did you even write?” She buried her head in her knees.

Cullen shifted on his feet. “Well, when you put it like that, it was a poor decision.”

Asta snorted, “I really want to throw something at you right now. But I’m surrounded by books and I don’t abuse books.”

“But you’d abuse me?”

An eye peeked through her hair. “Maybe. If I didn’t feel guilty about hitting a dying man.”

Cullen held out his hand. “Come on.”

“Why should I? Where are we going?”

“We are going to talk to Cassandra. And then we are going to the healers, where you will witness me getting a full physical. I expect the sight will leave you speechless.”

Asta snorted again, “The dying shouldn’t crack jokes.”

“He’s not dying.”  The door clicked shut behind Cassandra, who strode into the room with authority.

“Ah, Cassandra, Leliana notified you too? Thanks for saving us the trip. Would you please inform the Inquisitor that I am going to survive?”

“He’s relatively healthy, yes. I can sense the lyrium slowly leaving his system. He hasn’t hit the worst of it, yet, but there isn’t much information on the subject of lyrium withdrawals.”

Asta fully looked up at that. “So he will get worse?”

“Yes, he will, and then he will either get better, or die.”

"I'm standing right here."

Cassandra ignored him, "But I am watching him, and so far I have seen nothing that leads me to the conclusion that his death is imminent or inevitable."

“But the Chantry says…”

Cullen laughed. “Look, Asta, you of all people should realize how falsely the Chantry has led us all in the direction they want us to move in. It’s been ages of half-truths, lies and omissions. Why should lyrium addiction be any different?”

“But Ellandra’s Mattrin…”

Cassandra butted back in, “I was with you that day. He committed suicide. His death was caused by the lyrium only indirectly. Your argument is invalid.”

Asta chewed on her lower lip. Cullen sighed. “Let’s go to the healers. I’ve been trying not to let this get out, but now you know, Cassandra always knew, Bull guessed, and Leliana has spies everywhere. My privacy is at an end.”

Asta shook her head. “No, I don’t want this to affect morale. If you are successful,” she stopped to take a breath, shuddering, “then we can consider making it public. Even offer the other Templars the same option.” She turned her attention to Cassandra, “Thank you, Cass. I feel a little better, knowing. Would you leave us, please?”

The door clicked shut behind her and Asta and Cullen stared at each other for a moment.

“So…” Cullen started.

“Yeah?” Asta looked passive and resigned.

“I guess I’m not the only one who worries?” He grinned.

Asta’s eyes narrowed. There was a cobweb in her eyelashes. “Dolt. Was that ever not obvious?”

“Obvious to you, Leliana and Cassandra, maybe. I’m a big dumb male that might not have even realized you were down here if Leliana hadn’t come and threatened my life.”

She smiled with that, and his heart grew a little lighter. “She threatened your life? I owe her a drink,” Asta pushed herself up on one hand, dusting herself off from head to toe. She had missed the cobweb. He reached out and brushed it away, letting his hand linger a little too long on her face.

“Wait, she threatens my life and you buy her a drink?”

“Well, yes. Because otherwise there would be no ‘us’.” Asta waved her hand again between them vaguely. “I would have ended whatever this is today. Hoping it would have hurt less in the end. When you died.”

Cullen pulled his hand back, finally understanding. “I see.” His fingers twitched nervously. “And now?”

Asta fiddled with the hem of her tunic. “I don’t know. I’m questioning a lot right now. I was prepared when I came back from Crestwood to jump in with both feet. This blindsided me.”

Cullen didn’t want to pressure her, but… “Seems like a waste of a drink if you buy Leliana one for threatening my life and then refuse to have anything to do with me.”

Asta snorted again, “So logical.”

He took a deep breath and took the plunge, “We could buy her one together.”

Asta looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Hmm, maybe.” She shoved him, gently. “I’m still scared.”

“So am I. We just aren’t scared of the same things.”

“That’s probably for the best.” They looked at each other, searchingly for a few moments. “I’m going to go change and get cleaned up. Again. Meet you in about fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds like a plan, Inquisitor.”

"Is the offer to watch you get a physical still on?"  She lifted one eyebrow suggestively.

"One step at a time, Asta."

"Damn."

 


	17. This One Is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little steamy in here! This one is mostly SFW, with maybe a few paragraphs of exceptions once Cullen and Asta retire to their separate rooms, but nothing explicit. No promises on the next chapter. With the next I may just go ahead and bow to the inevitable and upgrade the rating to explicit. You have been warned. Unless I chicken out and fade to black. It could happen.

Apparently after a couple of drinks Leliana was capable of telling wonderful stories about her days with the King and Queen of Fereldan, before they were royalty. They had made Cullen blush, and Asta approved whole-heartedly. It was adorable.

“The noises that came out of that tent!”

“So attacking each other in the Circle was only the beginning?” Asta was delighted.

“Oh, absolutely.” Leliana laughed. “I remember after the Landsmeet in Denerim. Elissa had just announced her intention of marrying Alistair in front of the Banns. Only she hadn’t told him yet! And I doubt that he would have thought to ask. The look on his face!” She eyed Cullen, “Rather the same color as our Commander, here, actually. But with his mouth wide open in shock. He all but fell on her right after the vote. Barely made it out of the room before the moaning started. But the real scandal started that night. No one in Denerim slept that night, they were so loud! Several of the more conservative Banns were livid. But they had been traveling together for months. Anyone that expected them to be… pure, shall we say, was deluding themselves.”

Cullen had moved past cherry red and into burgundy, Asta was pleased to note. His face matched his cloak perfectly.

Soon after that, Leliana had gone back to her tower and Cullen and Asta had found themselves alone. They wandered up to the battlements, Asta stumbling slightly on the stairs. She really had drank too much trying to keep up with Leliana, so she leaned into Cullen for support, looking up at the stars.

Cullen was watching her, she could feel his eyes on her when he spoke. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Asta’s body reacted to those eight words in a completely ridiculous manner, heat pooling between her legs. But she reined herself in. “And yet you aren’t going to.”

Cullen had had a bit too much as well, and leaned in, an arm next to her head, pressing her against the stones, too close to be comfortable, but close enough to be very tempting. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the last time you kissed me I was in a coma!”

“It wasn’t a coma, you were asleep! And I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me!” Cullen protested.

“Like that makes it better.” Asta looked down at his breastplate, where it was pressed against her. “The point is, I want to remember.”

Cullen grinned, full of liquid courage, “What if I told you that you would never forget the way I intend to kiss you?”

Asta rolled her eyes. “Cullen, we are both drunk. The next time…”

“Oh, so there will be a next time…”

She shoved him slightly with one knee, “The next time we kiss I want us both awake, sober and fully aware of what we’re doing. If you were sober, you would agree.”

Cullen dropped his head to her shoulder. “I know you are right, and I’m trying to care that you are right. But I still really, really want to kiss you.”

Asta’s mouth was by his ear. He could feel her breath on it as she spoke, puffing and moving his hair slightly. “There will be a time. I promise that. Maybe we can meet tomorrow?”

Cullen groaned, head still on her shoulder. The vibration echoed through her. “I’m supposed to play chess with Dorian tomorrow. I promised.”

“Then I’ll meet you two in the garden.” She bit her lip, trying to be strong.

“You’ll distract me. I’ll lose.”

Asta laughed, disbelieving. “Have you played chess with Dorian? He’s terrible.” She teased, “I would distract you enough to lose to the worst chess player in Skyhold?”

Cullen looked up at her, head tilted to catch her gaze, “You have no idea.”

Asta huffed, “Fine. I can plan to arrive after you have him cornered.”

“That will work. And then you’ll kiss me?”

“A kiss for the victor, Ser Knight?” She was back to teasing again, and he could barely stand it.

“That would work for me. Nothing like a little positive motivation.” He lifted his other arm, and propped himself up against the battlements. She was trapped, his arms on both sides of her body, and she didn’t care. Her breath quickened and her body tingled in pleasant places.

“Maybe. Let’s see what happens, shall we?” She couldn’t resist teasing a little. “After all, Dorian might win. And I doubt he would be interested in a kiss from the Inquisitor.”

Cullen backed off with that, straightening up and offering her his arm, “Until tomorrow, then, Inquisitor. Let me see you back to your rooms?”

Once behind closed doors, neither felt very much like being responsible. Cullen paced in his loft, trying to shift his erection into a more comfortable state, too restless to lay down. He was torn between thinking he had screwed everything up and hoping against hope that tomorrow would go differently. That whole evening she had sat close to him, brushing up against him, even holding his thigh toward the end of the evening. By the time Leliana had finally left them alone, after telling them bawdy stories about his sovereigns, he was half-erect and not thinking with his head.

Not that it was a valid excuse for pushing her up against the battlements and threatening to kiss her in a way she’d never forget. And once he started, he doubted he’d be able to stop with that.

Maker, he really needed to stop drinking around her. Or maybe at all. The Iron Bull had been flashing him thumbs up from across the tavern all night and… ugh. Cullen leaned his head against the tree growing through his wall and ceiling. Asta was very cute when she was drunk. She always laughed easily, but after a few it was as if she really relaxed, let down her guard.

Only to slam it right back up as soon as they were alone.

Cullen decided, palming himself idly, that he needed a strategy. He was supposed to be playing chess tomorrow. They had already agreed to meet after it was almost over. He would pick her friend’s brain, beat him at chess, look intelligent and manly, sweep her away, claim that victor’s kiss and…

His fantasy stuttered to a stop, just like his hand on his cock. He still hadn’t told her the rest of his baggage. But kissing… kissing was a start. If he could just get to that point.

One step at a time.

***

Meanwhile, back in her own tower, Asta was picturing Cullen naked, having a physical. She was the healer. After all, in fantasies lack of training and magical abilities didn’t apply. There was a lot less angst involved in her daydream, a lot more touching, and no barriers, clothes or otherwise, to get in the way of her imagination, except perhaps for lack of real life experience.

Of course, that lack of experience was making her body restless just picturing him out of his armor in nothing but small clothes. Not for the first time she mentally cursed the Chantry robes that so many men, excepting the Iron Bull, apparently, never looked beyond. Had she the opportunity, she wouldn’t be in the state she was now.

She flipped over on her bed, mentally running her hands down Cullen’s body. The lyrium withdrawal would make his joints and muscles ache. Massage would help with that. She wondered to herself if they would ever reach the point where she could touch him casually without the thought heating her up to a point past caring about propriety, or if anyone was watching. If he had kissed her tonight, she would have kissed him back. And probably wouldn’t have let him stop at kissing.

She slammed her face into her pillow. Why was this so hard? From the sound of Leliana’s stories it had been easier for Queen Elissa. Was it just because they were younger? Free from all but the Warden responsibility of the Blight? But they had lots of time on the road away from civilization, convenient tents to fall into that at least gave an illusion of privacy, and understanding companions instead of being watched constantly by spies that may or may not be reporting to her brother or parents.

She needed a plan. Maybe the flirting was too indirect. Maybe she needed to be blunt - like Cullen had been today. She thought she had been, but maybe…

Maybe she just should have let him kiss her, drunk, sober, recovering lyrium addict or not.

She was really tired of being responsible all of the time.

***

The next day dawned bright and way too early for at least two of Skyhold’s denizens. For once, Cullen’s headache wasn’t cause by lyrium withdrawals, and he knew it as he growled at the recruits. Morning training ended soon enough, several of the recruits limping away. Dorian was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Good morning, Commander!” The mage was way too loud, the sun was too bright, and his voice was too cheery. “How’s your head?”

Cullen snarled wordlessly.

“I do hope it won’t interfere with our game. I’d hate to checkmate you too easily. It would make it seem as if I were taking advantage of your overindulgence last night.”

Cullen slumped, “Maker, everyone has heard about it already.”

“Right up to the point where Leliana turned you down for a threesome, and then you pressed our lovely Inquisitor up against the battlements and fucked her senseless.”

“I… Andraste’s ass, we never asked… I didn’t even kiss her.”

“Commander, most in Skyhold know not to believe everything they hear. And why the fucking Maker and all his Children didn’t you kiss her?”

“She told me not to. So I didn’t.”

Dorian shook his head. “Obviously I need to have a word with our lovely Asta.”

“Don’t. She had her reasons, and they were good ones.”

“Or they sounded reasonable to you, anyway.”

“We were drunk, and she wanted us both to be sober when we…”

Dorian busted out in laughter. “Cullen, I would never kiss or do anything else with anyone if I waited until I was sober!”

“But you are rarely sober.” Dorian’s face fell, and Cullen raced to apologize. “I’m sorry, Dorian. That was uncalled for. I’m hung over, and I told Asta that I’m not taking lyrium yesterday in the most insensitive way possible. It upset her. I thought we were making progress, moving towards an understanding, and now…”

Dorian smiled, “You are forgiven. Many things are said the next morning that one would like to forget. Believe me, I understand. And I can probably help you with the moving forward. What you and our resident idealist fail to understand is that part of being with someone is recognizing that there are always issues to overcome. You snore and have to have a silk pillow, he can’t sleep on his side because of his horns, and so he takes up too much room in the bed. One of you is vain, the other doesn’t bathe enough…”

Cullen was confused. “Horns? Dorian, who are you talking about?”

The mage waved his hand, “No matter, the point is, you both have issues. Asta is… an innocent. For all her forwardness she has also never had someone that cares about her, just her. Either she’s a symbol or a nobody. And you…” Dorian sized him up. “You are no innocent, but I wager it’s not by choice. Was it Kinloch or Kirkwall?”

“How did…”

“Demons mark people, if you know how to look. No matter. My point is, between your lyrium issues and… intimacy issues, and her fear of being nothing but a symbol forever, you need to quit just talking about it. Do you want her?”

Cullen slumped further. They had reached the garden, and he knew a million eyes were upon them. “Yes, more than anything.”

“Good, she feels the same way. Now, let’s play chess. I’m sure she’ll show up after a while, unable to keep away from two such paragons of manhood, just in time to witness your crushing defeat at my hands. Until then, we strategize. After you lose, I’ll depart gracefully and you can make some necessary overtures.”

***

The day was not going well for Asta. Her head was pounding, and Leliana’s unruffled demeanor wasn’t making her anything but bitter about it. She didn’t want to be planning a trip to the bloody Western Approach. She wanted to be in the garden, watching her two favorite men trash talk each other as the better player ripped the other to figurative shreds. Cullen’s intelligence and excellent sense of tactics were so… and then Leliana’s voice pulled her back into the here and now.

“Fine, I’ll take Blackwall, Dorian and the Iron Bull. A small party will travel faster, Blackwall may be a helpful liaison with the Wardens, Dorian can help with the Tevinter ruins out there, and I suspect that having Iron Bull around will keep Dorian from complaining too much about the sand in his shorts and relieve Cullen about my safety. After a couple of weeks, we can arrange to have Dorian and Blackwall rotate out in favor of Cassandra and Vivienne. Will that work, Leliana?”

Leliana stifled a smile, but Asta caught it. “Yes, I think so. What about a rogue, though?”

“You are sending scouts ahead. If we need them, I expect I can find them. In the meantime, thanks to Sera I can open most locks. Hawke wants me to keep Varric away from the Wardens if I can manage it. I don’t want to take a larger group that could tip the Wardens off on our presence. And I expect if Griffon Wing goes the way Cullen wants it to, our presence will be more than adequate in a month or less. Besides, the extra muscle will be necessary when I get drawn into my research. I tend to get distracted. And there are a lot of really interesting ruins out there.”

“All right, I’ll send the requisitions to Ser Morris, and start having scouts work on the fastest route and copying our best maps of the area. Three days?”

Asta breathed out, “Three days. Thanks, Leliana.”

“No problem, Inquisitor. I suggest you get to the garden. My scouts are signaling that Cullen has Dorian in quite a bind.”

With a wave, Asta was already down half the steps and across the main hall, running like Corypheus himself was after her. She slowed right before she hit the gardens. Didn’t want to seem out of breath, after all. So she glided into the garden instead, like a breath of fresh air, coming up behind Dorian without the two men noticing.

“Gloat all you like, I have this one,” Cullen was beautifully smug, crossing his arms over his armor like he couldn’t lose.

“You will feel much better if you come to terms with my inevitable victory,” Dorian obviously knew he had lost, but wouldn’t admit it.

“Are you boys playing nice?” Asta said, teasingly, relieved at last to be exactly where she wanted to be.

“I’m always nice,” Dorian pouted.

“Inquisitor! We were… that is…” Cullen started, half out of his chair.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Asta looked over the board. “Someone has to teach Dorian humility.”

“Humility is boring,” Dorian talked back. “Your turn, Commander.”

“Oh really? Because I just won. Are you sure you don’t feel humbled?”

“Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you,” Dorian stood, “I’ll leave you two to the garden.”

With his friend’s departure, Cullen rubbed his neck, bashful over his memories of the night before. In the daylight, they seemed too pushy, but Dorian had been very approving. Still, he should give Asta an out in case she regretted anything she said, “I should get back to work. Unless you would care for a game?”

“Prepare the board, Commander.” Asta leaned back in Dorian’s chair, and crossed her legs. “You know, this garden is filled with Leliana’s scouts. It’s nearly impossible to have a private conversation. Much less give you your due reward as the victor of the match.”

“I suspected as much. And that’s probably true of most places in Skyhold, Inquisitor.” Cullen moved his knight.

“It does create a challenge for us, however. In Haven, we started a discussion of ‘appropriate places’. I was hoping to continue that conversation today.” She moved another pawn to counter.

“I think I’ve found a place. I refuse to discuss it here, however. Perhaps once we finish our game we can discreetly adjourn?”

“That would be lovely, Commander. In the meantime, where did you learn to play? In the Circle?”

“No, sooner than that. I don’t know when, but I do know that I used to play against my sister all the time. She used to get this stuck up look on her face when she won, which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face when I finally won…” Cullen laughed, at ease and headache forgotten.

“Have you written to her yet?”

“Yes. Naturally she scolded me for not writing more often. Apparently I’m an uncle, though, twice over.”

“How long had it been since you wrote her a letter?”

“I may have failed to tell her I was being transferred to Kirkwall,” Cullen was avoiding her eyes. “She was always very good at tracking me down.”

“Cullen Rutherford, you are a terrible correspondent!” Asta paused. “And yet now I feel quite privileged that you write to me so often.”

“You, Inquisitor, are a pleasure to write to. You don’t scold me, inform me that I’m getting too old to be fighting demons, demand that I visit at inconvenient times, tell me I should never have become a Templar in the first place if I was just going to quit and go home, and understand that I have a very important job to do.” Cullen moved his bishop. “Also, you seem to grasp some of my more unusual challenges, which I can’t discuss with my sister, loquacious as she is.”

“I see,” Asta was taken back. “Anything else that I am doing right, Commander? I rather like hearing positive things about myself rather than being put down for needlessly throwing myself into traps.”

“Or down cliffs, or into bear and wolf dens, both possessed and non-possessed…” Cullen tilted his smile back up at her. “But if you are looking for compliments, Inquisitor, I could go on. How much time do you have?”

Asta flushed, “That’s okay. I’m not our resident peacock. I’m unused to hearing nice things about myself.”

Cullen met her eyes, “That’s something I would love to remedy.” Another move, and he took another pawn. “You know, we really haven’t talked about much except the Inquisition or related matters. That’s something else we should remedy.”

Asta flashed him a smile, more secure again, “Are you saying we should spend more time together, Commander?”

Cullen’s face grew sincere instead of flirty, and he put his hand over hers, resting on her queen. “I would like that.”

“So would I,” Asta breathed, focused almost entirely on the heat and weight of his hand on hers as her face flushed again.

“Perhaps we should quit trying to back each other’s game pieces into corners, and find a secluded corner of our own?” Cullen’s eyes were serious and dark, and he leaned over, elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together.

“I’d possibly like that even more.” Asta glanced at the board. “I think you are checkmated in three moves in any case. Am I wrong?”

Cullen knocked over his king without looking. “I hardly care. This one,” he said, never dropping his gaze, “is yours, Asta.”

 


	18. Appropriate Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, so probably NSFW, but not for the happy reasons. Cullen decided to share his innermost scars instead of just skipping to the end. Hopefully it will lead to a healthy relationship. Even I'm a little impatient with him at this point. Luckily, it looks like Asta is okay with playing the long game.
> 
> I also posted a small drabble of the previous chapter from Dorian's POV. It's called 'Why Cullen Was Smooth'. Sorry about the unintentional smut teaser. I hate it when people do that to me. But as I mentioned in the comments from yesterday, sometimes characters just put their feet down and say 'What are you thinking? Would we do this?' This is one of those times. So Blame Cullen. Apparently he's cool with that.

They put the game away, slowly, deliberately, as if teasing each other with how long it could take. Cullen’s mouth came near her ear as she handed him the board, “East Battlements, next to the broken section. Scramble across, then drop down over the edge on the far side. Meet me there in ten minutes.” He stood up and slightly bowed. “Have a good afternoon, Inquisitor,” he said louder, more properly, meaning to be overheard.

Asta peeked around. More than half of the people in the garden were pretending not to listen. So she took the long way. She stopped to visit Cole for a moment, but when he immediately broke into his mind reading saying, “Hotter than the Sunburst and real enough to touch. Maker, let me touch you…” she cut her visit short out of embarrassment and said good-bye.

She wandered through his office - he was already gone, but she went through the pretense of leaving a message with his runner anyway. It would throw their observers off the right path, perhaps. “Tell him that I was here, and I’ll see him in Council later.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Then she was across his office and next to the broken section of the battlements. She could see at least three sentries, but none of them were paying attention to her just now. As quickly as possible she was over the far edge of the dip, dangling off the inward side, and looking over a small landing inaccessible any other way, with walls screening it on two sides and Leliana’s tower on the other.

Cullen caught her on the way down, his hands sliding distractingly up her body as gravity did its best work. They stared at each other for a minute, as if unsure how they got here.

Asta finally spoke, feeling the moment getting awkward. “Are you ready for…” And then Cullen’s mouth was on hers, hard, passionate. All words went directly out of her head as she kissed him back almost desperately. His tongue teased against her lips and she opened readily to admit him, winding her arm around his neck and grabbing his hair. Long moments passed as they wove themselves around each other.

Without realizing she was moving, Asta felt her back hit the tower wall, and used the leverage to wrap a leg around Cullen’s hip. This was better than any silly fantasy, or heated daydream. This was real, Cullen was kissing her and… he had stopped. She felt him pull away, eyes closed. She whined involuntarily and opened them. He was still holding her, his hands at her waist, breathing heavily, much like herself.

“Maker, Cullen. That was perfect. Why did you stop?”

Cullen laughed lowly, “I had to get control of myself. That was… nice.”

“If that was your version of nice I want to be around for mind-blowing.”

Cullen leaned his head in against her forehead. “So would I.”

Asta broke apart in laughter, Cullen had to hold her up as her knees buckled. “Andraste’s flaming knickers…” she stopped, “No, that’s just a little too accurate right now.”

“Glad it’s not just me. Should I make a joke about the Maker’s Balls?” Cullen laughed again, feeling more relaxed now that the first hurdle had been cleared.

Asta pressed against him, aware of everything that he had going on beneath his waist. “Hmm, I think I’d prefer yours.”

Cullen choked, relaxation gone, “What, already?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for months. But we can take it as fast or as slow as you like,” Asta leaned her head back. “Unless my kissing performance wasn’t as good as yours. I’m rather inexperienced at this sort of thing.”

Cullen closed his eyes, the tension was there, but he had no panic feelings at the moment, “I would never have guessed.”

“Really? That’s good.” Asta leaned back in and started running her mouth along his jaw. “I like the way your stubble feels on my lips.” She smiled against him, and he tightened his arms in response.

“I like the way your lips feel against my neck,” Cullen commented, sighing. “I think I… need to take it a bit slow. I’m… inexperienced in many ways and have some things I’ll need to work through. It’s been a long time since I wanted anyone in my life. If I seem unsure, that’s why.” He was getting distracted by her sucking on his earlobe. Why in the world did that feel as good as it did?

“Fine,” Asta said into his ear, breathily. “So you should tell me your limits. What’s allowed? Or would you rather tell me what I cannot do, Commander?” She snickered, “After all, that's worked for you so far, hasn’t it?”

Cullen groaned in response to the way she had breathed his title. “Anything that’s off limits for you?” He deflected while he thought quickly.

“I probably don’t know enough to tell you what I don’t like. I’m pretty open to experimentation.”

Cullen swallowed. Did she have to be so… honest? “Okay,” he said hoarsely. _Honesty_ … he thought. “Let’s keep it clothed, at least for now. I need to tell you why, but it’s hard to talk about.”

“Right,” Asta said, more seriously. She pulled back a little bit. “Is that better?”

“No. Yes.” Cullen let go of her hips to rub the back of his neck. “I can’t think when you're near me.”

“That’s a problem. Now that I’m near you, I don’t ever want to leave.” Asta laughed and let go of his waist. “I’m listening, Cullen.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Cullen took a deep breath, intent on getting this over with. “I told you where I was during the Blight. At Kinloch Hold. There… was a girl. A mage.”

Asta whistled, “Wow, you did some major rule-breaking, you rebel, you!”

“On the contrary. We talked, which was unusual enough for a mage and a Templar, and I believe now that we had… mutual affection for each other. She tried to get me alone once. I ran.” Cullen blushed.

Asta stifled a laugh. “Sorry,” She said, contrite, seeing Cullen’s expression.

“Right, so… then Uldred, ugh, this is hard to explain. He was a senior enchanter. He was practicing and training others in blood magic on the sly. And he attempted to overthrow the Circle. Apparently, Teryn Loghain had gone so far as to promise him freedom if he complied with his wishes. It seems like a long shot, but… well, he nearly succeeded.

“Long story short, all my friends amongst the Templars ended up dead, or in thrall to demons. Sloth, Rage… and Desire.”

“Oh,” Asta said, beginning to understand.

“Solona was dead. I knew this, had seen her fall in the Library in the first attack. But the demons, they could feel her pull on me, and my regret. They used it.

“Uldred… trapped me in a magic prison - I’m not sure how. I was there for days, maybe a week. I still don’t like enclosed spaces.” Cullen took another breath. This was the hard part. He needed to say it quick, like ripping a bandage off. “In that time, he allowed the demons to… amuse themselves with me.” He shut his eyes, seeing the memories play out. “At first it was fairly innocent. They masqueraded as Solona, kissing me, teasing me, making me try to think she was alive and we had a future together. Cruel, but mostly benign. I found out fairly soon that I didn’t have to make the first move for them to be able to touch me. That what I said didn’t matter, that what my thoughts held was irrelevant. They taunted me with her body.”

Asta was silent, her heart breaking for him, her strong knight. She wanted to hold him, but knew it wasn’t the right time.

Cullen continued, “After that… they really got into it. They showed me Solona and a whole slew of her friends from the Circle. Mages that I knew. Her and her elf friend, her and Anders - yes, that Anders… they changed their appearances like changing their clothes and… cavorted themselves in front of me. I tried not to look, tried to close my eyes.

“And then,” Cullen looked up, face haunted, “they tried to touch me again.” He took a deep breath. “I tried to fight back, tried to smite them. But it had been days without lyrium, without food or water. It barely knocked them back. I fought, and they bound me. At the end, all I had was the Chant and my good luck charm.”

“The Hero of Fereldan came at that point and rescued me. In all my brokenness and despair I told her the worst thing I could have said - that she should kill every mage in the Tower. That it was the only way to be sure the Circle was cleansed. I told her to annul the Circle.” Cullen closed his eyes again. “She didn’t listen to me. She was kind, but firm, told me that she would not be guilty of killing innocents.

“Because though Solona was dead, and Anders had escaped - he was good at that, nine times total, I heard later in Kirkwall - and all my friends were dead, there were children, Tranquil and innocent mages that had done nothing wrong still alive. And I wanted them dead. All of them.” Cullen slumped against the tower wall, lost in his memories. “The demons didn’t possess me, or even have me in a complete thrall. But they turned me into a monster all the same. One who does the wrong thing for what they believe is right.

“And that’s one of the reasons why Kirkwall happened. Only, I started to wake up. Not soon enough to stop the rapes, the Harrowed mages made Tranquil for the pleasure of other Templars. Not soon enough to stop anything but Meredith’s last mad push for control, after Anders had already blown up the Chantry. He didn’t even use magic to do it - it was an alchemical formula, did you know? But because he was a mage, magic was responsible.

“Maker, Asta, I _am_ an abomination, corrupted by my own choices. Can there be any redemption for me? I swore to protect, and turned the blindest eye to those that needed it most, absorbed in my own struggle.”

Asta fell to her knees alongside him, reached out, hesitated for just a moment and then she grabbed him, and pulled him tight, tears running down her face.

“Now do you understand why I want nothing to do with that life?” Cullen was crying too, bleakness captured on his face.

“Of course I do,” Asta said into his hair.

“Then you should leave me now, and find someone whole. I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” Asta risked a smile, “But I want you anyway.” She pulled back. “It’s not that I don’t care about the people that died, the Tranquil, the victims. I do. It’s tragic, and you might have been able to help them. But you are here now. Working towards your redemption in the way that presented itself. Tell me, if Cassandra hadn’t recruited you in Kirkwall - what would you have done?”

“I don’t know. Rebuilt Kirkwall, without the Gallows. Maybe joined the Guard, if Aveline would have had me. Maybe joined the Inquisition anyway, if they would allow.”

“Would you have gone to Corypheus in search of power and lyrium like Samson?”

“No. I would have found another path.”

“Then there you go,” Asta hugged him again. “That’s enough for me.”

Cullen pulled back, tired. “I fail to follow your reasoning.”

“A worse man would have followed Samson into corruption to gain power, or to feed his lyrium addiction. Instead, you chose heresy and weakness and possible death by lyrium withdrawal over all of that. You hardly picked the easy road, Cullen. And all because Cassandra offered you an alternative.”

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”

“I’ll just have to have enough for both of us then, for now. Keeping in mind that the one having the faith is hardly a devotee of any divinity. But I can choose to believe in you.”

“Why?”

_Because I love you._ Asta bit down the automatic answer. Did she? Maybe it was just infatuation, heady and sweet, or lust, hot and heavy with actions yet undone. But wouldn’t those have evaporated under the pain of his lyrium or the tale of his abuse?

Cullen picked up on her reluctance and stiffened. “I see.”

“No, you don’t.” Asta straightened her spine. “Listen up, Commander. I’m not sure what this is between us. It’s changed, just since yesterday, and it’s changing again. I know I care about you. Your pain is my pain, and… all this sounded way better in my head. I’m not willing to give it up, just so you can throw yourself onto a pyre of self-flagellation and bury yourself in your work. I want you, and while in the past I rarely got what I wanted, this I _will have_.” Asta grabbed him by the shoulders. “So, we will take this by a snail’s pace if we have to. But you are _mine,_ scars and all, and if you want me, I am yours.”

She took a breath and swung her leg over him, so she was sitting on his lap. “Now, unless you are calling this off, kiss me again until neither of us can think straight. We think too much anyway. Dorian says so.”

Rather stunned, Cullen obeyed. This one was different from before. A little less chaste, yet more tentative, slower, with longing and heat behind their lips and tongues. His hands held her waist, and then moved lower, cupping her ass, squeezing gently. He moved his lips along her jaw, biting and suckling her neck. Oddly, he wanted to leave a mark there. Perhaps it was her words, _if you want me I am yours_ , echoing in him.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had something of his own, besides his little silver coin and a lyrium box that he hated. This woman, this amazing, stubborn woman offered herself and he barely dared to claim her, and he hated himself for his cowardice. He bent his knees up higher, sliding her down closer to his core. She gasped at the contact of his hardness against her, and ground down to feel more, whining when it worked.

Cullen moaned and stopped her. “Asta, I…”

“I know, I’ll stop.” She whispered over his lips. “I should let you get back to work in any case. Can’t have the Commander of the Inquisition gone half the afternoon passing time with his lady friend. What would the Inquisitor say?”

Cullen barked out a laugh, “I can’t go back to work like this!”

“Like what?” Asta asked innocently, while she leaned and ground down on him again, making him bite off an expletive.

“Andraste’s ass, Asta, I ought to…” Cullen’s imagination stalled.

“Yes, well, we’ll get to that when you are ready. In the meantime, to work?” Asta climbed off him, a bit stiff from the awkward position and hard floor, and brushed her knees off carefully. “At least this stupid uniform hides dirt well,” she commented.

Cullen watched her and stood up in one swift movement. He pulled her into him from behind, and kissed her neck again. Asta leaned back, wishing they could stay like that forever. “Will I see you tonight?” He asked hoarsely, mouth still against her neck and an arm against her stomach.

“Wild Mabari couldn’t keep me away,” Asta assured him. “Where will you be?”

“The Sing-quistion is meeting tonight.”

“Oh really? Are you participating or in the audience?”

“Participating…” Cullen ground out, in between the neck kisses he couldn’t stop giving her.

“Mmmm, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 


	19. Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffity fluff fluff. Fluff.

Asta floated through her afternoon, beaming at all her advisors during the War Council and congratulating herself when she failed, in her opinion, to moon over Cullen, even when he blushed when she walked in. All in all, it was unremarkable in every way, except for the ballooning emotions that kept a perpetual smile on her face.

The Sing-quisition was meeting in the tavern that evening. The group had several choral numbers planned, as well as a few solos from featured members. The rumor was the Nightingale was going to sing, so the tavern was fuller than usual. Asta found a place near the door, facing Maryden’s usual spot. It was good, even if she did feel exposed. For a moment, she considered listening from the third floor, but she wanted Cullen to know she was there. It was a bit lonely, though. None of her friends were attending, not interested in music, or at least not the mostly Fereldan music that the group was showcasing.

The casually dressed group had arranged themselves on the stairs, murmuring and rustling as they prepared to perform. Asta caught Cullen’s eye, and he twinkled at her, half-smiling before the director called them to attention, ready to begin. The group was diverse, she was delighted to note, ranging from two of her advisors to Chargers and a few dwarves and raw recruits. Not large, by any means, but enthusiastic. Most of the songs were folk songs, with a hymn or two thrown in. Asta was relieved that none were specifically about Andraste. They made her feel so awkward. The Nightingale’s version of a well-known Dalish lullaby brought most of the room to tears, including Asta. Not knowing the meaning didn’t detract from the beauty of the melody or from her rare bird-like soprano, so often exchanged for the harsh squawking of ravens.

The group swung merrily into the crowd favorite of the _Ballad of Nuggins_. The tavern happily sang along with the chorus. Asta didn’t bother - she enjoyed the audience participation and was familiar with the words, but singing anything wasn’t her field. But this, this was fun, seeing her Inquisition as something other than an army, and separate from the purpose for which it was founded.

Asta and most of the audience figured that _Nuggins_ was the end of the evening, so when the Commander stepped forward, presumably to perform on his own, the crowd muttered, and settled back into their seats. Maryden had stepped up to accompany him on her lute, as well as a red-headed drummer she didn’t know. The crowd moved restlessly in anticipation. Apparently the Commander didn’t usually perform on his own.

A rollicking tune kicked up between the musicians and after they found their balance, Cullen jumped in, setting a deliberate pace.

_Gentlemen, it is my duty to inform you of one beauty,_

_Though I’d ask of you a favor not to seek her for awhile._

_Though I own she is a creature of character and feature_

_No words can paint the picture of the Queen of all Argyll._

Cullen bowed towards her without missing the transition to the chorus. Asta nearly laughed aloud, stopping herself at the last minute, blushing slightly.

_All the roses in the garden, they bow and ask for pardon,_

_For not one could match the beauty of the Queen of all Argyll._

The beat picked up and the musicians rhythms grew more challenging, the drummer moving with the beat and Maryden’s fingers flying over her strings. But the entire tavern was clapping and whooping along with them as Cullen’s voice almost danced into the second verse and the chorus again without stumbling once.

As he begun the last verse, he grew more serious.

_So my lads I needs must leave you, my intentions no’ to grieve you,_

_Nor indeed would I deceive you, Oh, I’ll see you in a while._

_I must find some way to gain her, to court her and attain her._

_I fear my heart’s in danger from the Queen of all Argyll._

His eyes never left her face as he sung the chorus twice more, Maryden and the drummer joining in this time, and then bowed to her once more to raucous applause. Then the bastard winked at her, striding over to offer his arm. Asta took it, laughing at last, and they left the tavern together.

“I guess the cat is out of the bag then,” Asta couldn’t stop laughing, propping herself up against the armory’s wall, breathless.

“Yes, well, I find as much as I would like our private affairs to stay private, soldiers gossip worse than anyone.” Cullen laughed along. “At least this way they are informed my intentions are honorable. Maybe that will cut back on the gossip.”

“Hmm,” Asta hummed, “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. My intentions are a little ambiguous.”

Cullen leaned against the wall with one shoulder. “I figure if one of us has good intentions we won’t stray too far,” he took her hand in his and kissed it.

“Well, I am yours, Commander,” Asta purred, “So if you stray, I follow.”

Cullen turned and kissed her lightly. The rest of the audience was trickling out of the tavern now and dispersing across Skyhold, talking cheerfully.

“But where is Argyll? Is it near Ostwick?” A young male recruit asked, confused.

“Don’t be daft, man, it’s not a real place. It’s one of them metaphor thingies, ain’t it?” A female recuit sighed.

“Then why’d the Commander leave with the Inquisitor, then, if she ain’t this Queen of Argyll?” A slapping sound followed by an “Ow! That’s my head!”

“Idjit,” muttered the female soldier, irritated.

Cullen stifled his laughter, “Though my meaning may escape some of them, I fear.”

“Maybe it will at least keep us from being followed day and night?”

“Not likely. Now they know there is something to watch for.” Cullen leaned out of the shadows, observing the loiterers.

Asta sighed, “I just want to be alone with you for a little while before I leave for the Western Approach. I’ll be gone for at least a month.” She tugged at his hand, listlessly. “Any ideas?”

Cullen glanced around again on the ground and up at the sentries on the battlements. No one appeared to be looking. He grabbed her hand and drug her across the courtyard, past the blacksmiths and through the door to the dungeon. He pulled her down the long flight of stairs, waited for the bored guard to look the other way and dashed through the second door as stealthy as any assassin.

They were directly underneath the Undercroft and the waterfall was loud enough to drown out any outside noise. They were alone and private, albeit in a dungeon full of cells too precarious to entrust even prisoners to.

“Eventually we will wall this off, I think,” Cullen stated. "But in the meantime, what do you think of this as an ‘appropriate place’?

Asta sighed, “It’s perfect.” She tentatively stepped towards the massive hole. “Will it fall apart if we sit on the edge?”

Cullen blanched and pulled her back. “Let’s not test it.” He led her around the edge to a section that looked stable. He took off his cloak and spread it out on the ground, gesturing grandly. “Your seat, my lady.”

Asta fluttered her hand and curtseyed. “You are too kind, Ser Knight.” She plopped down unceremoniously. “You know, in Crestwood I ran into this young couple in the abandoned tavern. My whole group caught them in a compromising position.” She laughed, remembering. “I’m beginning to sympathize with their plight.”

Cullen agreed, and wrapped his arm awkwardly around her shoulders as he settled down. Asta leaned into him, sighing again. “Cullen, when you kissed me earlier, for how long had you wanted to do that?”

“For longer than I should admit,” he looked down at her, head tucked under his chin. “I still can’t believe I even got this far. You’re the Inquisitor and I…”

“Am the Commander of my forces.” Asta snorted, “It’s not like there isn’t a precedent. Maferath himself…”

“Maker, I hope I’m nothing like Maferath.” Cullen shuddered. “Bastard had his wife burned alive.”

“Yeah, not exactly the best role model. Wife or not, and you know what I think.” Asta looked at him. “Will the gossip bother you?”

“It would bother me more if there was nothing to talk about,” Cullen’s eyes were twinkling again.

“Well, you’d better get to work on that, then, Commander. Should I get a map marker from the War Room?”

“Only if you have plans for that marker besides placing it on the map…”

“Why, Commander!” Asta’s eyes laughed as she feigned shock. “What a dirty mind you have!”

Cullen’s mouth captured hers again and quickly turned from chaste to heated. Asta moved her hands from her lap and rested the palms on his lap, leaning into his mouth. She was a supplicant at his altar, but she wouldn’t move further without his approval. Cullen picked up one of her hands and moved it to his chest, so that she could feel his heart pounding beneath the fabric. He broke off their kiss to confess, “I really want to touch you, Asta. May I?”

Asta chuckled, “Cullen, all this hesitation is endearing, but I’ve made it clear. I’m yours.” Cullen groaned and slowly, tentatively pushed his hand up under her loose tunic. His fingers stroked the soft skin that lay underneath and he kissed her sweetly. Asta became the aggressor, as she teased her tongue into his mouth to make him moan against hers. She wasn’t prepared for the rush of his passion, and the way her center ached to be filled in response. He devoured her lips, her neck, dipping his mouth between her collarbones with a lick so small she wasn‘t sure it even happened, before moving back up to catch her lower lip in his teeth. He pushed gently and Asta felt herself recline, with his arm behind her head and his other hand tracing patterns against her stomach. One of his legs came to rest over hers and she arched against him involuntarily, desperate for pressure.

Tentatively, his fingertips grazed the underside of her breast, and disappeared at her pleased gasp, as if frightened of its own bravery. He paused his assault against her neck at that point.

“Cullen?” Asta asked gently, once she found her voice. Her hand stroked reassurement against the back of his neck, teasing his hair.

“Is this getting out of hand?” Cullen swallowed, trying to slow his heartbeat by breath alone.

“I don’t care,” Asta answered honestly, “do you?”

“I’m not sure,” Cullen looked at her, a little line in between his eyebrows. Asta reached out to rub it away.

“Then we should stop,” she said, practically, but with an inward groan. “You don’t look comfortable.” She sat up on her elbows. “Besides, logistically, that guard could walk in here at any time. That does put a damper on the removal of clothing.”

Cullen shook his head, shifting awkwardly away. “Asta, you are either hopelessly practical or completely wanton.”

“Well, someone had to say it. I do assume that eventually we will be removing clothing, right?”

“I certainly hope so,” Cullen’s face relaxed with a touch of humor. “I have nice memories of your body undressed. I’d like to make more.”

“You bastard! You did look!” Asta shoved him. “I’m looking forward to it too, Commander. Maker, why didn’t we get here sooner? We could have already reached the naughty bits if we had started right after Haven.”

“Because I am a clueless man with a dark past I must overcome and I can’t quite believe my good luck?” Cullen offered.

Asta stretched up and kissed him again. “That must be it.” She looked him up and down, and eyed the bulge in his pants. “Maker’s Balls! Are you going to be able to walk with that thing?”

“Asta!” Cullen hissed, embarrassed, all the relaxation in his face disappeared with one word.

“Look, Cullen,” Asta stated bluntly, “I’ve had to change my smallclothes twice today already. You did that to me.” Cullen sat up further, and rubbed the back of his neck. Asta continued, “I, apparently, am having a similar effect on you. It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?”

Cullen considered it, blushing. “Yes. It is.”

Asta smiled. “Maybe when you can answer that question without thinking so hard we can start removing clothing.” She kissed him one more time for good measure, and Cullen groaned into her lips.

“I hope it doesn’t take that long,” He laughed, burying his face in her hair. “Maybe I’m already making progress.”

“I certainly hope so, Commander,” Asta beamed, “In the meantime, have you eaten? No matter, I know the answer is no. Besides, I’m hungry. Let’s go butter up that bitch of a cook and get something to eat.”

“You’re the Inquisitor! Surely the cook is…”

“A cook rules the domain of the kitchen, Commander. She bows to no one, Commander nor Inquisitor. When she’s really bitchy, though, I just have Cole snitch things. It’s very effective.”

“Good to know. I tend to miss meals.”

“I’ve noticed.” Asta pretended to heave him to his feet, and shook out his cloak. “Now, come on!”

***

"What’s this I hear about a serenading Commander?” Dorian’s eyebrows were nearly to his hairline as he strolled into Cullen’s office the next day and leaned against the wall haphazardly.

“I wouldn’t call it a serenade. I… just thought it would make our relationship clear without embarrassing either of us. Much.”

“So you _sang_ to her. In front of the entire Inquisition.” Dorian shook his head, impressed. “How quickly you learn, Commander.”

“Nonsense. Leliana was there, but Josie was entertaining nobles who wouldn’t have been seen dead at a gathering like that. Sera hates singing, so she wasn’t in the pub. In fact, none of the inner circle was there. It felt remarkably private, in retrospect.” Cullen looked pointedly at Dorian who elected to ignore the hint.

“Well, half the soldiers are humming the tune and the other half are arguing about whether Argyll is a kind of Plaideweave.” Dorian lurched upright. “So have fun explaining to your men and women that your Inquisitor is not the Queen of Plaideweave.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Of course. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Actually, I do. Uneducated Fereldans aside, I have to pack for the Western Approach.” He turned to leave and Cullen called after him, “Dorian?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“Thanks for your help in the garden. If you hadn’t…”

“I know. You are quite welcome. You can name your first child after me.” Cullen snorted. “Oh, Commander, it will happen. Asta has her hooks firmly in you now, and I’ve never met a more determined fisherman.”

Cullen hesitated for a moment and then asked anyway, “You’ll watch out for her in the Approach, won’t you?”

“I always do, Commander. I always do.”

***

Asta was in the Undercroft, consulting with Dagna and Harritt on new armor, and Bull swanned in.

“Hey, Harritt! Thanks for the work on the new axe. Can’t wait to try out the blood grooves.” Harritt humphed grumpily and turned away. “Dagna! Looking good, little lady! When are you going to let me buy you a drink?”

“Maybe once I don’t have to worry about Dorian zapping me into ozone if I get too close?” Dagna said cheekily. “No offense, Bull, but I’ve known a few possessive mages and I never want to get on their bad side.” Bull picked up his weapon and tested the edge against his fingernail, grunting in approval when it cut like butter.

“Glad I caught you, Boss,” Bull said. “Finalizing the armor?”

“Trying. Resources are still so limited and this is all so new to me. But even I know we likely won’t need a ton of cold protection in an arid climate.”

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Those Venatori bastards might try, though.”

Asta waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m more worried about Grey Wardens. We need protection against the heroes of the Blight, demon armies and mind control. Dagna informs me that’s a little too specific.”

Bull shuddered visibly. “Not what I like to hear, Boss.”

Dagna chirped, “You’ll be fine! Demons from a rift are more likely to attack physically anyway. They don’t need a host!”

“Not helping, Dagna,” Bull growled. He started to exit, axe strapped to his back and stopped. “Speaking of demons, you talk to Cullen, Boss?”

“A few times, Bull. I think it’s good for now. Thanks for asking.” Asta looked him directly in his eye and smiled dreamily.

Bull nodded, satisfied. “Good to know, Boss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from this chapter is calling 'The Queen of Argyll', and I shamelessly borrowed it. If you want to listen to it, I recommend Silly Wizard's version.


	20. Stay With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. For all the good reasons. First time posting smut... hope I did it justice. Rating raised to explicit, though as these things go this is pretty mild still.
> 
> Again, I'm not worth getting fired over. Use your discretion!

The night before Asta’s departure she stopped by Cullen’s office hoping to catch him before bed. And if he just happened to be shirtless…

Unfortunately, he was not partially undressed. Instead he sat at his desk, still in his armor, head on his arms, surrounded by paper, sleeping. Asta watched him for a moment before she noticed one of his candles was about to drip all over his arm. She moved it quickly, and Cullen, either sensing the movement or her presence, sat up.

“Asta? When did you get here?” He yawned, jaw cracking.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Asta scanned his desk. “Cullen, these aren’t for the Western Approach or even the Hissing Wastes. Why are you looking at the Exalted Plains? We won’t be ready to make a move there for months.”

Cullen hesitated slightly, grabbed her wrist and pulled her in to stand between his legs. “Just forward thinking.”

“Well, your Inquisitor says that forward thinking can wait until morning.” Asta moved around the room, blowing out all the torches save one. “Up the ladder you go, Commander. Double time.”

Cullen cracked a smile and yawned again, too tired to argue. He detached his armor piece by piece and placed it meticulously on its stand. He frowned. “I should polish it.”

Asta rolled her eyes. “Commander, if that armor is any shinier you’ll blind people. Bed, now.”

Cullen swung up the ladder like a sailor into rigging, his ass on display for Asta to ogle. It made her catch her breath. One he safely reached the top, she followed, less gracefully.  She reached the top and looked around.  It was austere in its simplicity, just the bare necessities of bed, table, chest, and a red rug that had seen better days.

Cullen watched her looking around, somehow regretting it wasn't more welcoming.  He hadn't noticed how barren it seemed when it was just him falling into bed exhausted at the end of the day.  Seeing it through her eyes, he judged himself for not making his quarters more habitable.

“Cullen, there’s a hole in your roof. And a tree?” Asta grinned. “Too busy to notice or too busy to have it fixed?” She realized belatedly that he was standing awkwardly by his bed. “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nice having you up here,” he blurted out.

Asta smiled, “I admit I was curious. You do realize that both Leliana’s and Josie’s accommodations are far more luxurious?”

“I like the hole. I don’t like feeling trapped.” He was rubbing the back of his neck, again. Asta stepped over and touched his jaw lightly.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Cullen grabbed her hand. “I want… that is, would you like to stay for a while?” He looked around, as if noticing there wasn’t a chair for the first time. “I’m afraid you’ll have to sit on the… bed.”

Asta laughed, “It’s fine, Cullen. Don’t worry so much. I’m not going to attack you.”

“Oh,” Cullen looked mildly disappointed, Asta was cheered to note.

“Unless you want me to?” She queried, curiously.

Cullen grinned, a little more at ease. It made him look rakish and a little dangerous. Asta’s stomach tightened in response. “That might not be so bad. I am tired though. None of the recruits knew the right way to load an expedition wagon today.”

“You realize that they were pleading ignorance to get out of work?” Asta was skeptical. Farmer’s kids and experienced soldiers, even merchants knew how to load wagons.

“Well, yes, but now when they try it the next time I can discipline them for not paying attention. Someone has to do latrine duty.” Cullen looked pleased with himself.

Asta sat down on the far side of the bed, back against the headboard. She crossed her ankles and looked up, “Oh! You can see Judex!”

“Yes, and sometimes the Maiden just before dawn.” Cullen eased himself onto the bed as well, as if he was afraid to displace her, or accidentally touch. He positioned his head on the other pillow gingerly, with his hands underneath. Despite his cautious manner, he had a small smile on his face. “I think in summer I might be able to see Draconis.”

“Don’t you get snowed on?”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t. You should ask Dorian to cast a barrier or something.”

“Dorian is never coming near my bedroom.” Cullen joked. “I’m surprised you aren’t jealous enough to forbid it. He is a very handsome man, after all.”

“Somehow I don’t think that would happen. Besides, if not Dorian, then Solas. Vivienne would just turn up her nose at the ladder and refuse to climb it.” Asta dropped the subject and flipped onto her side to face him. “Cassandra is staying here for the next couple of weeks. Did you know?”

“Is that for my benefit?” Cullen raised one eyebrow. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“You can let me worry a little, Commander.” Asta continued. “She will be reporting to me. I’ve given instructions for meals to be delivered. Eat them, Commander.”

“Is that an order from the Inquisitor?” Cullen snickered, maddeningly.

Asta put a hand on his chest. “It’s an order from _your_ Inquisitor.” She paused, thinking. “Also write. I know you are busy, but hope that I’ll have a letter waiting at the next camp is a powerful motivator. Please?” Her eyes were large and pleading, and Cullen couldn’t refuse.

“I’ll do my best.” Cullen picked her hand up and brought it to his lips, retaining his hold on it afterward. “What should I write in these hypothetical letters?”

“What ever pops into your head,” Asta shrugged. “I don’t really care what they say, I just want to know you are all right.”

“Do you think it’s likely they will be read by others?” Cullen turned to face her. “Some of the things that pop into my head may not be… fit for general consumption.”

“Well, I could try to assert my authority, I suppose,” Asta breathed shallowly, titillated at the thought of naughty letters from the Commander. “If you promise to make it worth my while?”

“I can certainly try,” Cullen stretched to kiss her. Then he yawned again. “Sorry, it has been a long day.”

“I know. It was my day too.” Asta sat up. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Cullen tightened his grasp on her hand in response.

“Stay with me?”

Asta looked at him warily. “Cullen?”

“Not… necessarily like that.” Cullen blushed. “Just, you leave tomorrow, first light, and I’ll miss you and…” He felt unusually hot and cleared his throat. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to, or need to get a good night’s rest in your own bed.”

Asta snorted. “Cullen, my own room is palatial, drafty and empty. Do you know I’ve never had my own room before? As a child, I shared with my nursemaid. At the Chantry, I shared with four other Sisters. I can barely sleep at all up there with the quiet and the cold.” She had already lain back down to face him again.

“Do you normally sleep clothed?” She asked. “Is it a ‘fitness for battle’ thing?”

“No,” Cullen replied, smirking slightly. “Quite the contrary.”

“Mmm, there’s a picture I can take with me into Western Orlais…” Asta teased.

Cullen had to ask, “Do you?” he countered, a little breathless at his own bravery.

“Do I what?” Asta threw back at him, just to make him say it out loud.

“Sleep with your clothes on.” Cullen looked away slightly, blushing yet again.

“Sometimes in the field, if there might be trouble. But in safety? Or in Skyhold? No…” Asta’s voice lowered, sultry, “Quite the contrary.”

Cullen’s throat tightened, his imagination and his memories supplying him with a picture of Asta, shoulders freckled, tangled and naked in his sheets. He cleared his throat again. Was he brave enough to ask? Would she expect him to do the same? He cursed his cowardice, not for the first time that evening.

He started, “I want you to feel comfortable…”

“Likewise.” Asta pulled her hand from his to trace his lips. “How about a compromise. I’ll strip to my smallclothes. That will help me rest easier. And if you are comfortable, you can do the same. If you aren’t, no worries, no pressure. I will not touch you unless you ask.”

“You are far too patient.” Asta didn’t feel patient. Just the thought of him laying there, nearly bare and vulnerable made her want to do things she had only read about. At length and explicitly.

“And you are worth waiting for,” she said at last, realizing a response was required. Asta stood. She didn’t intend to be alluring, but to Cullen, she managed to be any way. Each undone clasp, each lace unraveled, each inch of exposed skin seemed to reveal the forbidden. Finally he closed his eyes, already half-hard and not wanting to objectify her. He felt her slip under the sheets. “Okay, I’m in. I’ll close my eyes, if you like,” Asta added, realizing that his had been shut.

“That’s okay,” his voice broke slightly. He sat up, and fisting his hand behind his neck, pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth movement. The light of the single candle made every hill and valley of his muscles define. Asta caught her breath audibly, and he laughed slightly. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

“Ass, you know that I don’t remember much.” He slid off the bed, and loosened his trousers, slipping them off and folding them over the foot of the bed with his shirt. He stepped back to the bed, fighting the urge to rub the back of his neck, but giving in as he pulled the blankets back. He was gold and shadows in the glowing light now, and as he slid into the sheets Asta bit her lip in order to resist touching him.

He blew out the candle and the stars above their heads shone all the brighter. Cullen reached out and took her hand as it was resting on her pillow. “You are lovely. Have I told you that?” His eyelids were drifting shut already.

“And they should sculpt statues in your image. Never have I regretted a lost memory more.” Asta rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand. “Sleep well, Cullen.”

“Goodnight, Asta.”

***

Cullen awoke in the middle of the night with a start, cold and disoriented. He wasn’t alone, and his blankets were missing. He was also spooned around a very bundled Asta, who by the light of the moon was everything he imagined the night before, sleeping hard, hair strewn about her pillow. A certain organ with a mind of its own was pressed into her back, cushioned slightly, _Thank the Maker,_ he thought, against the many covers she had managed to steal from him while he slept. He smiled playfully, grabbed an edge of the blanket and tugged, making her groan and roll against him, following the warmth and the pull of the covers. Instead of fully waking, she curled a leg over his and nestled against his chest. He could smell the scent she used in her hair, something herbal that he couldn’t identify. He wrapped an arm around her middle, and stroked her back. It was easier to touch her in the dark, where he didn’t have to fear being judged. She moaned slightly, and pulled herself into him more.

Cullen kissed the top of her head, and went back to sleep, at peace and warm. He could get used to this.

***

Asta woke next, eyes snapping open and freezing at the presence of a person lying against her so familiarly. Remembering, she melted, and scanned his face in the dim light of false dawn. He looked so content, did he always look like this when he slept? He muttered in his sleep, nothing clear. Asta pulled her fingers through his hair and he quieted. She took stock of their positions, his arms around her loosely, her leg over his, and his between hers. They were wrapped around each other like an iron blacksmith’s puzzle. How could she undo this knot without waking him? She glanced at the sky. She probably had only half an hour before she had to be in the courtyard, though at least she wasn’t traveling with Cassandra. The others were less strict about punctuality. Blackwall might glower a bit, but she could take that.

Just five more minutes then, lying here with Cullen pressed against her in such a pleasant way. She wanted to remember, to take this with her into the cold desert nights to come. It was becoming harder to ignore what the position was doing to her body, though. Her breasts tingled, wanting to be touched. He was made of temptation itself, and she had to resist him, for his own sake.

For the first time in a long time she thought about the Chant of Light. “Comfort is only yours to give.” Merciful Maker, she could use some of that comfort right about now. Maybe it would be better for him to wake up and move himself?

Randomly she wondered if there were any books written on this sort of thing. “101 Ways to Wake Your Would-be Lover Up When He Has Been Tortured by Desire Demons”. Somehow she doubted it. All she could do was try it and see his response. She stroked his hair again, gently, but a little harder than before. He had seemed to like it when he was awake. He made a sweet moan, that shot directly into her groin. She echoed it internally. Damn, this was going to be even harder if he kept making noises like that. Maybe talking to him would work out better.

“Cullen…” Asta whispered. “We need to wake up.” His eyelids fluttered. “Cullen?”

“Mmm, Asta…” Cullen groaned. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere right this second, Cullen,” Asta bit her lip. “But you need to wake up all the same.”

He retaliated by clutching at her harder, pulling her into his morning erection, impossible for her to avoid. “Asta, I want you to stay. Please.” He was still caught in a hazy dream, that was obvious.

“Cullen…” Asta was growing wetter by the moment, between him pressing against her, and his thigh in between her legs. “Oh, Cullen…” she breathed. How could she not touch him? She stroked his hair in compromise, and when he thrust against her suddenly, she grabbed his hair and arched her back, gasping.

Cullen finally jerked awake with the pull of his hair and the pressure against his member. “Maker! Asta!” He was panting, wild-eyed and aroused. “You’re here? This is real?”

“Good morning?” Asta was a little unsure, and trying not to pant herself. “I think this is real. Maker, I hope it’s real.” She tried not to move against him, the heat trying to crawl itself up her body and choke her while she tried to breathe normally.

“It must be real.”. Cullen groaned, moving again. “Maker’s Breath, this feels…”

“I know,” Asta choked out. “Cullen, I…”

“Asta, I want you so badly,” He bit out as if it was painful to admit. “What can we do?”

 _This is going to take longer than five minutes,_ Asta thought wildly, her mind running through the possibilities. “Can I touch you?” _Maker, let me touch you!_

“Andraste’s tits, Asta, please!” Cullen ground out. Asta reached between them, and cupped him through his small clothes. She moved herself against his thigh at the same time. “Asta!”

“Shhh, Cullen. I’ll try… do you trust me?” Asta looked him in the eyes, and for the first time he noticed her eyes, so human, not anything like a desire demon’s in their completely normal color of brown surrounded by blue, pupils blown wide with wanting him.

“Yes, Asta.” He closed his eyes, tight. He felt the heat from her hand against him as she pulled him gently out of his smallclothes, grinding against his leg slightly the whole time.

“Show me how to stroke you, Cullen,” He stopped breathing for a moment. “I need to know.” He hesitated, and then wrapped his hand around hers at his base, the head still pressed against her stomach. He guided her hand, pumping while she moved against him, the tip of him pushing distractedly against her warm belly. He bent over and kissed her, almost frantically, desperate she was going to just disappear and leave him alone. She met the kiss with equal fervor, their tongues twining around each other like their bodies longed to do. He added a slight twist to the pumping, jerking his hips up and fucking her hand, tipped over the edge with lust and want.

Asta ground against him, their lips parting at last, her smallclothes soaked through and the liquid between them and his thigh gliding her along almost without resistance. He came, suddenly, with a incoherent cry into her ear, and nearly stopped breathing with the violence of it. Asta stopped pumping him abruptly, gritting her teeth against her own arousal as he regained himself.

“Asta, I’m…” Cullen thought for a moment. “No, I’m not sorry. Can I… help you?”

Asta breathed out in relief. “Andraste’s flaming knickers, yes.” She took his hand. “You’ll have to touch me, though.”

Cullen looked at her deeply. “I want nothing more right now. Asta, you are so…” _Amazing, beautiful, intrepid, kind, sexy, funny…_ his mind couldn’t stop on just one.  "But, how..."

“Hush, Cullen, I’ll show you.” She teased aside her own smallclothes, and placed his hand at the source of her heat and wetness.

“Maker, you are so wet. Did I…” his voice trailed off again in wonder and a touch of fear.

“Cullen,” Asta leaned her head against his chest, “It’s a compliment. Please, Cullen, touch me?”

He started to stroke her, gently, back and forth. She bit her lip against the teasing, needing more, needing him. She covered his hand. “Like this,” she started him drawing small circles against her clit with his thumb, with just the right amount of pressure. She moaned, and he grew bold, increasing the pressure and moving downward slightly, hesitating over her entrance. She caught his eyes again, the inner plea something that he could not ignore, and he pressed in with a finger, breaching her.

She snapped back, her hand grabbing his butt, moaning. “Maker, Cullen, don’t stop. Don’t ever, ever stop.”

Cullen looked at his lady love as she came undone around him. “Why would I ever want to do that, my lady?” The passion in his voice was unmistakable. “You are everything.” He thrust slightly harder, thumb still tracing heat against her.  Seeing her response, seeing the power he had over her body - it was heady, and he savored it.  There was nothing to fear in this.

The pleasure was so intense now that it felt like ice inside her, but heating and freezing in equal amounts. Asta’s breath was shaking. “Cullen, just like that! Please!” And then she lost her voice entirely to moans, her hips jerking against his thigh and his fingers, her hand clutched around his ass, fingernails sinking in. Cullen hardly felt it, so absorbed was he in bringing her to completion.

“Let go, Asta,” he breathed, bringing his head to her ear, and she did, coming so hard and so suddenly that they were both shocked - Cullen with his fingers clamped between her thighs so tight he wasn’t sure he could move them even if he wanted to, and Asta in riding the waves of orgasm against his body.

They came back to themselves slowly. Asta was a mess, his seed and her own juices everywhere and he wasn’t much better. Cullen grabbed his old shirt off the end of the bed to wipe her down. “Asta, I’m…”

“Don’t you dare say you are sorry,” She grabbed his face. “That was nothing to be sorry for.” She kissed him, pressing him against her, squeezing and kissing his misplaced regret out of him.

Cullen chuckled against her lips afterward. “All right. I’m not sorry. That was…”

“I know. Same here.” Asta looked at him, blushing for the first time. “That is definitely better with someone else.” She looked up at the sky. “Damn, I’m going to be late. Blackwall will glower halfway to Val Royeaux at this rate.”

“Let him wait…” Cullen leaned against her, holding her tightly. “I don’t want you to go.”

“And I don’t want to leave.” Asta peeked up at him, “And yet I must. Will you miss me?”

“Every waking moment and I suspect nightly in my dreams.” Cullen sighed. “I wish I could come with you.” He remembered briefly saying something like that to the Hero after she liberated Kinloch Hold, and wondered how different his life would have been had he left with her, missed Kirkwall’s madness.

For the first time, he didn’t wish he had. Kirkwall had led to Haven, and Haven had led him to her.

 


	21. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of the previous chapter and homosexuality, but otherwise SFW.

_Dear Asta_ ,

Cullen paused, already running into trouble just with the salutation. “Just write what’s in your head,” he muttered to himself. “Like that’s easy. What if all that is in your head is lyrium, guilt, troop movements and sex?” He shook his head. “I can do better than this.”

_Are you my dear?_ He started. _Our… Maker how do I say this… goodbyes were rather familiar. I find myself concerned now what you must be thinking of me. Are you even thinking of me? Should I apologize for taking advantage of you and your presence in my bed? For having such dreams about you, that led to such a - wonderful - morning? Perhaps I should, I decide, and I even start to express them, and then such thoughts run through my brain, remembering your face as you called out…_

Cullen had to take a break and a few deep breaths with his head against his desk. Every time he thought about that morning he was brought low, reminded just how weak he was against her. But this weakness… it was delicious.

_…as you called out to me. My name. Maker’s Breath, Asta, I feel like I could rip a hole in the fade myself if you would only look like that for me again._

Cullen stopped again and took a sip of whiskey. He didn’t usually indulge in such hard liquor but when he wrote such things liquid courage was necessary.

_So, Asta, if apologies are necessary, I offer them. I hope they aren’t… I have never felt so…_

Cullen realized that he was being redundant, and finished the sentence rapidly.

_…alive._

_I find myself entirely obsessed with your return, though I know it cannot be for weeks. We had such a short time together, and if you will forgive the double entendre, squeezed so much in during that time._

Cullen ran out of words at that point and grabbed the copy of The Language of Flowers that he had borrowed permanently from the library and rifled through the pages for what he was looking for.

_I find it unlikely that I will find a tea rose (I will remember - always) in Skyhold. Milk vetch (Your presence softens my pain) used to grow near my family’s home in Honnleath before the Blight, but I’ve never seen it in the Frostbacks. So instead you will get a simple purple pansy for ‘You occupy my thoughts’ even during your absence._

_There are so many flowers I would send you. Some I’ve never even heard of - they seem to have Tevinter names so I doubt I will ever come across one - but have this as well, courtesy of the Skyhold gardeners - a deep pink rose to ‘Thank you for being in my life’._

_I wasn’t looking for a relationship, Asta, you know that. But I am so glad I found you. Please tell me in your next letter that my assumptions are not wrong. That you are one of the few things that I can call my own._

The tone of the letter had taken on a pleading note that he didn’t care for, but he couldn’t deny its truth. So he left it and poured himself another tumbler of whiskey and then nibbled his quill and tried for a bit of humor.

_I am worried that the latest recruits won’t last the month without your presence to distract me. They are already complaining to the captains that I’m unrealistic, grumpy and need a hobby. And it has only been two days._

_So for the sake of your armies and their Commander, hurry home._

_I remain,_

_Your Commander_

Well, it was a letter anyway, he justified, wondering if he dared have Cassandra read it and tell him if it was acceptable. He shuddered, realized that at some point the whiskey had run out and decided it was the alcohol that had even made him consider it.

This woman had all the power over him, and didn’t even know it. She could crush the world around them and he would die happy just because she had taken notice of him.

And he would still consider it a happy ending.

***

A long ways away, Asta was starting her own letter, completely oblivious to the tortures her Commander was putting himself through.

_Dear Commander,_

_The Western Approach is crap. Sand everywhere - and I do mean everywhere. Use your imagination. Today was better, however, because I found a lovely little oasis down at the bottom of a canyon. After the Iron Bull cleared out the neighboring cave of giant spiders - WHY is it always giant spiders? - I indulged in a real bath. Actual immersion. It was heavenly. The Golden City itself could not have such pleasures. The only thing that would have made it better was your presence… preferably naked and ready for action. Don’t worry - I sent the Iron Bull and the others away before I stripped down. I know you would be concerned for my modesty. It is preserved, as much as camping in the desert can preserve it._

_I wonder, are you blushing right now? Imagining me naked in a sea of sand dunes and cliffs, with water against my bare skin? Hmmm, I’ll have to stop thinking about it or I won’t be able to sleep. Such is the effect you have on me. And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable after all._

_The cliffs in the Approach are the same color as your eyes. It’s hard to believe that such a desolate place was fruitful before the second Blight. It’s just so empty, except for ruins. The ruins are spectacular. Remarkably well preserved probably due to the arid climate and not being disturbed for ages. I was hoping to find some interesting scrolls inside them, but all I have to read so far is a journal of a Tevinter Blood Mage. Dorian was very dismissive. He says he hasn’t kept a journal since he was a child. So not a Tevinter thing, then._

_Speaking of Dorian, he is very… conflicted. He is due to exchange with Viv (don’t tell her that I call her that when she’s not around. I don’t want to be fried when I get back. At least not until I’ve slept with you properly. Then I will die happy.) as soon as she arrives, and he HATES it here. The whining is nearly killing me. That said, I have reasons - very loud reasons - to believe that he and the Iron Bull have reached some sort of understanding - possibly assisted by this bottle of West Hills peach brandy we found in a ruin. It was cloying, I thought, but Dorian loved it. Too much._

_Blackwall had to yell at them to get them to stop. I’m not sure they actually did, by the shaking of the tent, but at least the noise stopped._

_As much as I adore Dorian, he has been difficult to travel with on this trip. Also, I am jealous. I might as well admit it. I am bitterly jealous that he gets to have HIS lover along while mine has to stay immured in Skyhold instead of sharing a tent with me across half of Thedas. It isn’t worthy of me, and it is putting a strain on our relationship._

_Vivienne is difficult, too, however. Perhaps it’s a mage thing? Are they all such strong personalities? Even Solas is not exactly tractable. Don’t argue with him about Blood Magic or the Dalish. He has views._

_I miss you horribly, Cullen. I miss your lips, and your smirk, and the look on your face and the sounds you made just before…_

Asta had to stop writing down her stream of consciousness letter, and pull back. She was making a lot of assumptions. What if he regretted their morning together? Regretted everything? It was hardly the best timing, for them to come together like that just to have her up and leave right afterward to travel across Orlais. She had just taken the moment at face value. Was he suffering? Was it because of what she did? Or didn’t do? She should have said no, but he was begging her… She slumped down on her bedroll, defeated and nearly convinced that she had ruined everything by being impulsive. So much for self-control. And then she decided that no matter what, she owed him honesty.

… _just before you came. That was quite honestly the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me, and I’m so glad that you felt comfortable enough with me to allow me to touch you. And to touch me in return. Every night - for until Vivienne and Cassandra arrive I have a tent to myself - I touch myself, thinking of you, that morning - that beautiful morning when we woke tangled together and made ourselves even more disheveled. I have a very active imagination and that was enough to send it into overdrive, Cullen. I think Blackwall has yet to forgive me for being so late._

_I don’t miss you physically alone, never fear. I miss knowing that I can lean on you, share my thoughts, get your opinions. The Grey Wardens out here, they are doing blood magic - we had hints before, based on Venatori projects and letters we intercepted, but after meeting with Hawke and Stroud… well, we have proof. That whole demon army is an army of Grey Wardens, bound to demons and controlled by a Tevinter mage - one of Corypheus’ minions, Livius something or other. As Dorian said, he’s a tool. Worse, it’s entirely backed by their Warden Commander Clarel. It’s a nightmare, and I’m scared. I want nothing more than to get back to you and hear your amazing plans for wiping out this threat entirely. I know you’ll impress me, you strategic thinker, you._

_The Red Lyrium operation here is mostly controlled, mines seem like their modus operandi. I know you have a personal interest in stopping the flow, so talk to Varric and see if he has any dwarven mining contacts that might help us narrow this down. They are using people for something… not sure, yet, but there is a red templar connection, that is obvious. The correspondence that I and the scouts have picked up are being sent back with Dorian and Blackwall. I have to get him out of here before the other Wardens decide to use his blood in a summoning ritual._

_Oh! And I have a gift for you. My team has taken Griffon Wing Keep. You are welcome. It was very exciting - we climbed up an ancient stinky well into the keep proper and wiped the Venatori out with one fell blow. I’m very proud of myself - I may not have been much use in the actual assault but the plan was mine. And now you have a base of operations for marching on Adamant Fortress, if that is indeed where the Wardens are headed to. I wish you could come out and oversee it yourself, but know that is wishful thinking._

_I will be home in about three weeks, I think. Sooner if I can manage it. I’m trying to convince a professor of Dracology to join the Inquisition, but right now all he is doing is making me run random errands. I’m not kidding. All his staff was killed by raiders and he just won’t leave without finishing his definitive work on draconic habits. I respect his dedication, but I’m not kidding when I say that he is a bit too dedicated to his research. I know - I was excited to come here hoping for old scrolls and tomes, but too much is too much.  Once Cassandra gets here we have to investigate a series of odd Chantry symbols. They are leading somewhere, but I need her expertise on this. We found this cave that looked liked someone was trying to reverse Tranquility. I didn’t know that was possible. Did you?_

Asta knew she needed to end the letter before it was too heavy for even Baron Plucky to carry. Maker, she missed being able to share her thoughts with him in person. How she wished… but it was not to be. He had to stay in Skyhold, he was needed there for the bigger picture. Someone had to coordinate and command… but surely it wouldn’t hurt to express one final wish for his presence.

_I wish you were here to bathe with me in the Lost Wash Creek, to sit upon a ruined tower and kiss and watch the sunsets together - they are lovely here. I long for you, Cullen, as I have never longed for another. I didn’t know I was capable of feeling this way. I both hope and dread you feeling the same way. The ache of being without you is torture and I never wish to cause you pain._

_I will be home soon. Home, with you. It’s an odd feeling to be able to return to someone. I think I like it._

_Your Asta_

***

Their letters must have crossed in midair, Asta realized, opening Cullen’s letter. She rolled her eyes. How many time could one man apologize for something that didn’t need apologizing for? She ran her fingers down the ink, smearing it slightly with sweat and the heat.

She read it again. It was a lovely letter, full of things that must have been hard for him to put into words. The flowers were in her lap, still smelling faintly. The parchment smelled slightly of whisky - had he been drinking when he wrote it? The thought of him marshalling his courage with liquor made her smile.

And his confessions… Asta called out to her companions, “I’m heading to my tent!” Vivienne and Cassandra had decided to share with each other rather than her, which suited her fine. The Iron Bull always got his own tent, just due to size restrictions - though before Dorian had left it had been Blackwall sleeping by himself more often than not. A little privacy, a sexy love letter, however full of angst… she thought a little tension could be released, however unsatisfying it would prove to be. Who knew it could get so much better with someone else? But soon, just a matter of weeks, and she would be home with him.

***

Back at Skyhold, Cullen held her letter, his hands shaking, headache forgotten for the time being. She missed him. She missed him like he missed her, the ache she spoke of… her thoughts were with him as much as he thought of her. Perhaps she was thinking of him right now…

And she saw him as home. He hadn’t had a place to call home since he was a child. It wasn’t a fling. She was serious. She was _his._ He beamed a little, alone in his office where no one would see him. He wanted to write to her, declare all sorts of things that his self-doubt and guilt had prevented before. He wanted to go out to the highest guard tower and shout everything to all of Skyhold.

Compared to that news, the imminent demon army and the prospect of planning a siege on an ancient Warden fortress was nothing. He had her. He could rip holes in the fade if she so much as asked.

Now all he needed was some time to retire to his bed or maybe a bathtub so that he could think about bathing with her amongst sand dunes and sunsets. Unfortunately, that wasn’t likely. He had to debrief the soldiers who had returned with Dorian and Blackwall, and mobilize a force to hold Griffon Wing Keep. It would have to be Rylen - his common-sense attitude would be just the thing for such a distant post. He’d have the soldiers standing inspection night and day, but that would be all for the better, especially since it was hardly a sinecure. He folded the letter and placed it over his heart, near his coin. His thoughts drifted back to her letter one more time. She wasn’t the only one who would die happy having their heart’s desire.

***

Dorian was being a jackass to everyone. Cullen folded his arms and scowled at him. “You cannot just demand that staff be reassigned. You may be the friend of the Inquisitor, but this isn’t like you. Tell me what is this about?”

Dorian eyed him, dubiously. “That’s very perceptive for a jackboot, as Sera would say. What brought this on, Commander?”

Cullen sighed, already frustrated with his friend. “Dorian, just admit you miss him. Write him a letter. From Asta’s letters the Approach sounds like an absolute hole. I’m sure it would lift his spirits. He probably misses you too.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dorian blustered.

“Asta wrote me a very long letter. Practically the first thing she said was that you and Bull had an understanding.”

“Bull and I?” Dorian attempted a laugh and failed, “That hulking barbarian? Who never bathes?”

“Dorian, she heard you. From her words, the whole of Western Orlais heard you. I don’t think you can dodge this.”

Even Dorian’s moustache drooped with that. “It’s complicated. In Tevinter, people like me… they don’t get to have long term relationships. It’s not proper, acceptable. And my father… well, that’s a long story that you don’t want to hear.”

“That’s a big deal in Tevinter, then?” Cullen was confused. Why should it matter?

“You have no idea.”

“Apparently. Well, at least in Fereldan we have a pretty strong tradition. Some marry, certainly, to insure heirs and so on, but…”

“It doesn’t matter. Commander, Bull is a Qunari.” he said, with an air of pointing out the obvious, “And I’m a 'fucking 'Vint'. Our people have been at war since forever,” Dorian gesticulated randomly. “I’m literally sleeping with the enemy.”

Cullen frowned, “Not our enemy, unless you’ve picked up a Venatori or Red Templar lover. Bull is an ally, Dorian. I think you need to adjust your thinking.”

Dorian went on the offensive, “Look who is talking! Everyone knows why the Inquisitor was late when we left, Commander. She came down glowing from your tower wearing yesterday‘s clothes and dove into her room hoping no one would notice. And then she left for the Approach without you so much as glancing her way.  Maybe you should pay attention to your own love affair and butt out of everyone else’s.”

Cullen was taken aback. “Dorian, I didn’t mean… I just wanted to help. You helped me.”

Dorian hissed, “I don’t need your help, Commander. I’ll work this out on my own. I always have.”

“Very well,” Cullen turned and opened the door. “Just try to tone it down. I can’t have any more complaints from Josephine.”

“Just get out,” Dorian was facing his window, arms crossed. “I need to be alone.  I'm better alone."

　

　

　

 


	22. Questionable Reading Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some PTSD, mention of rape.

Cassandra’s face had gone pale, confronted with the journal before her. “This was a Chantry secret. How, why… what do they think they are attempting?”

“Apparently,” Vivienne’s voice dripped scorn and disapproval, “reversing Tranquility. What fools.”

Asta was confused. “How?” Cassandra shook her head. “I do not know. We must try to find the Lord Seeker. This is dangerous and important. If Tranquility can truly be reversed…”

“It will lead to more madness,” Vivienne claimed authoritively. “Why, every two bit mage ever made Tranquil would…”

Asta cut her off. “Vivienne, have you ever spoken with any Tranquil? Most are convinced that they did something to deserve it.”

“My dear, trying to speak with the Tranquil is like trying to converse with a dog. There is hardly any point to it. You give them orders, and they follow them. It’s all they are capable of.” Cassandra’s brows lowered menacingly at the mage, and Asta put her foot down.

“Vivienne, go back to camp.” Asta gritted out. “Just go.” The mage exited the cavern, graceful as ever.

“Should I go with her, Boss?” Bull asked, concerned for her safety.

“No, Bull, let her take her chances.” Asta shook her head. “This is bad. And good, but mostly bad. Cassandra - the timing of this attempt - it’s right before the Circles started to fall. Is that coincidence or…”

“No.” Cassandra looked pained.

“This trumps everything,” Asta spoke assuredly. “We leave for Skyhold tomorrow. Let’s go get packed.”

***

After Asta had packed what she didn’t need in the morning, she sat down to write one last letter to Cullen.

_Commander,_

_I’m afraid this will not be a happy letter. The cave I mentioned prior - where a group of mages were attempting to reverse Tranquility - I showed it to Cassandra. Maker, Cullen, Cassandra knew. Knew they had found a way to reverse it, though not how. The Spire fell because Tranquility could be reversed. All those Oculara, all over Thedas, how many were innocents, or those afraid of their own power, too frightened to go through their Harrowing? Or just had the misfortune of catching the wrong type of Templar’s eye?_

_I’m haunted this evening by the Tranquil we were too late to save. The ones we did save, Helisma, Clemence… how can I meet their faces knowing what I know now?_

_Vivienne is being a bitch about it. I can’t take her opinions right now. She may have to leave the Inquisition unless she can update her antiquated thinking. Never have I seen such self-hatred. It seems that as long as she is at the top of the Circle’s totem pole (you won’t know about those, they are something the Avvar do, to tell stories) she doesn’t care what happens to those underneath her. I’m beginning to think even Fiona was a better leader, and she sold them all into slavery._

_I wish you were here with me, Cullen. This mess, it goes clear to the top of the Chantry, of the Circles, of the Seekers, of the Templars. Who am I to stand against it? A silly little girl with more books than sense._

_Cassandra says we must try to find the rest of the Seekers, that even if the Lord Seeker has betrayed Thedas, that there must be others like her to stand against the tide. It will have to wait until after Halamshiral, but she is insistent._

_Andraste’s Ass, Cullen, how many fronts must this war be fought from?_

_We leave the Approach tomorrow morning. Expect us in a week. We will ride hard. I will attempt not to kill Vivienne. I doubt my Assassin skills are up to the challenge of snuffing her out. And I still don’t want to end up fried. Not until after I have sex with you. It is my new life goal. After saving Thedas, of course. We must have priorities._

_I need you, Cullen_. _I’ll be home soon._

_Asta_

***

Much to Asta’s surprise, Vivienne didn’t seem to be able to keep her mouth shut. “Honestly, my dear, if you think every Tranquil in Thedas is an innocent subjugated by evil Templars and a more evil Chantry you must break away from your idealism. Tranquil are made for a reason.”

_So much for being a Master at the Game,_ Asta thought bitterly as she spun around on her horse to confront the short-sighted mage. “I spent time in Kirkwall’s Chantry, Viv. I am fucking...” _Maker, forgive me for the exaggeration… “..._ that blighted Circle’s former Knight-Captain. Tranquil are made for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes just because a Templar thinks they’d like to shag them but the mage said ‘no’. Is that a good enough reason, _Viv?_ ” She spun her confused horse back around. “There have been abuses. Cassandra admits it - she had to investigate quite a few of them. She experienced the aftermath in Kirkwall. Perhaps the rite of Tranquility itself is an abuse. That is what the Inquisition is for. It’s our job. And I am the Inquisitor. Maybe you should figure out what side you are on, and decide if power at any price is worth it.”

She rode far ahead, trying to compose herself and failing completely.

***

Cullen crumpled her letter in his fist, remembering Kirkwall. Remembering Anders using Justice to bring his friend Karl back from Tranquil, and actually succeeding, if only for a moment. Kirkwall, with Qunari taking the city, fighting Orsino, endless blood mages: those driven desperately to it and those who would have power where they could find it. He was there, again, with the fire and blood raining down on him from every direction, caught in a shitstorm of epic proportions. He remembered finding his own men, captured and possessed by demons. Keran, just a lad, being killed because of the suspicion of possession. Hawke comforting the boy’s sister as she wept. He fell to his knees, pain lancing through his legs and into his skull. Killing Meredith. Statues of red lyrium that whispered paranoia mixed with temptation.

He should be taking it, the statue whispered. Why wasn’t he taking it? It was logical. It was wise. He was better with it than without. Why did he ever think he was strong enough to go without it? He who had known true strength.

He couldn’t do this any longer. His hands shook against the flagstones on his office floor, the paper of her letter fallen between his knees. That morning he had nearly fallen during morning training. He had forgotten to post patrol duty rosters for the week and thrown up multiple times behind the Herald’s Rest. He couldn’t even keep tea down.

It all just needed to stop. He’d write and recall Rylen from Griffon Wing immediately. He tried to stand, to reach for his quill and the nausea hit him again, hard. He grabbed the pail he had long since kept handy for that purpose. How long had it been since he had been able to do anything without planning where he could run to vomit in solitude?

He hated himself, for thinking he could be strong enough to overcome his past choices.

He heard an echoing horn faintly in the background. The Inquisitor’s party had returned. Cassandra was back.  Asta was back.

When he could finally stand, significantly later, he left his office, not even bothering to clean up. He had to find the Seeker, _now._ It was time and past.

He only hoped Asta would forgive him for being so weak.

***

Asta stood just inside his doorway, the remains of his lyrium kit strewn about her feet. She was trying to understand, to hear his explanation running through his broken words.

“It’s like being in thrall.” He held the little blue bottle, the last one in his kit, as if it were fascinating. “I’ve been in thrall, or nearly so, with the desire demons at Kinloch. Chains… so many fucking chains. At the Gallows, at the Circle in Fereldan. The demons, they throw everything at you, just to see if something will stick, make you react in a way they can understand.”

He needed to say this, so she listened, heart broken like his kit, splintered.

“With the demons, until they found a weakness, it was easy to resist. Mine was Solona Amell.”

Asta felt an irrational surge of jealousy against this dead mage she had never met, and pulled herself back. This wasn’t about her. It was about Cullen, fighting his demons one more time. She bit her lips. For Cullen, she reminded herself, yet again.

“The bottle holds me in thrall, now. I know that it will feel good. It has felt good. I want it, but I hate it, resent it for making me want it so badly.”

Asta nearly reached out to tear the bottle from his hand, wanting to smash it against the wall. But it couldn’t be her to do it. It had to come from him.

“I’m scared of it,” Cullen looked at her, and she could see truth in his eyes with the fear. “Just as I’m scared of feeling good with you, of being happy. I have to ask myself every time I feel pleasure, joy… is it real? An illusion? A demon’s trick?”

“Since I met you, Asta, my nightmares have changed,” he confessed brokenly, “it’s not Amell any longer.” His eyes searched hers for something, scared and tentative. “It’s you, showing me all the ways I could be fucking happy. And I wake up in a sweat, scared shitless,” he laughed bitterly. “I’m the only man in the world haunted by a chance at my own happiness.” Cullen slammed his fist into a wall. “And you are _nothing_ like her.”

“I imagine not,” Asta swallowed the lump in her throat, trying at levity and failing.

Cullen slammed his fist into the bookcase this time. “You don’t understand. You are better. These dreams… I could have them all, if I were brave enough, if the fucking blue bottle wouldn’t tear it all away.” He threw the bottle in his other hand against the far door in the room, and watched the dripping blue liquid run down the wall with longing in his eyes. “And yet, I shouldn’t give less to the Inquisition than I did to the fucking Chantry. I should be taking it!” He slammed his head into the shelves, making them shudder. “I should be taking it,” he nearly whispered.

Asta approached him gingerly. “Cullen, this doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is taking lyrium again what you want?” _Please say no,_ she prayed.

“No, but these thoughts… what if I’m not strong enough. I have to be strong. What if…”

“You are strong,” Asta said, hand over his heart, right over where her letter and his coin rested. “And I will be here.”

He looked at her like she was his personal salvation, such adoration that she realized that she never needed to be jealous of Solona. He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“Anytime,” Asta said, heart still aching.

“I’m sorry you came home to this… I’m making a habit of having a scene waiting when you get back.”

“Cullen,” Asta hesitated. “Was this my fault? Was it the letter I sent? About Tranquility?”

“No, of course not…” Cullen tried to deny it. Asta looked at him, disappointed. “Okay, maybe? But this… reaction… had been building. The letter - it might have tipped the scale? Perhaps. The worst happened after I received it, anyway.” Then he grabbed her wrist, “But you have to keep writing to me. Talking to me! Asta, I…”

“Shhh, Commander,” Asta soothed. “I’ll write. I promise. I’ll always write. I’ll just have more of a filter. How long have you had that letter?” She picked up the crumpled piece of paper from the floor, smoothing it out.

“Three days.”

“And you read it how many times?”

“I… don’t know.” Cullen averted his eyes. “A lot. I couldn’t stop.”

“So, if I tell you in person, then it won’t be as hard, maybe. You won’t be able to dwell on a letter, written while I was upset and angry. I’ve had a week to calm down, get over my desire to kill Viv, even. Well, mostly. You read it, and from the looks of things, couldn’t let go, literally.” Asta straightened. “I’m going to do better. I will not be responsible for you having a relapse again. You’ve come too far.” She marched over to the door and opened it. “The Commander has spilled some lyrium in his office. Send someone to clean it up, please.”

“At your order!” The waiting runner took off towards the kitchen at a dash.

“Now, you are taking the rest of the day off.”

“I can’t! We have to prepare for the Winter Palace! The logistics of…”

“The logistics can wait. I just got home, and I want to spend the day with my lover. And I’m the Inquisitor. What good is the job if I can’t abuse my power?” Asta leaned in closely, “Hawke is definitely right about that. There ought to be some perks other than a drafty tower and a chance to the see the world, meet interesting people and kill them.”

Cullen snorted, forgetting his angst for just a moment, still supporting himself on the bookshelves.

“Now, can you get yourself upstairs? Or should I just lock your doors, bring down your blankets and make a nest for you right here?”

Cullen blinked at her. “A nest?”

“What, you’ve never made a blanket nest? Not even as a kid?” Asta shook her head, “Honestly, Commander, what a wasted childhood you had. Even I made nests and forts with the other kids at the Chantry. We all had the pox one summer, and after some of us started to get well, the Sisters were so busy with the sick that we tore our entire room apart, put the mattresses on the floor and strung up blankets everywhere. It’s one of my favorite memories.”

“One of your favorite memories is getting over the pox?”

“Well, it was better than the alternative. I mostly didn’t get along with the other kids - they thought I put on airs because of my title, read too much, and, well, they made fun of me. A lot. That was one of the few times they were kind.” She thought back, “That summer there was hardly any punching. Good times.”

Cullen wanted to laugh, but took her hand instead. “I’d like a nest. Not just because of the ladder, but… will you stay with me in it?”

“Commander, I did say I wanted to spend the day with you. If you are in your nest, than I will definitely be in it with you.”

The cleaning staff and the returning runner arrived at that moment. “Excellent,” Asta beamed. “Please empty this,” and she handed off his pail. “Also, the lyrium is against that door. Please use soap. Scrub it well.” She guided Cullen to his office chair as they got to work. She addressed the runner, “The Commander is indisposed. Please inform the guards that they will need to find another route to cross the battlements, as I am going to lock his doors so he can rest without interruption. Also, inform Cassandra that she will need to take charge of the forces for the day, at least. If the Commander is improved tomorrow, she will be relieved of duty then.” She looked at Cullen, “Have I forgotten anything?”

“Incoming correspondence,” He croaked, a little amazed at her take charge attitude.

“Oh, right. Should I send it to Leliana or to Cassandra?”

“Cassandra…”

“Right,” She faced the runner. “You heard him. Hop to it. And after that, inform the cook that we will need a tray of light food and tea sent to his office. Just knock and leave it. Thank you.”

“At your order!” The runner left quickly.

“Well, he’s an earnest sort, isn’t he?” Asta laughed.

“Yes, he’s very good at his job.” Cullen leaned back in his chair, uncomfortable. Asta climbed up the ladder, pulled all the blankets and sheets off his mattress and tossed them down, without ceremony. The pillows followed, one landing square in the middle of the desk, just missing the ink. “Asta, be careful!”

“I’m already done. Maybe I should have the staff bring us some more blankets. I think that would be wise.” Asta slid down the ladder. “I think I’m getting better at going down, at least. Ladies, please bring more blankets, and maybe a comforter once you are finished. Take them from my bed, if necessary.” They bowed, and left. “Now, off with your armor, and where is your key?”

Cullen pulled out the middle drawer. “Here.” he hesitated to hand it over. “I’ve never locked my office before.” He obediently started removing his bracers, hands still shaking. He couldn’t make it over to the stand, so just stacked it on his desk as neatly as possible.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Asta raised her eyebrows, “I imagine you’ll be doing it a little more frequently in the future.” She was tossing his blankets in the air, spreading them out to her satisfaction. “The mattress was too heavy to lift. I’m going to use the comforter they bring to cushion this. Like a massive bedroll, but cozy.”

Cullen watched her, amused, if tired. “What will we do all day?”

“You will rest, and I will read to you. You have a ton of books in here, something must be worth reading.”

“Mostly military histories.”

“Hardly sickbed reading material. Hmmm…” She stuck her head back out the door. “Ask Dorian to send us a few books for light reading, please? Thank you!”

“Asta, this is all getting a bit elaborate…”

“No comments from the ill, please.” Asta spun and mock-glared at him. The blankets arrived and she dismissed the women, who were hiding smiles. There was a knock, and Asta answered it, bringing a tray over to the blankets on the floor. She spread out the comforter and threw a sheet over it. “There! Now, in you go, Commander.” Cullen didn’t fight, just drug himself over and lay down, head on the pillow. She tossed the remaining blankets over him, temporarily covering his face. He glared, fighting his way out. “Now, now, less grumpy, Commander.” There was another knock, and Asta bounced over. “Excellent! Dorian sent us Sword and Shields! Just the thing!” She locked the doors quickly and brought the small pile of books over next to the food. She slid under the blankets next to him, and flipped over on her stomach. “Not bad! I did a good job on this.” She grinned. “Guess I still have the knack.” She turned the book’s cover open.

"Now, ‘Chapter One: The Guard’s Promise. The Captain stood with her back to the sunset, silhouetted against the dying sun. Her breasts heaved with purpose and dignity, her wild red hair streaming behind her in the wind. Her sword was bloody, and her shield was dented, but her honor was intact. This was a day to remember…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I couldn't think of or find an equivalent to the totem pole for Thedas. I decided to give them to the Avvar. This is not meant to insult First People in any way, shape or form.


	23. Give and Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got very long. Split it in half. This half is NSFW. Smut. Next half will be up tomorrow.

When Asta woke the next morning, dawn just barely peeking through the windows in his office, Cullen was nowhere to be found. She stretched, worried, but not alarmed yet. She stood and pulled on the trousers she had slipped out of in the night and went looking for him.

She found him quite easily, standing by the battlements watching the sun rise, breathing deep and looking far more peaceful than the day before. She watched him for a little while, stalwart against the stones and captured the picture in her mind.

He stretched, and his shirt rode up - too early even for the Commander to put on his armor, she noted - and she could see the angle of his hips dipping into his pants. He turned and saw her, face lighting up in response. “Asta! Good morning!” He hesitated slightly, “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Not at all. I was a little concerned you were missing, though. Feeling better, I take it?” She slipped her hand into his, and he held it, tracing patterns with his thumb.

“Much.” Just the little contact had him stammering again, unable to process his thoughts into words. “I never thanked you… when you came to see me…” he sighed, exasperated with himself. “This sounded much better in my head,” he echoed her words from months before, laughing at himself.

“Hey! I know that feeling!” Asta bumped him with her shoulder. “I understand.”

He paused and pulled her closer to him, shyly. “Can I offer you a good morning kiss? I promise I’ve cleaned my teeth…”

Asta snorted. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t kiss…” his lips stopped her flow of words and left her weak in the knees.

“Good morning,” Cullen murmured against her lips, eyes shut, holding her against him.

“You said that.” Her brain was definitely broken, she decided.

“Yes, well, I didn’t welcome you home yesterday, either.” He kissed her again, a little longer this time, with a flick of his tongue against her lips, subtle enough that she might have imagined it. “So, welcome home, Asta.”

Asta was breathless. “Anything else you needed to say?”

“Just one thing.” Cullen pulled her in, hard against him now, and kissed her torridly, mouth demanding entrance, all subtlety lost. Asta obeyed eagerly. He kissed her like no one was watching, as if guards weren’t patrolling wide-eyed, the Commander and his Lady confirming every piece of gossip they had heard over the months, storing up the stories to pass on in the barracks and to the Nightingale. When it finally ended, Asta’s hands were dug deep into Cullen’s hair and he was holding her up against the battlements. “That was ‘thank you’. For taking care of me. No one has… you came and found me. I told you the worst… and all you did was make me lay down and take care of me.” He shook his head, amazement in his voice, and deepened slightly with the effect the kiss had on him. “And I was thinking that… if you wanted…” he broke off, noticing the increasing groups of gawking guards strolling by a little too leisurely. “Why don’t we take this to my office?” He grabbed her hand again, pulling her along in his wake, blushing but determined.

“Cullen, what is going on?”

“Just a minute.” He relocked the doors and turned to face her. “Asta, I…” he stopped again. “Maker’s breath, it still isn’t easier. I thought at least if we weren’t going to be overheard…”

“Cullen, what are you trying to say?” Asta was still half-asleep and bewildered. He had literally kissed her senseless, drug her back into his office and then promptly stammered himself into even more confusion.

He took her hands and a deep breath. “I’d never spoken about Kinloch before. Or what happened in Kirkwall. I thought if anyone knew, they would… judge me. I’ve been judging myself for a very long time for everything that went wrong. If I had been stronger, wiser… But you know, and you’re still here.”

“I told you yesterday I would be,” Asta reminded him gently.

“I could never have expected this. You are so…” Cullen was losing it again. “Just let me…” he pulled her in again and kissed her one more time, slower, powerful, like she was air and he was a drowning man. Her mouth opened almost before his thought to ask. Feeling the warmth, he groaned and pressed her against him, hand cupping her backside, molding her into his increasingly hard body.

Asta could feel the body reacting to the kiss, her presence, but Cullen didn’t stop, didn’t hold back this time. He groaned again into her mouth and between the sound and the pressure against her abdomen she felt warmth pooling between her thighs. She moaned, and Cullen buried a hand in her hair, still wild from sleeping, and tilted her head for better access. Far from stopping her brain, this kiss was feeding it - a million and one scenarios playing through it.

Cullen suddenly dropped the hand in her hair, cupping the other side of her ass, and lifted. Now she was pressed against him intimately, in what felt like all the right places. She mewled, more than a little desperate. Her mind raced. Was this it? Were they… she didn’t mind. He was walking them back towards the silly nest she had built.

Maker’s children, her whole body felt warm. He fell to his knees in a smooth controlled movement at the edge of the makeshift bed, still holding her. She gasped a bit at the simple show of strength, and moaned when his lap came up to slide her harder into his core. He laid her down, slowly, carefully, on the pile of blankets, still mussed from earlier, kissing her throat as he went.

Asta returned the favor, nipping him slightly. It was his turn to gasp, and paused, catching his breath. Asta mentally groaned, but controlled herself very reluctantly. “Cullen, what are you thinking?” Cullen looked at her, an angel against the blankets, and smoothed her hair slightly.

“My thoughts…” He flashed a wicked grin at her. “Everything.” He leaned over her, supporting himself on his arms like he could do it forever. “You read me a naughty book yesterday.”

Asta blushed, “I wasn’t even sure you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening. My head was killing me, my stomach was churning and all I could concentrate on was your sweet voice.” His voice was much deeper now. “One thing in particular stood out.”

Asta swallowed, nervous all at once. “And that was?”

Cullen smirked again. “I think maybe I’ll just show you.” Then he questioned himself, “Is that okay?”

Asta’s mind whirled in confusion. How could he go from tempter to questioning in the drop of a hat? “It’s hard to say without having any idea. I did a lot of reading yesterday.” Her brain tried to run through the various positions the book had shoved its characters through the day before, Cullen appearing in every single mental picture. That severely hindered her progress.

“I understand… from the soldiers’ gossip, you know, that women usually like this.”

Asta was a little impatient, her heart racing. “Cullen, can you just spit it out?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, finally coming up with a euphemism, and leaned over her ear. “I want to taste you,” he whispered, trying to be bold.

Asta’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” was all she could manage. “That’s okay, I guess.” The very thought sent another pulse through her body.

“Really?” Cullen’s voice broke again. “Okay, then.” The two stared at each other for a moment, Cullen wondering how it could be just that easy. He waved vaguely at her clothes, rumpled and disheveled from sleeping in them. “Um, would… do you want me to… help?”

Asta smiled, “I’ll manage. At least this time.” She cleared her throat, trying to make the awkwardness a little more straightforward. “Maybe you could… watch this time?” The thought of his eyes on her made her more nervous, but if they were going to get anywhere, he would eventually need to see her naked.

Cullen coughed, “I’ll try,” laughing mentally. “did you think I didn’t watch last time because I didn’t want to?” The words and a little snigger were out before he could stop them.

Asta narrowed her eyes, defensively. “Well, what was I supposed to think? You announce demons made you watch them… cavort, I believe was your word, then tell me you are afraid of being happy, of feeling pleasure, and then after a good night’s sleep - I am assuming you slept - after listening to me read a ‘dirty’ book, decide you want to act out one of the scenes. I’m a virgin, Cullen, not an idiot. I’m trying to give you space, but you are sending some serious mixed signals here.” She relented, seeing his stricken face. “I’m not angry, just confused. I want to sleep with you, I meant it before and I mean it now. Well, we’ve done that… technically.” Exasperated, she blew some hair away from her face. “I’m no better at this word thing than you are.” She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, squeezing slightly to encourage him and then dropped her hands down to her laces. “Honestly, you… tasting me, sounds like a fucking fabulous idea. Let’s do it. Please?”

Cullen blinked and opened his mouth. She honestly thought that he didn’t want her desperately? Thought he was sending mixed signals? He started to say so, but she stopped his words with another kiss. “Please, Cullen,” she said, after he started to respond again. “Just assume I talk to too much.”

“I was just going to say, I looked,” Cullen confessed, guiltily, “in the healer’s tent. And I only closed my eyes the night we… slept together at the last minute.” He looked at her earnestly. “I wanted you. I do want you. You were nearly irresistible. So I shut my eyes. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to look. Or because I’m some sort of gentleman.”

Asta snorted, “We’ve had this conversation. You’ve already established that you are the opposite of what a real gentleman is like. A real gentleman would never have closed his eyes, or denied looking out of misplaced guilt.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like an object,” Cullen protested.

Asta laughed, “I could use a little objectification, versus being worshipped or sent on a pedestal to be admired. Feel free to tell me as often as you like that I’m lovely or irresistible.” She punctuated the remark with a kiss. “I treasure those words like jewels on a chain. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”

Cullen shook his head in confusion, “Every man you’ve ever met is a fool or blind.” He started to unclasp her tunic, hands shaking a little.

“Blinded by the stupid hat,” Asta agreed.

Cullen’s eyes were on her chest, tunic half undone in no time. Her breast band peeked through, and he just kept going, inch by inch. “I found myself wondering what was underneath the Chantry robes when I first met you.” Her shirt was undone and hanging on either side of her breasts. Asta sat up slightly and shrugged it off, nonchalantly. Her laces were proving difficult, but knot finally freed, she reached around to unwind her breast band.

It unwound in slow motion, to Cullen’s way of thinking, his mouth a little dry. Asta was a little self-conscious with his stare, but hid it with a good-natured tease. “Have a thing for Chantry Sisters, Commander?”

“Only one,” his voice strangled out, barely even recognizable as his own.

“Tis a pity, then…” Asta stood, one arm covering her breasts, and let her trousers fall to the floor next to the blankets. “Since I’m not a Sister any longer,” Her smallclothes were pink, Cullen’s mind informed him helpfully, and instantly he started to ache as his body reacted faster than his brain.

“You are a goddess.” The words fell from his lips. Surely nothing from the Fade or beyond, nothing from the Golden City or Andraste herself could compare with her.

Asta flushed red. “Maybe you could… return the favor?” She waved vaguely at his clothes.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Cullen had never stripped so fast in his life. In record time he stood before her in his dull, Inquisition issued smallclothes. Asta’s eyes wandered all over him, not sure where to look first. He rubbed the back of his head, unsure what to do next.

Asta decided for him. “Oh, fuck it,” she proclaimed and hauled him up against her, enthusiasm trumping skill in the kisses she aimed at his neck, lips, chest, anywhere she could reach. She reached one hand behind his neck and the other around behind to find his backside and squeezed.

Cullen let out air in a strangled noise and his resolved snapped. He cupped the back of her hair again and tilted her neck, sucking hard. She moaned under him, her core aching now, throbbing its need. “Lay down again,” he breathed against her neck, realizing too late it didn’t sound like a request, but Asta complied anyway, sinking to her knees, and then resting her head on her pillow. There was no nervousness now, he realized, just anticipation and passion vivid in her eyes.

And then she beckoned and he nearly fell over in his desire to reach her, touch her again. He met her lips and kissed her like the meaning of life was found there in her mouth, her tongue. He pulled away, slowly, kissing her chin, her neck, her collarbone. He paused by her breasts, her divine breasts, and stroked one, gently with his thumb. Asta caught a moan in her throat before it could get loose. So he rubbed it, harder, between two fingers this time, and the trapped moan escaped. He bent his head over and kissed her nipple with that, teasing it between his lips, and then his teeth. Asta’s hands flew to his hair, “Maker, Cullen!”

Cullen smiled against her breast, a little more confident, and kissed his way to the other side. Skipping the teasing entirely, he mouthed her and sucked, hard.

Asta’s back arched off the blankets, a sound escaping her that was not a moan or even a whine. Cullen ran his tongue back over the tip, licking upwards, experimenting more. He was loving the sounds she made and decided to tease her more. “So, is this where I start to make jokes about Andraste’s tits?” He sucked again, hard, at the same time as he rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure hers were not half so beautiful.” Asta managed a weak glare, so he sucked hard again and she reacted accordingly, back arched, eyes closed. “Perhaps I should just worship you instead?” He bent back to work, playing, teasing, sucking. Cullen wondered at the possibilities as she writhed underneath him. “Could you come for me just like this?” he asked, and nipped the underside of her other breast impulsively. She cried out. “Sorry! Did that hurt? I didn’t mean…”

“Maker’s Balls, Cullen, don’t stop!” Asta was barely coherent at this point, body all sensation and emptiness waiting to be filled. “It didn’t hurt!”

“Oh, all right then.” Cullen moved on, leaving a hand on her breast to play there. They were so soft and sweet, he nearly hated to move on. “Maybe another time, if you would like?”

“Right, fine.” Asta gritted out, ages it seemed between his kisses. “Whatever you would like to try. Too much _talking_.” He kissed and licked a pattern under her navel and she giggled and bucked up. He did it again, unable to resist.

“Asta, are you ticklish?” He couldn’t believe his luck.

“Cullen, if you don’t get a move on…” Her threats were cute. Maker, he had it bad.

“Another time then,” he answered. Confronted with her smallclothes, he kissed along the edge and hooked his fingers on the side, catching her yes as he pulled them down to her knees and off entirely. She was went to the point of dripping. He felt a certain amount of pride at that and traced her lips with a finger, gently, trying to remember how he had touched her before.

Asta’s teeth were ground together against his sweet teasing, and but flew apart in a gasp as he slid a finger inside, watching her face. Her noise then was indescribable, “Are you okay?” He asked, not moving.

“Yes, just fine! Please! Thank you!” Asta choked out. He slid his finger out again and adjusted himself with his other hand. This was more difficult than he thought it would be, the level of anticipation having peaked for both of them. Asta’s eyes opened, “Cullen?” She felt rather vulnerable, suddenly, naked and spread out on the floor beneath him.

“Asta…” Cullen breathed, as he knelt down and took one of her legs, lifting it over his shoulder. He shut his eyes, nose and lips floating over her center, and tasted, a little lick with the tip of his tongue, and then a larger one, delving between her folds more bravely. Asta was moaning, he registered through his own experience. That was good, right? He licked harder, with a flat tongue up her slit. She shuddered against him and he made a mental note. Experimentally he closed his lips around the bud he had found last time they were together, and traced little circles around it. Then he closed his lips like he had around her nipples and sucked just as hard. She came unglued, digging her hands back into his hair. “Cullen!” Yes, that was a good thing, his throbbing body told him, despite the possible hair loss. He licked around the nub again, and then over with a flat tongue, repeating the action when her hips jerked up in response. He put her other leg over his shoulder and spread her a little wider.

She had never felt so vulnerable, she thought, as she panted, eyes shut. “Asta?” She could only moan, as he continued to tease her with his fingers and mouth. “Can you look at me?”

He needed to see her eyes, was all he could think. His mind was trying to betray his body. If he could see her eyes, he would know this was real, not a dream, or a scam cooked up by a desire demon. Without a word she snapped her eyes open, locking them with his, over her pelvis. He smiled, those blue brown eyes nearly black with passion. He dipped back into her, filling her with his tongue, watching her carefully. He had never seen anything so gorgeous, “Maker, Asta, you are beautiful.” She smiled, still tense and he bent back to work, humming against her. “You taste… incredible.” With that, he circled her clit again with his tongue, and slid one finger and then another inside of her, placing the other hand on her stomach, hoping to keep her still longer. His tongue slid up and down between bud and fingers, tasting, rubbing, trying to match his rhythm to his thrusting.

This was magic, Asta decided, not caring if it was impossible for a Templar to perform such a thing. It had to be, the sensations sweeping through her body weren’t of this world. They had to be from the Fade, or somewhere else.

Cullen curled his fingers slightly, remembering the phrase from the book, and Asta shattered around him, bursting. He lapped at her, eagerly, hardly recognizing the man who performed the action, and trying to ignore his own need as she rode her own pleasure out under his hands. She was lovely, delectable, and he had done this beautiful thing to her.

Asta reached down, grabbed his arm, and pulled him unresisting back up to her lips. Cullen kissed her, and she tasted herself for the first time on his tongue, his lips. He groaned, just the thought of it nearly enough for him to come, his still clothed erection throbbing against her thigh. “Asta, I…”

“I know,” she was still kissing him madly, intoxicated with her own taste mixed with his. “What can I do?”

Cullen nearly choked - after all of that she was still leaving him the option? He ached for release, for her… was he brave?

“Cullen, please, let me help you?” Her voice did him in. He couldn’t, not that - it would be too much after this sweetness, but… he eased himself out of his over restrictive smallclothes gingerly. Asta looked at him for permission and he nodded. It wouldn’t take much - the torment had affected him just as much as her. She touched him, and let go, stroking herself a little between her legs and then wrapped her now-slick hand around him. He moaned, already gone with the little pressure and friction it provided and with one thrust and a second he lost all his thoughts, tumbling after them like snowballs down a mountain. He cried out her name as he came violently, and she kissed him quiet, moving her hand through his release.

As he lay there, sated and drained, she drew her finger through his seed and brought it to her mouth as he watched. His groin clenched again in reaction, but she wasn’t lascivious - simple curiosity painted her face. He raised his eyebrows and found his voice. “Well?”

She frowned. “It really doesn’t compare with anything, does it?”

Cullen laughed. “You know better than I do.” He shifted toward her, “You, however, taste like a spring in Bloomingtide. May I do that again, sometime, my lady?”

“Maker in the Golden City, yes.” Asta curled into his arm. "Whenever you like. Consider me at your disposal. I’ll draw up a requisition and deliver it to Ser Morris immediately.” Her voice was trailing off and Cullen realized she was falling back asleep. He shifted and pulled covers over them both, and closed his eyes.

Already this was a very good day.

 


	24. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to be boring people with the next few chapters, before we get to Halamshiral. There is a lot of background that I have to get in before the ball begins, because my version of the Winter Palace is considerably different. Hopefully in an entertaining way. This chapter is not about research and dusty tomes, however. SFW, other than some discussion... well, just read it and see.

Cullen awoke again midmorning and discovered Asta had slipped out while he slept. His headache and nausea were still vastly improved, so he sat up and took stock of his surroundings, pulling himself to his feet.

The first thing he had to do was to get rid of the major distraction in the corner of his office. With Asta’s nest sitting there, he’d never get any work done. It took several trips to get the pile of bedding removed and replaced on his bed, not the least reason being that the blankets still smelled like Asta and their… experiment that morning. Cullen shook his head. He couldn’t quite believe he had been brave enough to ask for such a thing, much less that she had said yes. Just the fact that she was still there after everything was a miracle in itself. He braced himself, noticing he was holding her pillow against his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He tossed it back on the bed, trying to find his discipline that had abandoned him so quickly. Damn it, just the memory of her hair splayed out and her body stretched before him like a buffet table had made him half hard. He slid back down the ladder, determined to move on, but unable to actually do so.

Only to find himself held at knife point against his own bookshelf, arm twisted behind his back. “Maker’s Breath, Max, when did you get back?” Cullen wasn’t scared - he knew at least three ways to break this hold, and only one would result in a dislocated shoulder - if he cared to use them.

“Max, is it? Already part of the family?” Max didn’t seem upset, much the contrary, Cullen was pleased to note. “I just got back this morning, only to hear from certain - friends, shall we say? - that the Commander was indisposed upon the return of the Inquisitor, that they had requested extra bedding, and clean-up of smashed objects.” Max sheathed his knife at his hip. “I have just one question, Commander. Are you screwing my sister?”

Cullen closed his eyes, preparing for a reckoning. He should have known the morning was too good to be true. “Yes, and no.”

Max eyed him, outwardly bemused. “Explain.”

“We are… involved.” Just that admission made his heart leap in his chest. “Last night we were together. I was sick, she took care of me. I was unable to climb the ladder to my quarters, so she made up a makeshift bed on the floor. Look, how many details do you want here?” Cullen was blushing already. Surely he wasn’t going to have to explain explicitly.

“And how far has that… involvement gone?” Max’s eyes narrowed.

Cullen’s mind raced. “How can I put this? She… We… She’s still a virgin.” He offered. “Maker, don’t make me go into details!”

Max spun and threw a dagger into Cullen’s training dummy. “Maker’s Balls fucking Andraste in the Fade! Damn it! Cullen, you are too… ugh!” He threw another dagger. “Cullen, I see I’m going to have to be straight with you. It goes against my crooked nature, but… I think you won’t understand if I keep playing games.” Max leaned on Cullen’s desk, aping the Commander’s posture when addressing his officers. “If I don’t put it this way, I… well, hear me out before you stab me, will you?” He took a deep breath, “I want you to seduce my sister.”

Cullen blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. The Trevelyans… we’ve used our influence in the Chantry for generations. Ages. But there has never been a Trevelyan Divine. My parents want that to change. My sister’s influence is strong right now - it’s spreading across Thedas at a rate that my family wants to take advantage of. With my sister on the Sunburst Throne, they would control an entire continent, they think.” Max drooped. “I think they underestimate my sister’s stubbornness.” He stiffened again. “My mother has gained an invitation to the Winter Palace, and intends to start influencing key people there. It’s less than a month away, correct?”

“Two weeks and a few days.” Cullen’s mind whirled.

“Andraste’s Tits!” Max cursed. “I took too long. That bitch of a Revered Mother really… oh, well, we work with what we have. My mother is going to be at the Winter Palace. Any Inquisition successes there she will weave into her plot to have Asta confirmed as the next Divine.”

Cullen felt as dense as Max accused him of being. “And you want me to seduce her because… what, to give her a taste of freedom before she is chained to the Sunburst Throne for life?” Cullen was furious and reached for his sword and realized too late it wasn’t on his hip. Of all the mornings not to put on his armor first thing…

“No!” Max reached out his hand. “You mistake me. I don’t just want you to seduce her. I want you to ruin her reputation, heck, even get her pregnant. Anything that will hurt her chances with the Chantry!”

Cullen thought hard, it took effort this morning, like diving in mud. “You don’t want your sister to be Divine?”

“Ding, ding, ding! Give the man a sovereign!” Max said dryly, clapping slowly.

“Why?” Cullen’s eyes narrowed again. “Why act against your parent’s wishes? They could disown you.”

“I can think of worse fates. As for my reasons, would you prefer the roguish answer, the facetious answer or the noble answer?”

“I want the truth.”

“Oh, all at once then.” Max sat down on Cullen’s desk. “First, my parents and their ambition are an example of the worst of Thedosian politics. My sister doesn’t even believe in Andraste‘s divinity, and would probably make a better Divine in Tevinter, assuming they would accept a woman, given her leanings. My parents don’t care - all they see is her influence, her position, her circumstances. With me so far?”

Cullen nodded.

“Second, my sister doesn’t want to be Divine. She’s rarely had anything she wants, so it would be easy for her to just give in, thinking it’s the right thing to do. She has a backbone, but she is very used to rolling over for the family. She’s been thinking the Inquisition is her way out of the Chantry, but instead it’s being used to root her in it even further. And she has little to no idea of the way strings are being pulled behind the scenes.” Max rolled his eyes. “She’s in love with you. It’s a way for her to finally get her to take what she wants instead of accepting what she’s given. But you have to play along.”

“I have not heard from the lady herself that she… loves me,” Cullen didn’t quite believe it was true. This morning was enlightening.

“No doubt she is trying not to scare you away. You have a reputation of being shy.” Max moved on. “Anyway, an unwilling Divine is a weak Divine. As Dorian would say, ‘Chaos for Everyone!’” Max paused, more seriously, “I would like her to be happy. She’s never been truly happy.”

“That all sounds fairly noble. And the facetious answer?”

Max sighed. “She’s 28 and a virgin. Before you, she never even had a chance. I know, I’ve been tasked with chasing away every male and a few females who tried to get close enough. My parents are _very_ pleased with me. I’m sick of it. The way I see it, with your help, we can knock Asta off her pedestal in Val Royeaux, maintain the integrity of the Inquisition as an independent entity rather than a branch of the Chantry, prevent her ascension as Divine, possibly knock her up because an unexpected pregnancy would probably be the best way for her to be disqualified or just completely trash her reputation and then let her retire to whatever she damn well pleases once the Inquisition is no longer needed. My parents and their goals can go be fucked in the Fade for all I care.”

Cullen sighed and pulled a hand over his face. So much for it being a good day. “I’m not going to use Asta and toss her away, Max, no matter what you or your parents want.”

Max beamed, “Yes! And that’s the best part! You love her! This story could have the happy fairy tale ending - wedding included - if you play your cards right. Maker’s Flaming Sword, Cullen, my sister marrying a farmer’s son who happens to be an ex-Templar turned Commander, risen above what my parents consider his natural station in life… that would be the icing on the cake of the failure of their ambitions! They wouldn’t even be able to marry her off to some ancient nobleman with a prick like spindleweed! It’s perfect!”

Cullen was growing slightly alarmed. “Does Leliana know what they and you are up to?” He did not want the spymaster slitting his throat while he worked on sabotaging the Inquisitor’s good name.

“Yes, and I told Josie as well. They’re both in. They like Asta and agree she’s not the best choice for the next Divine, but all too logical if my mother gets to have her say. Josie is panicking a bit about the ramifications, but…”

“But?” Cullen shook his head. “Has anyone asked Asta what she wants?”

“No,” Max swung his legs off the desk. “We think you should. I’m off to speak to Dorian. And maybe Vivienne. She’s scary, but she plays the Game like Maryden plays the lute. Leliana and Mother Gisele should already have broken the news about her candidacy to Asta by now. So, you go talk to her, pick up the pieces of her despair, bed her by nightfall, make me a little niece or nephew…”

Cullen gritted his teeth. “I am NOT going to get Asta pregnant for the sake of your demented plan.”

Max waved his hand in dismissal. “The rumor of a pregnancy should more than suffice in any case.” He eyed him closely, “But you will have sex with her?”

Cullen was getting suspicious. “When I’m… when she’s damn well ready.”

“Cullen, brother… may I call you brother? She’s been ready for that for months.”

“Max,” Cullen had to know, “Where do you land in the betting pool?”

Max’s eyes were wide and innocent. “Me? Bet against my sister’s virginity?” He laughed.

“Dorian is more of her brother than you have ever been. He’s placed a bet. I’m not privy to the details of the pool, but… when, Max?”

“Okay, I admit I had a few sovereigns down, but I honestly thought that once I and everyone else stopped cock-blocking you it would happen. So my date came and went while I was in Ostwick. Actually, with her staying over with you there are a few people claiming they’ve won. I should go and tell Varric not to pay out. Vivienne says that she had it straight from Asta herself that she was fucking you. I knew that bitch was lying.” And with that, Maxwell was gone, headed for the Great Hall and Varric‘s fire, leaving Cullen exhausted and overwhelmed. This was going to be a very, very long day.

And it had started so well.

***

“You’re joking.” Asta’s face was pale, greenish around the edges. She wasn’t sure that she wasn’t going to vomit. Her eyes searched Leliana’s and the Orlesian Mother’s for some sign. “You’ve got to be,” she pleaded.

“I’m afraid not, child,” Gisele firmed her lips. “You are a valid candidate, despite your youth, excommunication and… unusual beliefs. Your backing from your family and the Inquisition makes you formidable. There are only a handful of candidates in any case, but as the Inquisition grows your candidacy grows as well.”

Leliana was expressionless. “How do you feel about it?”

“No! I won’t do it! Maker’s Breath, Leliana, I just got out from under a lifetime with the Chantry. Why would I ever…” Leliana’s face grew stern. “I’m sorry, I know you chose to serve, but Leliana, I didn’t! I was caught in a cage!” Asta wrapped her arms around her body. “I don’t want to go back.”

“I see.” Neither Mother Gisele nor Sister Nightingale seemed very impressed with her reluctance. “You could right a great many wrongs as Divine, Asta,” the Sister noted, more gently.

“Then you do it, Leliana.” Asta spit out. Already regretting her reaction she apologized. “I’m sorry, what do you want me to say? That I’ll consider it?” Asta spun away from them both. “Fine, I’ll think about it. But no declaring anything about such nonsense to the Inquisition until I give you an answer. Understood? Or the people here alone will have me tied hand and foot to the Sunburst Throne before I can say ‘Andraste’.”

“Of course,” the Mother and Sister left her quarters with their hearts lighter. Asta fell to the floor in her empty, empty room, and then stood up against her despair. She had to get out of there. She grabbed her cloak and headed for the battlements. It was time to do some serious thinking.

***

Cullen couldn’t concentrate. This mad plan, this distortion of the Game and it’s key players… how did he get involved in such things? One thing was clear, Asta would not end up as Divine or the Void could take him. But why the subterfuge? Why not just have Asta say she didn’t want it?

He called out to a runner, “Wait in my office and take messages for me, please. I will be back shortly.”

He had to find Asta. He ran to the end of the battlements and dropped down into the odd little alcove they had kissed in a month or more ago. She was there, huddled into the far corner, out of sight of sentries, shaking. He sat down next to her. “Are you… no. Stupid question. Never mind. Want to talk?”

“Not really.” Now he knew just how bad it was. Asta always wanted to talk.

“Too bad.”

Asta’s laugh died in her chest. “They want to make me the next Divine.” Her eyes were tear-streaked and desperate. “Cullen, this was supposed to be my way out. My excommunication should have been the final nail in the coffin. It shouldn’t have led to me being drug back in kicking and screaming to lead the entire mess! I don’t want to spend my entire life in Val Royeaux, playing the Game and hating everything and everyone I’ve become.”

Cullen took her hand. His feelings were warring with his faith, his head with his heart. For once he was going to let his heart win. “You would be an excellent Divine, Asta. You’ve already done so much for those who need it. And with the Inquisition you will no doubt do more.”

Asta glared at him, “Fucking Maker, Cullen, you think I should do it.” She went to stand up, to run away, bracing herself into the wall to keep from touching him.

“No!” He protested, trying to explain. “That’s not it. I don’t want…”

“Is this just a diversion? I thought you were serious! I actually thought that meant you wanted to… never mind. I was mistaken, obviously.” She posed, preparing to run, vault the wall and get away from his betrayal.

But Cullen was angry now, and found his words. “Asta, sit!” And he grabbed her hand again and yanked her down next to him, making her sit hard on the stone ground. He held her hand a little too tightly, scared that if he released the pressure she’d run out of his life forever. “You know that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want to be the Divine then tell them no. Now, before everything gets too complicated. You can do that. They’ll listen.”

Asta was still bristling. “No, they won’t! They never have before! Do you think I didn’t try to tell them I didn’t want to take vows? I spent most of my adolescence trying to find an out! I’m tired of having to make these decisions all the time. I’m tired of no one listening to me! I’m tired of being strong, of giving up what I want so that I can make good choices. I’m tired of being alone!” She turned her anger on him, a convenient target, “And you! I’m tired of trying to figure out what you want! What the hell do you want, Cullen? Why the fuck won’t you just say it?”

“Asta, you know what I want…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, you know what I want. I’ve been fairly obvious almost since the day we met. You’ve been more subtle, almost as if you are just along for the ride. I started all of this,” She was yelling now, furious at herself and him, “I declared myself… what do you want from me?” Her eyes were shrewd, but filled with tears.

Cullen swallowed, “I want…” Maker’s Breath, why was this so hard?

“Spit it out, Commander,” Asta was cruel in her insistence.

“I want to be your shield.” He blurted. Asta’s mouth dropped open. He took advantage of her silence and kept going. “I want to be your best critic, the one who brings you back to reality when you get lost in another world, written or literally,” thinking of how she had fallen out of the Fade at Haven. Asta snorted at that. “I want to be with you, whether that’s beyond the Hissing Wastes or in the Deepest of the Deep Roads.” His voice deepened with his confessions, “I want to feel your ass against me in the night, to wake up every day to your bad hair and bleary eyes. I want to remind you to wear your reading glasses when you inevitably end up needing them, and to make you yell at me when I dog-ear your books and leave them face-down. I want to trip over your boots when I work too late, and feel your arms around me when I finally slip into bed, trying not to wake you up.” He hesitated, they had never talked about any of this, and Max’s conversation was ripe in his mind, but he was being honest. “I want to see you pregnant, and know the child is mine. MINE. I want to see it grow, brilliant and bright like its mother, probably fluent in four languages, at least one of them dead.” Asta’s mouth was still open, and he closed it, gently, with a touch. “I want everything, Asta. Everything that I can have. The Templars - we were never allowed to have anything personal or precious. Nothing that could come between us and our holy duty. When I left the Order, I didn’t realize at first what that could mean,” He laughed, a little bitterly with remembered ire, but relieved at the same time, “and now I am greedy, gluttonous, lustful,” Her eyes grew a little wider with that, he was pleased to see. “I’ve completely fallen from grace, Asta. And if regaining grace means losing you, I never want to be there again. So, Asta Trevelyan, that is what I want.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “What are my odds?” He was incredibly self-conscious now that the words had been said, and he let go of her hand.

Asta grabbed his face and kissed him, passion and sorrow and guilt and desire rolled out onto her lips and tongue. He met them equally and slowly spelled out his everything without using letters or words. She was the first to pull away slightly, only to whisper, “I think even Varric wouldn’t take those odds.” She moved to straddle his lap, leaning her forehead against his. “You want to have a family… with me?” She was shy, almost whispering.

Cullen laughed, breathless with relief. “Asta, if I have you, we are already a family. But yes, if you wanted, someday I’d like to have a child. Maybe after the Hissing Wastes? Might be hard to cross the desert with an infant.”

Asta snorted again. “I see your point.” She peeked up into his eyes. “I never got a chance to reject the Chantry. They got there first. I was at the Conclave to try to find a patron, you know. I wanted to leave the Chantry, travel and do research. I didn’t realize either how much I could want, how much I was missing. I never considered that a family… a real family, an every day constant instead of just for Satinalia and special occasions was even an option.” She shook her head in wonder. “The world is our oyster, isn’t it? We could do anything. Have six kids and four dogs, a summer home in Orlais, a house in Antiva. A cottage in Starkhaven that we can come home to after we travel.”

Cullen cleared his throat, slightly alarmed. “I’m not sure about that many kids. I love you, but…”

Asta blinked and sat back. He loved her? “The kids were just an example, Commander.” Asta moved closer again, sliding her hands behind his neck and into his hair.

“Also, I bloody never want to live in Orlais, in summer or otherwise.”

“Duly noted,” She was kissing gently up his neck now, nibbling every other kiss, and grinding into his lap. It was very distracting.

“Will the dogs be Mabari? Mabari kennels take up a lot of time and manpower, and I’m not sure…” Cullen teased, reaching around to hold her backside.

“Andraste’s Ass, Commander! It was theoretical!” Asta sat back on her heels, scowling. “I’ve never had a single dog,. I don’t know if I even like dogs.”

Cullen decided to poke her once more, just for fun. Her scowl was darling, and he wanted to kiss it off her face. “How hot does it get in Antiva?”

“It’s colder there than in the Hissing Wastes!” With that, Asta tackled him and he couldn’t ask any more questions for some time. His mouth was too busy against her neck, and his mind was too busy trying not to strip her right there and take her against the cold broken stones. He wanted to keep going, but his conversation with Max intruded into his mind. He groaned, and stopped.

“I have to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“Your brother is back. He threatened my life with a dagger this morning, confronted me about our relationship and asked me to…” Cullen swallowed, hard.

“Asked you to do what?” Asta’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t challenge you to a duel or something, did he?”

“No! He asked me to…” Cullen blushed, “deflower you.”

“Deflower?” Asta burst out laughing. “I bet he didn’t use that word.”

“No, actually he told me to seduce you, knock you up and ruin your reputation.”

“Wow.” Asta tilted her head slightly. “He doesn’t want me to be Divine. He‘s going up against our parents.” She grasped it so easily, Cullen noticed, and wondered just how dense he really was compared to this brilliant woman. “Are you going to do it?”

“No!”

“You aren’t?” Asta was disappointed again. Maker’s Breath, this woman was confusing.

“Well, not all of it…” Cullen temporized.

“Which parts of his diabolical plan are out?” Asta breathed into his mouth, so close, so tempting.

“I refuse to get you pregnant just because you don’t want to be Divine,” Cullen started. “A child shouldn’t be brought into the world just for political reasons.”

“So far so good.” Asta pressed her breasts against his chest.

“He wanted me to seduce you today.” Cullen took a breath. She was nibbling on his ear again. _Maker give me strength…_ “That will not be happening.”

“Why not?” She was still nibbling but sounded resigned.

“Because I won’t let him win.” She burst out laughing, squeezing his neck in a massive hug.

“Oh, Cullen. That’s… perfect.”

“Also, I think we can quite thoroughly ruin your reputation without me necessarily having to… debauch you.”

“What if I want to be debauched?”

“Then we will get to it when we both are ready. We’re doing quite well on that front, I thought.” Cullen moaned as she moved against his erection pointedly.

“Yes, I think that front is covered. What did you have in mind?”

“Max brought your research back. Straight from the hands of Mother Victoria in Ostwick.” Asta sat back, squealing.

“He did! Why didn’t you say so before?!” She jumped up and pulled him up. He tried to take her back in his arms, and she spun away, laughing. “None of that, now. I have to show you what I’ve learned! This is so exciting!”  He tried to pull her back to him, and she protested. “You already said that you aren’t going to deflower me today, Commander. So let’s head to my room, and spend the day amongst my dusty tomes and scrolls.” She cocked an eye at him and threw a smirk to equal his own. “You might even learn something.”

Cullen sighed, “Asta, I’ll follow you anywhere.” He boosted her over the wall, admiring the view.

“As long as I’m not in Orlais?” He vaulted over the top almost effortlessly after her.

“Exactly.”

　

 


	25. Strategy

Cullen, Dorian and Asta were surrounded by dust, scrolls, books and records. Asta was in heaven, Dorian was trying not to get dirty, and Cullen was overwhelmed by the chaos. The first thing Asta had done was plop down on the floor and unload the crates, spreading the entire haul around her. Cullen felt like he was under siege, trapped at his spot on the bed.

“He brought everything!” Asta was giddy. “Maybe my brother does love me!”

“Only you, dear girl, would be this happy about having your work back,” Dorian said indulgently.

“Whatever, Dorian. I know you miss yours too. You know, that new librarian that Leliana hired would be more than happy to supply…”

“No thanks, Asta. Work would interfere with my heavy drinking schedule. One must have priorities.” There was a note to Dorian’s voice that Asta didn’t like, but she decided to ignore it for now.

Cullen picked up a copy of a record gingerly. It looked new, but the dates on it were ancient. “What’s this?”

“Genealogy Chart. Andraste’s daughter’s line. The one that survived Maferath’s betrayal. Neither daughter was allowed to marry, if you recall, but both had lovers. One died of the plague, and her child was shipwrecked, or so the story goes, just a month later. The other daughter’s lover was human, a Tevinter mage, actually.”

Dorian made a surprised sound. “Obviously she had good taste.” Asta flicked a piece of sawdust at him.

“Remember, Dorian, I believe Andraste was an elf. The inheritance nonsense?” Both Dorian and Cullen had very blank looks on their faces. “Come on, guys, we’ve talked about this! Do I need to give you a lecture?”

“Perhaps that would be best,” Dorian said dryly.

Asta rummaged through her papers and found the rest of the chart. “Fine, let’s start at the beginning. Originally, Andraste was a Tevinter slave. That is accepted by the Chantry as canon. She escaped and the Chantry says she married Maferath, an Alamarri warlord. Maferath had three sons who were not Andraste’s, but Maferath’s concubine‘s. Those sons inherited, even though Andraste eventually had children of her own, and as wife instead of concubine, her children should have taken precedence. In addition, Andraste has been described by her contemporaries as ‘too frail for children’.” Asta snorted. “Too frail for children when she fought battles all over Thedas with a holy sword? That’s one of the reasons I think she was an elf. The inheritance issue makes me think Andraste was never Maferath’s wife at all, but his concubine. With me so far?”

Cullen nodded and Dorian whistled. “That’s enough to make some Mothers very angry.”

“Good!” Asta beamed in approval. “Next generation. Andraste has two daughters, Ebris and Vivial. Neither is allowed to marry. Now, the history is vague as to why. Were they mages? But we already know that Maferath was an asshole, even if one of the Dissonant Verses indicates that he showed remorse later. Possibly it was a power trip on his part, or Andraste’s influence made her daughters’ permanent alliances too politically charged. Personally, I think they weren’t Maferath’s at all. I think they were full blooded elves, and possibly mages as well. Tevinter’s Chant asserts that Andraste was a mage. That makes a lot of sense to me. That whole ‘Andraste’s Flaming Sword’ sounds a lot like Vivienne’s Knight-Enchanter abilities to me.”

Cullen shook his head, “It does seem rather… damning.”

“No, it’s just coincidental evidence. I can’t prove it. Not yet. But if we found Tyrdda Bright-Axe’s staff, proving she was a mage, maybe someday we can prove this as well. Imagine the shock and horror!” Asta’s face grew dreamy, seeing visions of the entire Chantry in ruins over their Maker’s Bride being proven to be a mage. She came back to herself, realizing that her two favorite men were staring at her, bemused. “So, to take a side trip, the Second Exalted March, through the Dales. That led to the removal of the Book of Shartan from the canon of the Chant, and the expulsion of elves from the Chantry entirely. Some of that book indicates a… closer relationship. Andraste actually made him her champion and gave him her mother’s sword. Two things stand out here. One, why would an amazing warrior woman with divine powers give up her mother’s sword? And why the hell would she make anyone her champion at all if she was this divine warrior? Surely she knew the right end of the blade to hold?”

Cullen snorted.

“Unusual, don’t you think? She was totally a mage. Anyway…” Asta took a breath, her audience wide eyed with amusement at her enthusiasm. “It’s all right there in the Chant, my boys. Shartan was killed trying to protect her from her husband’s betrayal. Her children - probably the sons, but the Chant isn’t specific - gave the elves the Dales as a reward for Shartan’s faithfulness. The New Cumberland Chant of Light actually is including the Dissonant Verses again. It’s progress of a sort.”

“Asta, this is…” Cullen stared at the heaps of knowledge before him.

“Heretical? Madness? Self-damning?” Asta sounded hopeful.

“Amazing! I have a million questions! What about Maferath’s Dissonant Verse, with the dream from Andraste where she forgives him his betrayal? What about Hessarian?!”

Dorian laughed, “You two are nearly too perfect for each other. You must spend your time in the evenings listening to her tell you stories, Commander, instead of just having sex. No wonder you haven’t…”

“That’s enough, Dorian.” Asta quelled the mage. “I’ll tell you my theories on that some other time, Cullen. For now, let’s move back to Andraste’s natural children, versus her adopted sons. Ebris and Vivial. Ebris had a child - interestingly, the records do not state whether Alli Vemar was male or female. Ebris died of the plague, and Alli died at sea less than a month later. The timing is very coincidental, don’t you think? Now, Vivial was involved with the Tevinter mage, as I said, all before her mother’s death. When the Exalted March started, she, her lover, and her daughters went into hiding. They survived. I believe that after Ebris’ death, Alli saw the writing on the wall and faked her own death, knowing it was just a matter of time until Maferath’s allies caught up with her. Vivial’s line went on. But… she only had daughters. That line only ever had daughters, for age upon age. There are no sons in the line clear up to when I lost track of them during the Second Blight and the chaos that caused.” Asta sighed, frustrated at the lost knowledge.

“Impressive,” Dorian said, “But what do you think happened to Alli Vemal if she or he didn’t die at sea?”

“I truly believe she - I’m inclined to believe she was a girl, just because of her sister’s inclination to daughters - joined a Dalish clan and had lots of elf babies.” Dorian snorted. “What?! It makes sense! The only one of Andraste’s adopted sons that survived Maferath’s betrayal was Eviron. He went into hiding, as did his family, in the Free Marches. The ones that stayed - they were killed. One by his own wife. Vivial and her family survived because they went to ground. Alli just did it better.” Asta started stacking the geneology pages together neatly on her desk. “And if they were all mages…”

“You can sink a lot of boats with enough fireballs,” Dorian looked haunted. “Tevinter sinks Qun dreadnoughts all the time.”

“And it was a voyage to Denerim. Even in those days hardly sailing beyond the Beoric Ocean. It’s believable, but just barely. A freak accident, a terrible tragedy. If she did die, I think it was murder, anyway.” Now Asta was shelving books and stacking scrolls while speaking, moving with practiced efficiency. “So, what do you think? Is it enough to keep me from being Divine?”

Cullen looked at Dorian, “It should be, but…”

Dorian was more blunt, “It’s not. You’ve just proven to me that you would be an amazing Divine, open minded and dedicated to restoring lost knowledge of Andraste. Asta, I’d make you Divine in a heartbeat. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks for nothing, Dorian. Good thing you are a subject of the Black Divine, I guess. Cullen?” Asta’s eyes pleaded with him for a different answer.

“It’s heretical, Asta, you know that. You know more about the Dissonant Verses and Andraste’s bloodline than… but I’m afraid you are too popular with the common people, and even the Grand Cathedral is singing your praises right now. If even your belief that Andraste was never the Maker’s Bride can’t keep you from becoming a candidate…”

“Well, shit.” Asta slumped, and then got a wicked grin. “I guess you’ll just have to knock me up.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen. We have two weeks! Not enough time to…” Dorian was watching the exchange with great interest.

“Don’t mind me,” he said blithely. “Is there something you want to share, Asta?”

“It’s just a thought, Dorian. The Divine Theodosia was expunged from Chantry records and the title of Divine stripped from her because she gave birth on the steps of the Grand Cathedral. And, no, Cullen and I are not having sex.” Asta sighed. “Yet.”

Cullen blushed, “That’s private, Asta.”

Asta waved her hand, “Not really. I suspect most people in Skyhold know more about our sex life than we do.”

Dorian hummed an affirmation. “Yes, I think you are right.”

Asta threw it back at him, “And what about you?”

“My dear, at the moment I am free of any such encumbrances. It’s better that way.”

“What about Bull?” Asta caught Cullen’s frantic hand gestures out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, that was a momentary lapse of judgment. No more.” Dorian wouldn’t meet her eyes. Asta frowned, glancing at Cullen, who nodded at her to drop it.

“Very well, I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you were cute together.”

Dorian stood abruptly. “Well, this has been fascinating, my dears, but I must get going. There is wine to be drank and none of it is here. Adieu, my friends.”

The two waited until the door slammed shut.

“What the Void was that?!” Asta asked. “They couldn’t keep their hands off each other!”

“I don’t know,” Cullen mused. “Dorian came back from the Approach and nearly bit my head off. He seemed lonely and bitter, but wouldn’t talk about it.”

Asta sighed, “It’s pretty sad if we’re the most successful love affair around Skyhold.”

Cullen laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Perhaps you’re right.”

***

The War Room was full, Asta’s entire inner circle, plus her brother, recruited for the planning at the Winter Palace. And the women were running the show, Cullen propped uselessly against the wall behind Asta.

“Fortunately, many of the things that the Chantry will not condone will actually improve your standing with the court. As for Chantry approval, or disapproval, it’s going to take some work. Your standing with the general populace is quite high - you’ve been assisting those who are impacted by the civil war, clearing out red lyrium deposits, feeding the hungry, and healing the sick, if you ask some of the more superstitious of your followers,” Josie was blunt, “Blackening your name is going to take a lot of work.”

Leliana cut in, “So, we need a rumor mill. Starting now. Sera, Varric? Any ideas?”

Varric spoke up, “How about illicit relationships, plural? I can hint that my next issue of Swords and Shields is based on truth…” Cassandra made a disgusted noise, but Varric just carried on, “and drop some of the story line as a teaser.” Asta didn’t miss the flash of interest in the Seeker’s eyes, and her mouth twisted wryly.

“It’s a start,” Leliana approved.

Sera blew a raspberry. “Her precious Ladybits? There’s enough gossip around Skyhold alone to fill all of Orlais. Let’s just dress it up a little, like. Dorian and the Inquisitor, to start…”

“What?!” Asta squealed, oddly delighted. “Really?!” Dorian groomed his moustache while Cullen glowered.

“Oh yeah, evil Tevinter mage seduces Chantry Sister from her vows. You two were awfully clingy back in Haven. Word got around.” Sera seemed thrilled with her reaction.

Bull grunted in the background. “Yeah, I don’t buy it.” Dorian narrowed his eyes but ignored the Qunari entirely.

“Mix that up with the threesome with you, the Commander and Sister Nightingale… two Sisters and a Templar…” Sera’s eyes got wistful. “Pretty picture, that.”

Asta’s face paled. “You’ve got to be joking. I had no idea…” Cullen glowered more.

“Soldiers gossip,” he growled, trying to shrug it off. “There doesn’t have to be any truth in it.” He met her eyes and relaxed, feeling better.

Varric piped up, “And you and the Commander are a well-known item.”

Asta took a deep breath, “How well known?”

Varric shrugged. “I’ve had inquiries from my contacts from as far away as Antiva. Skyhold knows fairly well that you are… exclusive, shall we say, but the rest of the world has yet to catch up. I think we can work with it.”

“Our parents have heard the rumors, Asta,” Maxwell spoke for the first time. “You should be prepared for parental disapproval.”

“Mother should be prepared for my disapproval as well, Max.” Asta spit at him, bitterly. “If she messes with Cullen in any way I will not be responsible for the aftermath.”

“Good,” Max shifted on his feet. “That’s what I like to hear.” He shot a quick grin at Cullen who almost grinned back.

Josie continued, “Personal rumors aside, we must be careful about political implications. We are going into the Winter Palace to save the Empress’ life. Try to keep all permanent alliances out of it. No rumors about allying with Fereldan, the Imperium or the Qun. Stick to Chantry doctrine and personal relationships. Expect those relationships to be challenged. Those of your involved will likely be importuned, groped and perhaps accosted during the course of the evening.” Josie turned to Asta, “Inquisitor, you must feed the rumors, but not fully confirm any of them. Can you do that?”

Asta clenched her fist. “As long as no one accosts my Commander in a dark corner, yes.”

Vivienne was amused. “Darling girl, the accosting will be public, I assure you. And if it does go too far, the further you go in retaliation, the better. The court loves a good scandal.”

Josie took a deep breath, “Yes, well, let’s not take it too far, please. One more thing, our invitations are from Duke Gaspard. He is… intrigued with your availability. I believe your parents might have something to do with that.”

“They do,” Max said, sharply. “They love to hedge their bets. If the ultimate goal of the Sunburst Throne fails, my mother wants Asta on the throne of Orlais as the Emperor’s consort.”

Cullen lost his temper, “That would have been good to know before now, Max!”

“Why do you think I wanted you to get her pregnant?” Max threw at him, “Gaspard, like most noble weasels, wouldn’t look at her twice if she was carrying someone else’s bastard child.”

“Is that the ‘ancient noble with a prick like spindleweed’ you mentioned?” Cullen roared. The entire War Room, including Asta, was watching the shouting match like a tournament.

Max shrugged, “I still think it’s a valid…”

“NO,” growled Cullen. Asta took his hand to calm him down.

Josie hesitated, not wanting to add fuel to the fire, but… “The rumor would keep Gaspard off your back, Asta. If you were to avoid alcohol, fish and soft cheeses…” Josie suggested softly, Leliana nodding along in thoughtful agreement.

Asta thought, quickly. “I won’t lie, but I can suggest. Perhaps a high-waisted gown? Vivienne, you mentioned your seamstress before…”

“Absolutement, my dear. It would be a pleasure to get you out of that… uniform.”

Sera giggled, “Viv, I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“Don’t be vulgar, dear.”

“Anything else?” Asta was starting to feel overwhelmed. She had played the Game for so long, but she was out of practice. It was so easy to be herself at Skyhold instead of who she had to be. “This could turn into a clusterfuck if we aren’t careful, my friends. Remember, our goal is to save the Empress and uncover the assassin. The rest of this is secondary.”

“On the contrary,” Dorian asserted, “What happens if we fail to besmirch your good name and you end up elected to the Sunburst throne? What happens to you, then?”

Asta took a breath, “If worst comes to worst, I disappear. That throne has no power over me. Not any more.” She met Cullen’s eyes and squeezed his hand. “I’m not a Sister any longer.” He blushed, remembering the last time she had said that, but smiled.

“Keep saying that, sweet thing,” Dorian drawled. “It can only help your cause.” He smiled bitterly, “At least my part of everything has the possibility of me being groped. Don’t stop it too quickly, Asta, please.”

Bull grunted irritably, “Figures you’d care about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dorian bristled.

“Gentlemen, get a room,” Asta advised. “Keep the War Room professional, please.” Bull grunted again, uncharacteristically taciturn.

“So we are done here. Clear any new rumors with both Leliana and Josie. Otherwise, Maker help us all. Tear me to pieces, people, that’s an order.”

“Aye-aye, Captain Ladybits!” Sera saluted and exited, the others following her alone and in pairs, Dorian cutting Bull off in his haste to get out of the room, Cullen squeezing her hand and leaving for his office alone.

Asta leaned heavily against the table. “Am I doing the right thing?”

Cole spoke, noticed for the first time. “The Sunburst burns you. Why does it hold me so close? Why doesn’t it give light? Darkness in delivery, trapped by morning. Maker, let me live in the sun.”

“Yes, Cole, thank you.”

“He has his chains, too. He wasn’t hung there, he can still walk away.” Cole peered at her. “So can you.”

“Can I?” Asta met his eyes, desperate.

Cole tilted his head, “You are bright, brighter than the Sunburst. You explode and the world is fixed. They build and it is broken.” He shook his head, “Your only chain is the one you make for yourself now.”

Somehow, that was encouraging. “Thanks, Cole.”

“I helped?” The boy smiled.

“Yes, you helped.” Asta smiled back, reassured.

***

The dress was perfect.

“It’s an empire waistline, my dear, which will enhance your bosom as well as hide any… well, indiscretions, shall we say?” Vivienne was triumphant. “Also, that blue-grey matches your eyes so well, and shows subtle support for Celene. That will throw Gaspard a bit. Every little thing will help.”

The seamstress was paying avid attention, Asta noticed, and she eyeballed Vivienne, tilting her head. “Don’t worry my dear, the Inquisition pays well for her secrecy. If any of this comes to light beforehand, Sister Nightingale will take care of her.” The seamstress blanched and went back to the hemline.

Asta adjusted her breasts. “I’m a bit on display here, Vivienne, don’t you think the neckline…”

“That’s the point, Asta! You must show your assets! And I’m sure Cullen would agree that your breasts are superb. Besides, that’s what a fan is for.” Asta noted too late that Vivienne’s own neckline was never covered with such a thing.

“Still, one good fight and they are going to pop right out.” Asta worried.

“Well, they’ll never make you Divine if that happens! Wardrobe malfunctions are death at court, my dear.”

“Hmm, I wonder if I can orchestrate…”

“No!” Vivienne blanched in horror, “Court approval, Chantry disapproval, remember! Racy, fine. Scandal, better. Embarrassing behavior…” Vivienne leaned in, deadly serious, “Better to be dead.”

“Of course,” Asta murmured, chastened.

“Now, dancing…” Josie stepped up, quill at the ready. “Your card can’t be too full. You have assassins to quell, after all. However, you should dance with Cullen, Leliana, Gaspard, Bull, Dorian and Sera.”

“Sera?”

“She has been approved to start a rumor that you only like,” Josie cleared her throat primly, “Ladybits.”

“Oh,” Asta frowned thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about that…”

“Unfortunately, there have been several Divines with female lovers,” Josie dismissed. “So, not exactly useful on it’s own, but every little thing could help.”

Asta shifted uncomfortably on her stool. “Do we know how my mother procured her invitation?”

“The same place we did, unfortunately,” Josie sighed. “She will be part of Gaspard’s party.”

“Well, shit, Josie, that would have been nice to know before now.” Asta choked, “Can I cut her dead or is that a mistake?”

“Aim for polite poison, my dear,” Vivienne recommended, “Far less likely she will know how to handle it.”

“I’ll need to arrange a nosegay for her, then. Actually, my mother will probably be using flowers as weapons and codes as well. Make sure Leliana’s scouts know. They should study the Language extensively.”

“Excellent plan, Inquisitor,” Josie made a note.

“Tell Cullen and the other they will be expected to dance with me, will you? I’m not sure Sera or Cullen have much experience…”

“Of course,” Josie looked at the dress. “It’s very flattering, Asta. Cullen will be speechless.”

Asta laughed, “That doesn’t take much.”

“Your relationship, it is progressing well?” Asta felt Vivienne’s eyes on her and she winced. That would teach her to exaggerate.

“It is.” Asta groaned in realization, “Maker’s Breath, Josie, not you too!”

“Never bet against an Antivan, Inquisitor!” Josie winked.

“What are you down for?”

“Oh, I have the entire week of travel to and from the Winter Palace blocked out. With a double bonus if it happens at the actual ball.” Josie grew serious, “I do rely on your discretion, Inquisitor.”

“Of course, Josie.”

Vivienne humphed, “Honestly, I can’t believe you lied.”

“It wasn’t a lie, it was an exaggeration! We haven’t…” Asta blushed. “Look, how much detail do you want?”

Vivienne and Josie looked at each other and sat on the sofa, Josie leaning forward eagerly and Vivienne leaning back, at ease. Asta sighed, “I’m still a virgin. Technically. But we’ve been… intimate.” Josie made an encouraging noise.

“Cassandra will be sorry she didn’t come for the fitting,” Vivienne observed.

“It’s been fun. We are taking this slowly, though. Cullen’s past - I’m not at liberty to go into it -”

“He was at Kinloch, dear. And Kirkwall. I can imagine,” Vivienne sounded almost sympathetic. “But go on.”

“Well, we are easing into sex. It might be a while,” Asta sighed. “It’s very frustrating, honestly. The man is temptation personified. He’s built like a statue and hung like…”

“Asta!” Josie laughed.

“Well, it’s true!” Asta got a little dreamy-eyed, “He’s all golden muscle and his lips, Maker, his tongue…”

Vivienne stood, cutting her off. “Well, my curiosity is satisfied. I’ll take my leave, ladies.”

Josie snickered as Vivienne swept down the steps. “I know she misses her Duke.”

“At least she has the freedom of missing him. Hard to miss what you’ve never had.” Asta sighed again, daydream ended.

“It will be soon, Asta. Cullen looks at you like…”

“Andraste reincarnate?” Asta said dryly.

“Well, I was going to say something else.”

“I doubt anyone has actually masturbated to thoughts of Andraste, Josie.” Asta shook her head. “I’m human, all too attainable. The hero worship is exactly my problem. Am I a symbol to him, too?”

“No,” Josie thought, “More like something he wants to touch, but is afraid to get dirty.”

“Well, if he asks, I’ll get dirty for him any time.” Asta caught Josie’s eye and her frown released with a small laugh. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Inquisitor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got my information from the World of Thedas, both volumes, and the Dragon Age Wiki, the games, the Masked Empire, etc. I think it's obvious where my own head canons come in, but I think this is pretty plausible. Yes, there are human slaves in Tevinter, but most are elves. I've spent way too much time researching this chapter to just let it go this easy. And yes, I have a suspicion as to which clan Alli ended up with. :D Not saying yet! Please tell me I'm not the only person that thinks this hard about Andraste. Comments appreciated!


	26. Choosing a Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Winter Palace. I hope you enjoy your stay. I know I did!

The Winter Palace loomed, Asta decided. Not like Griffon Wing loomed, menacing against the horizon of dust and poisonous gases, but loomed all the same. Surely, it wasn’t originally meant to look so dangerous and yet so… gilded. Flowers were everywhere in the courtyard, fountains sprayed merrily, nobles floated like butterflies amongst the beauty and yet all Asta could think of was the jeweled viper hidden somewhere, ready to strike.

The Commander and the rest of her party had gone inside, save for Josie, who was panicking in Asta’s general direction. Apparently her sister had shown up, rather unexpectedly, and as far as Josie was concerned their carefully crafted plan had already fallen apart like a house of cards before Asta had even met the Empress.

Asta was stuck outside waiting for the Grand Duke. As part of his party, it would be rude if they were all indoors waiting for him to finally appear when his coach arrived. So it was Asta and Josie, waiting in tandem for the Duke - and her mother. “It’s okay, Josie. Your sister will be fine. Your part of the planning was done weeks ago. She’s not in any danger. Go remind Sera to behave herself.” She watched Josie’s eyes glaze over with politeness and turned slowly, gracefully, painting a welcoming smile on her face. “Grand Duke Gaspard, my pleasure,” Asta dropped into a shallow curtsy. “Mother,” she kissed her mother’s cheek, managing to miss.

Lady Trevelyan’s eyes dropped to her waistline with a practiced eye. “My dear daughter, how well you look.”

“Thank you, mother,” Asta held out a wrist corsage to her, upside down. _Time to fire the first arrow in the war._ “It is lovely to see you here. I was so surprised to hear you had been included in the party!” Her mother took the flowers and fastened them to her wrist, as politeness demanded.

“Cinquefoil and Wood Sorrel, Asta? What an interesting combination.”

 _That’s right,_ Asta thought, watching her mother think out the message. _Maternal Affection, reversed_. Her message had been received from the look of her mother’s tight lips and her mother was most displeased.

“As a matter of fact I have a posy for you as well,” her mother’s smile glinted like a dagger, sharp and hidden. She handed her a nosegay of purple columbine and a white lily.

“Why, mother, it’s lovely!” Asta sighed, fastening it to her wrist. _Crap, crap, crap, crap._ Asta tried not to panic. _A lily for virginity and purple columbines - mother is playing to win this Game. The seamstress talked. Leliana will have her taken care of by morning. SHIT._

The Grand Duke was confused. “I had no idea that flowers were traditionally exchanged in the Free Marches,” he protested. “Had I but known,” he bent over Asta’s hand, “I would have prepared something to suit such a rare beauty.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Asta said lightly, as if she hadn’t just resigned herself to losing the most talented seamstress she had ever met in her life. “It’s a family affectation, no more.”

“I confess myself relieved,” The Grand Duke stepped closer, too close, as far as Asta was concerned. “I detest the Game but we must play it well in order to succeed. Together, my dear Inquisitor,” his eyes roamed the tops of her breasts instead of meeting her eyes, “we could bring back the Thedas of days long gone.”

 _Maker, he can’t play the Game at all,_ Asta realized in disgust. Her mother wasn’t even managing to hide her curled lip. “Now, Your Grace,” Asta laughed airily, “Let’s just see what the evening has in store, shall we?” _It’s no wonder the Council chose Celene over him - Orlais lives for the Game, founded itself on it. And their Grand Duke, first in line for the throne is crap at it. Ugh, at least now that pleasantries are accomplished we can move on._

Gaspard seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “Shall we?” Gaspard offered his arm to Lady Trevelyan and Asta relaxed as soon as his back was turned. Thank heaven he at least had the manners to escort the married woman first, leaving her to follow.

It was going to be a long night.

***

Cullen fidgeted inside the vestibule, pulling at his collar. “I need to have this let out,” he muttered to Cassandra.

“Why couldn’t we just have worn dress armor?” Cassandra muttered back, equally uncomfortable.

“Stand still," Vivienne snapped, straightening the flowers in his buttonhole. Cullen was wearing a sprig of white heather, a message to defecting agents, they hoped, that he could be trusted to protect them.

“Quit fussing, Madame de Fer,” Varric stepped up. “Curly looks grand. He’s not going to be left alone all evening.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cullen growled.

“Hush and just look pretty, Commander,” Leliana teased, swanning over. She was wearing Prophet’s Laurel and parsley for treachery and useful knowledge, hoping that would loosen a few lips if the word had gotten around. “Already the gossips are circulating. The rumor mill is working perfectly. You won’t be alone for long.”

At that moment Asta entered behind her mother and Gaspard, her eyes sweeping the room for her friends. She found Cullen first and visibly relaxed, smiling tightly. He smiled back and froze, the lily on her wrist sending a message he understood all too well. “Her mother knows,” he commented to Leliana.

“Shit. Get that lily off of her as soon as possible.” Leliana waved Sera over. “Go tell a scout to ‘fire’ the seamstress. And grab some flowers out of the garden. The Inquisitor cannot be seen in white tonight.”

Sera cackled. “I know just the thing.” And she almost danced away towards the courtyard, laughing the whole time.

Asta excused herself to go greet the rest of the Inquisition. Cullen couldn’t take his eyes away from her. “You look lovely,” he said, staring. Despite the essential shapelessness of the gown she looked regal and poised, her hair twisted up in an impossible style and held in place with a silver band. “Oh! This is for you.” He held out the small box he had tucked into his pocket.

Leliana’s face lit up when she saw what was inside. “Oh, yes, this is much better, Commander.”

Asta’s face softened, holding the small corsage of white violets and petunias. “Commander! You shouldn’t have!” She exclaimed aloud. Quieter she nearly whispered, “Taking a chance on happiness, Commander? Do I soothe you?” She smiled a smile for him alone, wishing they could take a moment together without the world literally ending.

“What are my odds?” Cullen met her eyes, hope expressed in his gentle expression. Asta ripped her mother’s gift off her arm without looking and let it fall to the floor as Leliana smirked cheerfully.

“Would you do the honor, Commander?” Asta breathed. Cullen carefully pinned the nosegay to the fragile silk and lace at her shoulder, and then bravely trailed his fingers along the top of her breasts at the neckline. Asta held her breath. Maker, she needed to get this man alone.

“Lady Trevelyan looks like she just stepped in something!” Sera reported, slipping back into the group. “Oh, damn, you already replaced it!” She whined, a bush of Citronella surrounding a massive Peony.

“Sera, she couldn’t have worn that in any case. It’s bigger than her head!” Leliana’s eyes laughed. “Though points for finding flowers that represent ’homosexual love’. That should definitely feed some rumors.”

“Sorry, Sera,” Asta murmured without dropping Cullen’s heated gaze. “You got here too late, I’m afraid.”

“Ah well, better late than never,” Sera quipped. “I’m going to ground, Leliana. Catch you lot later.” she blended into the crowd effortlessly, just another elven servant.

“Gaspard’s frowning and your mother is whispering in his ear,” Leliana breathed. “I’d say it’s time to go meet the Empress, wouldn’t you?”

“Quite, won’t you join me?” Asta’s smile was all grace and professionalism, but it still made Cullen’s heart ache.

Mutters followed the group as they trailed along.

“She is definitely glowing, and it’s not just her hand!” tittered one lady.

“Do you think she’s pretty?” A young woman asked her friend, enviously.

Her friend laughed nasally. “Hardly, what is she wearing? It looks like a silk flour sack.”

“Lady Trevelyan is playing her cards pretty close, isn’t she?” Whispered one older lady to her escort.

“She has to. The Inquisitor’s reputation… they say she’s involved with that Tevinter magister.”

“More than involved from the looks of her. Do you think the baby is a mage?”

“With that hand linking her to the Fade? How could it not be!”

Asta was fighting to keep a straight face. This was too much fun. Dorian swam through the crowds to kiss her hand and look at her fondly. “Perfect timing, as always, Altus Pavus,” Asta smiled. She pitched her voice louder, “Altus Pavus, allow me to introduce you to my mother, Lady Penelope Trevelyan of the Ostwick Trevelyans. Mother, this is Dorian Pavus. Believe it or not, we are related! Apparently the Trevelyans were originally from Tevinter! Isn’t that exciting?” Asta’s eyes danced as her mother froze with her hand halfway to Dorian’s lips.

“Tevinter? Surely not,” Lady Trevelyan protested. “There have never been mages in our family. Not for generations!”

“Oh, it’s ages past, madam.” Dorian finished kissing her hand and turned on all his charm and added a little wickedness to his grin. “Far enough away to be kissing cousins, I assure you.”

The Grand Duke was looking impatient, and signaled to a servant, grabbing the first flute of champagne he offered, gulping it down like water. “I had no idea you had… connections in Tevinter, Penelope.”

“Nor did I.” The Lady’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fascinating how the Inquisition brings people together, is it not? I heard that you have a Qunari mercenary serving you as well.”

Asta hummed sweetly at the double entendre. “In more ways than one.” _She will take that one way, where I know the truth is that he’s both spy and bodyguard. She may have spoken to the seamstress, but we are sowing some serious doubts on my continued purity. Oh, this is so much fun!_ She allowed herself to touch Cullen’s sleeve, and smiled at Gaspard. “Don’t you find holding court diverting?”

But Gaspard didn’t get to answer for the crier had come to prepare to announce them.

The long, slow walk of the entire ballroom lasted forever for Cullen, inching slowly, an aching procession to stand and be presented to the Empress of Orlais. The advisors had positioned him so that he would be behind and to the left of Asta as she addressed the Empress, bantering wittily about oncoming storms and summer breezes. He had full reign to follow her with his eyes, drink in her movements and he took advantage. Leliana had assured him that the more heated his looks were the better in the eyes of the court, and the worse in the eye of the Chantry. So he allowed himself to look at the line and movement of her breasts as she gestured around her, his flowers displayed so prominently, marking her, he knew, as his by choice, whatever her behavior might say during the evening. He watched her be dismissed to the pleasure of the ball, and closely watched Gaspard take his leave after claiming a dance almost perfunctorily.

He wished his jacket was slightly longer, however, as he realized his pants were going to be too tight for most of the evening to come if he watched her that way. Cullen swallowed, and took a glass of champagne from a passing servant. “Psst, Commander Tightpants! Not that one, jackboot! The ones on the left!” Sera hissed and he exchanged the glass without asking. He didn’t really want to know. “Right then, Commander, there’s a mess in the kitchen and servant’s quarters. Dead mages everywhere.”

“Venatori?” Cullen murmured around his glass.

“Yes, Ser,” Sera curtseyed.

“Take Dorian, Bull and Asta, if you can find her and she can manage to get away.” He had lost her in the press of bodies almost immediately upon finding an open piece of wall near Leliana.

“She’s talking to the witchy one that replaced Viv as Court Enchanter. We’ll go as soon as she’s done.” Sera spun away, and Leliana moved in.

“Already I’ve heard rumors of the Inquisition’s hedonistic tendencies. So far, so good. Expect company, Commander. Friendly company.” She glided away and Cullen didn’t even have time to brace himself before the void was filled with a veritable horde of curious nobles.

“Commander! Tell me about your fine… cause!”

“Do you dance, Commander?”

“You cannot just stand around all evening, Commander! I insist you dance with me!”

A familiar voice filled his ear, “Do Templars take vows of celibacy, Commander?” Asta was there. She had come to his rescue. “No? Did you?” She asked huskily, not waiting for an answer, meeting his once frantic and tormented eyes and seeing them calm slightly. “Ladies, gentlemen,” Asta trailed her slender finger down Cullen’s chest, stopping just after his waist, and he swallowed. “What do you think of _my_ Commander?”

“He is delightful! So handsome! But he is far too shy! And he will not dance with us!” The women were like little birds, peeping for whatever he let fall, he could see now. Not precisely desire demons.

“Commander! You aren’t enjoying the attention?” Asta looked mildly concerned.

“No,“ Cullen murmured. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

Asta caught her breath. The heat in his eyes made her bodice too tight around her breasts and his compliments were only getting better. “Come, now, Commander,” Asta murmured seductively, “Would you care for a dance with me?”

“No,” _Yes…_ Cullen cleared his throat. “Templars were rarely invited to balls, I’m afraid.”

“What a shame,” Asta sighed, and slid around behind him, letting her hand fall further down, and squeezing lightly, made him jump.

“Did you just… squeeze my bottom?!” He erupted, incredulous.

“I am a weak woman, Commander,” Asta confessed as the girls tittered. She breathed in his ear then, “Sera has it right. Commander Tightpants. I wonder how long it would take to get you out of them?” She smiled, wistfully. “Ladies, be kind to my Commander. He’s shy, you know.” And she drifted away, leaving Cullen with an aching erection and need for another drink.

“Do you enjoy music, Commander?” A sweet smiling woman looked up at him kindly.

Cullen smiled, more relaxed despite his tight pants. “Everyone enjoys music, milady.”

***

Asta danced with Dorian, killed Venatori in the kitchen gardens, danced with Gaspard, who barely spoke to her during the dance, much to her relief, listened to gossip, reported it to Leliana during their dance, who was nearly giddy at their continued success and at the joy of being back in the thick of the Game. She escaped back to the Grand Apartments in time to kill a harlequin bard and meet Briala.

Briala had a vested interest in being perceived as a supporter of elven rights, Asta realized quickly. Without that, she was just another person the Empress had used to strengthen her hold on the Empire. And the alliance she offered was extremely tempting. She openly admitted to being the Empress’ lover, as well. Asta was taken aback at her candor. “You certainly know how to make a sales pitch, Briala,” she tossed at her as she made her way back to the ballroom. She had been gone too long.

“I’ve got to find something on her,” she hissed to Sera.

“Consider it done, milady Tits and Bits,” and Sera vanished into the night.

Asta made a show of catching her breath, hand against her stomach at the entrance of the ballroom, a number of eyes upon her. The Duke’s sister waylaid her on her way to attempt to dance with Cullen one more time. “Inquisitor Trevelyan, I was just speaking to your mother. Would you care for a dance?”

Asta could sense something behind the simple request and prevaricated, “I’m taken, Your Grace.”

The Duchess Florianne nearly giggled in amusement. “Your lover, or lovers, should I say, have nothing to fear. You may lead, however.”

Asta may have lead the dance - without a single misstep much to Josie’s relief - but Florianne tried to control the conversation, without much success. Asta turned every question back on her without difficulty, leaving Florianne mystified at the end.

“She’s up to something,” Asta muttered to Cullen, who seemed… jealous. Asta smiled inwardly at the implication. “I need more information. She wants me in the royal wing. It’s probably a trap, but…”

“Not another trap, Inquisitor…” Cullen began.

Asta stopped him, “We need this, Commander. Who is available right now?”

“Vivienne, Blackwall and Cassandra, at the moment.” She started to leave, “Be careful?” He kissed her hand. Asta caught her mother’s eye across the ballroom and let herself touch his cheek instead of nodding.

“Always, Commander.”

***

Cullen hated the senior Lady Trevelyan. Obviously her authority over her daughter, the Chantry and Gaspard was crumbling into dust, and like any bully was attempting to reassert it.

“Tell me, Commander Russetford, was it?”

“Rutherford, actually, milady.”

“Whatever,” she waved her hand at the irrelevance of getting such a nobody’s name right. “Tell me, what do you think of my daughter?” Her relaxed posture told a lie that the crease in her brows contradicted.

“She is very accomplished and an excellent leader. The Inquisition could not ask for better,” Cullen said honestly, knowing that was not the sort of answer that the Lady was searching for.

“And in other ways, besides being this perfect leader and figurehead?” Lady Trevelyan purred. “How do you find her when she’s not on duty, shall we say?”

 _She doesn’t know which of us has her daughter‘s interest,_ Cullen realized. _She knows it’s one of us, but her information isn’t good enough. I’m just her prime suspect because of the flowers._ His mind whirled. How could he take advantage of the uncertainty? “That would not be for me to say, milady. Perhaps you should direct your questions to someone more socially inclined?” Cullen decided his best tactic here would be to fall back on his shy reputation and seem as inept as possible.

“That’s too bad. You are a delight for the eyes, but I suppose they don’t teach the social graces in Honnleath or the Circle. I suppose I will have to ask that magister.” The Lady glided away to find Dorian, and Cullen breathed a sigh of relief.

Leliana slid up behind him. “She’s running scared. The Chantry representatives that are here are absolutely convinced now that Asta is pregnant with either a Qunari or mage baby. Asta’s chances of becoming Divine have never been so bad. I’ve barely heard a word about her heretical research, though. Just as well. I think the Inquisition should offer it to whoever does take the Sunburst Throne, depending on the successor, of course.” Leliana accepted a glass of champagne, “This evening is not going her way at all. Gaspard danced with Asta, but has not monopolized her company the way she planned. Half of the room thinks her daughter is involved with most of her inner circle, and pregnant by either you or Dorian. The group of Mothers in the vestibule are already discussing alternate candidates. One is Victoria, the mother in Ostwick. I’ve heard my name and Cassandra’s as well. Too soon to tell, but this is a battle I think we are winning.”

Cullen allowed himself a grin. “I’d kiss your hand, but then I might hurt your chances at being Divine, Sister Nightingale. Perhaps that story about our ménage a trois was a mistake, in retrospect?” His eyes found Asta, listening to the Dowager list the deaths of her many husbands. Had she really killed every single one?

“Don’t worry about me, Commander. If I want to be Divine, it will happen.” Leliana smirked. “I think your lady is trying to get your attention.” She disappeared into the crowd again.

Asta was inclining her head to her left, catching his eye. He followed her line of sight to a young elf with a partially shorn head and walked swiftly to her. She spotted the flower on his coat and breathed easier. “Excuse me, Commander Rutherford? I have some people I think you should speak to.” Cullen looked back at Leliana, partially hidden in a corner behind some draperies, who nodded that she would follow at a distance.

“Lead the way.”

***

“Of course it was a trap.” Asta said. “Mercy, doesn’t anyone in Orlais play the Game properly any more? I’ve been immured in a Chantry for my entire life and I still own this palace.”

“How sloppy of Florianne. Her and her brother are as thick as thieves, but she was certainly willing to throw him under the carriage at the first sign of power for herself. The Chalon family has certainly declined in recent years,” Vivienne shook her head, seemingly disappointed.

“Go find Commander Cullen,” Asta sighed at the mercenary she was releasing. “He will make further arrangements with you, Captain.” She turned to her companions. “Let’s wrap this shitshow up. We are going back to the ballroom, confront Florianne, throw Gaspard under the headman’s axe…”

“Why?” Asked Cassandra. Blackwall grunted his assent.

“Because he doesn’t know how to treat a lady, Cassandra. And if he managed to take power he would invade Fereldan. He told me so about five seconds after I met him.” Asta rolled her eyes. “Any objections?” Blackwall looked resigned. “As I was saying, Celene will sentence Gaspard to death for trying to stage a coup, and then we will blackmail Celene and Briala into either reconciling or working together. That locket Sera found has to mean something. Questions? Concerns?”

“Not at all, dear,” Vivienne purred. “You are very good at this. Are you sure you don’t want to be Divine?”

“Quite sure.” Asta patted her stomach mockingly. “The baby says so. Why don’t you do it, if you are inclined?” Asta was too fatigued to be polite at this point.

“What twists and turns your mind takes!” Vivienne exclaimed admiringly, more than pleased at the thought. Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

***

Cullen watched, nearly helpless as Asta confronted Florianne armed only with words. She was indomitable as she watched Florianne dragged away, drooping in her defeat. Her interview with the Empress, Briala and Gaspard was private, but Leliana drifted away from a nearby window, winking at him, and shortly thereafter Gaspard was escorted out by an armed Orlesian chevalier. Celene, Briala and Asta came in afterward and they all addressed the crowd together, declaring the end to the Civil War and a new title for Briala.

That was a shock, but Cullen approved. Gaspard was a bit of a waste, but… the man had been intending to marry his girl. All’s fair in love and war.

And best of all Lady Trevelyan was looking disheveled and deflated as she tried to argue with the Revered Mothers that had entered the ballroom for Celene’s address to the gathered. They looked very grim. Cullen bowed and flashed her a smile when she scowled at him.

It felt nice to win, Cullen reflected, plucking a bloom off an Ivy Geranium in a pot and wandered onto the balcony just as the court enchanter exited. She looked vaguely familiar, but he chalked it up to seeing her around that evening.

Asta was alone now, leaning backwards against the balustrade in that ridiculously low-cut gown, staring at the sky, the stars just barely visible with the glow that the Palace cast.

“There you are! Everyone is looking for you!” He leaned forward against the balcony and eyed her cleavage appreciatively. It was going to be hard to get out of the habit after being able to do it with the entire Inquisition’s blessing for the whole evening. “I’m glad I got here first.”

Asta took his hand. “I’m glad, too. I’m just tired.” She tried to explain. “My Chantry was knee-deep in the Game. I had to be, to keep my research funded, you understand. But this -” she shuddered slightly, tightening her grip on his hand, and shook her head, loosening a few tendrils of hair from her impeccable updo. “My family is a mess, Cullen. My parents gave me away to suit their own ambitions. And they won’t even speak to me after this, despite having saved three sovereigns from Venatori assassinations.”

“Three?” Cullen asked.

“The King of Nevarra.” Asta shrugged. “Everyone forgets about King Markus.”

“Oh, right.”

“But my brothers wouldn’t murder me. They wouldn’t sell me out to Corypheus. My parents wouldn’t plot to have me killed. They’d use me and sell me if I would have let them. But I wouldn’t, and Max actually… protected me. That feels strange, but it shouldn‘t. How does family get so screwed up? How does love turn into a weakness?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen traced patterns into her hand. She was so soft, and her perfume wafted out towards him, drawing him in. “I don’t suppose you’d accept it as an answer if I just said, ‘Orlesians’?”

Asta snorted softly in reply. Cullen gently folded her fingers into his own. “I know it’s silly, but I was worried for you tonight.”

“I was worried for me, too. I thought I was going to have to fight Florianne for a moment there. That would have been unpleasant. I’ll never wear this dress again, but still, I’d hate to see it ruined. It’s a work of art. And Gaspard is… was a power hungry imperialist who would have trapped me in marriage and gobbled up Fereldan if we’d let him. And Celene and Briala! I just feel sorry for them. Celene was truly in love with her.”

“And you gave them another chance?” Cullen tilted his head at her.

Asta laughed bitterly. “I’m not sure Briala ever loved anything or anyone. But maybe she did once.” Asta shook her head again, more hair falling over her shoulders.

Cullen smoothed it back, flower in hand. Asta saw it and froze. “I’m just tired,” she repeated, eyes on the bloom. He swallowed his disappointment. “I see.” But then the music changed and he stiffened his resolve. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, considering your fatigue, but as I may never get another chance…” he held the flower out and bowed, offering it to her, “May I have this dance, Asta?”

Asta lunged into his arms, fatigue forgotten in excitement. “Of course, Cullen!” She accepted the flower. “But I thought you didn’t dance?”

“For you, my love, I’ll try,” he smiled and her tired heart melted. He wrapped his arm around her waist and held her too close, and stepped away from the rail. Asta laughed with delight, her first real laugh of the entire evening.

“You are better than you think! All those sword drills gave you a sense of timing! You just lack confidence.”

Cullen stumbled then, and tried to look down to avoid her feet, hidden by the voluminous folds of the dress. “No, no! Don’t you dare look down!” Asta ordered, pushing his chin up with her free hand. “Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t you always tell the recruits that the body indicates the direction their opponent is going to move? This is no different.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “I can hardly stare at your breasts while we dance, Asta.”

“Why not?” Asta laughed. “This dress does have it’s advantages.” Her face softened at the warm look in his eyes. “Just keep your eyes always on me.”

“You deserve a better partner,” Cullen steered her cautiously. “Florianne was…”

Asta relaxed in his arms all at once, letting him direct her. “Cullen?”

“Yes?” She curled into him, far too close for propriety.

“Shut up and dance with me.” Cullen grinned and tried a spin. She twirled out, dress belling at the hem, hair flying from its band, and came back to him harder. She laughed again. He could spend an entire life making her laugh like that, he realized. “Besides, this time I don’t have to lead!”

Cullen pulled her in tighter yet and whispered into her complete loss of a hairstyle, “I’ll lead you anywhere you want to go, Asta.”

She leaned back, searching his face and nodded, satisfied. “I’m going to hold you to that, Commander.”

“Please do,” Cullen said, and kissed her at the Winter Palace, in front of the entire Orlesian court, the Inquisition, and her mother, not caring about the Game, the Divine or who ruled Orlais. He was dancing under the stars with the woman who had become his reason for living.

She was his destiny.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have eclectic tastes in music. I have listened to all sorts of bizarre stuff while writing this, medieval hymns, contemporary Christian rock, folk music, Avenged Sevenfold, Coldplay, Jewel, classic Queen, Bjork, my high school collection of grunge and alternative (and now I just dated myself), Stain'd, Imagine Dragons... it goes on and on. The last scene was directly inspired by Walk the Moon's 'Shut up and Dance'. The album is 'Talking is Hard'. They should have dedicated it to Cullen. I couldn't stop myself. I am sorry for all the corniness apparent in my writing that happens from my terrible taste in music. If Iron Bull comes out of the Fade at Adamant head-banging or moshing or crowd surfs into a pit filled with Grey Wardens, I'm sorry. So sorry.


	27. Fucking 'Vint

Mother Gisele did not approve of anything Asta did. So the fact that she was standing in the main hall keeping her from all the exits except the one she came in from was ominous. And then she handed her the letter from Dorian’s father.

“I’m not going to lie to Dorian, Mother Gisele.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” the supposed woman of faith stated, resigned.

“What is your angle?” Asta fumed, “You don’t approve of me, you don’t approve of Dorian… What in the Void are you trying to accomplish?”

Asta was making a point of wearing tight clothes around Skyhold after the Winter Palace to stem the pregnancy rumors and the Mother, from the look in her eyes, disliked that as well.

“I am merely here to serve in whatever capacity I can,” She bit out.

“Right, and why would Dorian’s family even have heard of you?”

“I do not know.”

“Whatever,” Asta grabbed the letter and went to talk to Dorian, scanning the letter as she walked. She reached Solas’ mural and stopped dead. This was _bad._ Her steps turned right and led her to Cullen’s office instead.

“There you are! I hoped you’d stop by!” Cullen’s sweet puppy dog look nearly distracted her from her mission, but she handed him the letter for him to read. “I see,” the puppy dog look was already gone, she noticed sadly, a far more stern and businesslike expression present now.

“Do you? Not only is Mother Gisele attempting to meddle with the structure of my inner circle and the Inquisition itself, but somehow she is well enough known in Tevinter for a Magister to write to her asking for news of his son. Leliana needs to know.”

“Absolutely,” Cullen hesitated. “But you came to me first?”

“Of course I did! Dorian doesn’t have many friends. You, me, and maybe Bull on a good day. Maybe Varric?” Asta shook her head. “I have to decide if I should even bring this up.”

“He should know. Let him decide what to do then.” Cullen handed her the letter back. “Should I come with you?”

“Do you have the time?” Asta’s eyes begged him to say yes.

“For you? Always.” Cullen kissed her lightly. They had been far more free with their affections since the Winter Palace. Mother Gisele didn’t like that, either.

But Asta did. And Cullen did, more and more. Every kiss in full sight of anyone who was looking made him aware of how he wanted everyone to know about this amazing woman and how she chose _him_. And the tight clothes she was wearing instead of her armor didn’t hurt either, emphasizing to everyone within Skyhold that she was definitely not expecting anything except his eyes following her hips. “Should we grab Bull?” Asta asked, a little breathless even with the subtle contact.

“No,” Cullen said, “Let’s do this together.”

The two wound their way across the bridge and through the tower to Dorian’s alcove.

“Ah! My two favorite lovebirds. Come to me for advice?”

Asta started, reluctantly, “Dorian, there’s a letter you need to read.”

“A letter!” Dorian’s eyes flashed, “Is it a naughty letter? The Dowager made quite a few amorous advances to me at the Palace. Has she proposed?”

Cullen broke in, “It’s from your father.”

“My father?” A mask fell over Dorian’s face. “Let me see this letter.” He read it quickly, storms settling in his eyes, and sparks arcing from his fingertips. “I know my son?! What my father knows about me would fill a thimble!”

“Do you think it’s a Venatori trap?” Asta began.

“Could be,” Cullen stated, ‘this faithful family retainer…”

“Who could he have sent just to wait around for me?” Dorian was past logic or tactics. “Let’s go meet this retainer, if it’s a trap, we escape and you kill everyone,” he eyed Cullen and Asta, sizing them up. “Cullen’s good at that.”

“Dorian, I want Bull to come too.” Asta folded her arms together firmly.

“Why?” Dorian examined her defensive stance. “You are adorable when you’re stubborn. Why do you want that overfed, underbathed slave to the Qun along on this little jaunt?”

“Protection. There are still bandits and a dragon nest less than a day’s ride from Redcliffe. Cullen alone won’t be able to protect both of us.”

“Ha! If Venatori have gotten back into Redcliffe after everything we did together to get them out, you’ll have to protect the bandits and dragon from me.” Dorian tossed the letter into his chair. “Let’s get moving. No point in dallying when we have people to kill.”

“Very well, I’ll speak to Bull,” Cullen stated. He touched Asta’s arm. “Pack for trouble.” Asta nodded, brow creased as she left for her rooms.

The four met at the gates in a hour, and rode for Redcliffe with a dour Dorian and an inscrutable Iron Bull. Cullen and Asta soon didn’t even try to keep up a conversation.

“Maybe we should have brought Cassandra?” She muttered to Cullen.

“No, she mostly disapproves of Dorian in general. He doesn’t take life seriously enough for her.”

“He’s serious enough right now,” Asta observed.

Cullen sighed. “It’s getting dark. Let’s find a place to camp and see if we can’t manage to break up the awkwardness.”

Nothing worked. Bull announced that he’d sleep by the fire, so not even sharing a tent would force Dorian to stem his fury.

Cullen and Asta retired together allowing their bedrolls to snug up against each other but hardly in the mood for anything else as Iron Bull sharpened his axe right outside their tent. “Maker, Cullen, what if it’s not a trap? Do you think this servant will force Dorian to go home?”

“They can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Do you think he wants to go home? I know he hates Fereldan and well, just about everywhere I’ve taken him in the South except for Val Royeaux.” Asta sounded worried. “I don’t want to lose my friend.”

Cullen reached out and slid her back towards him, spooning her through the bedding. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, Asta. You heard him, he’s prepared to kill everyone to stay here.”

“That’s not a healthy thing to prepare for, Cullen.”

“Yes, but Dorian’s hardly in a healthy place. Not that I can talk.” He kissed the back of her neck, easier all the time. “We all have chains that tie us down. I think Dorian is going to have to decide to break them for himself.”

They rode harder the next day, determined to get both the uncomfortable ride and the meeting at the end over with. Dorian didn’t even complain once, and Asta was more worried than ever.

They stepped into the Gull and Lantern just before sunset, peak tavern time, but it was incredibly empty.

“There’s no one here.” Asta observed unnecessarily.

“Maybe the retainer went home?” Cullen asked. A step on the stair had Bull and Cullen whirling around, weapons drawn.

“Dorian,” An older man stood on the steps, holding the banister.

“Father,” Dorian sneered, “so the family retainer was just a ruse? A trick to get me here?”

“I just wanted to speak to you, to make you understand.”

“Understand?!” Dorian’s voice broke, and he addressed Asta, “He taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of a weak mind,’ he said,” He stepped halfway across the room, “You tried to _change_ me.” He lifted his head. “I prefer the company of men, Father.” The Iron Bull grunted in surprise and met Dorian’s eyes where they rested on him. “I refuse to play the part, marry the girl, spend my life hidden and hating myself and what I’ve become. Once I would have had a father who understood that.” Dorian turned and grabbed Asta’s arm. “Come, we’re done here.”

“Don’t leave it like this,” Asta whispered.

“There is nothing more to say,” Dorian hissed.

“Once I had a son who trusted me,” the elder Pavus said, defeated, eyes closed. “I betrayed that trust.”

Dorian looked at his father, eyes wide, and then at his friends.

Asta nodded, “We’ll be outside if you need us.” She grabbed Cullen and pulled him to the exit.

Bull spoke for the first time in days. “I’m staying right here.” Asta and Dorian both whipped their heads around. “I’m not leaving Dorian alone with this ‘Vint. Not now, not ever.” Dorian nodded in response, face blank.

Once outside, Asta and Cullen walked down the steps, confused.

“Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Too soon to say. Maybe not. But Bull’s got his back in there, and that will help.”

They wandered down by the docks, and Cullen, feeling brave, reached out for Asta’s hand, twining her fingers in his. “You know, I grew up not far from here. About a day’s ride. I think, it was a long time ago, it might be further.”

“Honnleath, right?”

“Yes, the village was destroyed in the Blight, but….” Cullen thought for a moment. “Leliana will contact me if anything comes up at Skyhold. I left instructions… do you… would you… like to see if anything is left?”

“Cullen Rutherford, are you asking me to leave Redcliffe alone with you to wander off into the wilderness?” Asta teased. “What about bandits and dragons?”

“The dragon’s territory is in the opposite direction!” Cullen protested. “And surely the Inquisitor and the Commander of her armies can handle a few bandits on their own?”

Asta turned and faced him. “What about Dorian and Bull?”

“We wouldn’t leave until after we knew this was settled,” Cullen settled his hands on her hips. “And I suspect that those two will need some alone time of their own on the way back to Skyhold. It’ll be more comfortable for everyone that way. And together they are a match for anything.”

“Hmm,” Asta hummed, “Alone time with the Commander in the Hinterlands of Fereldan. It’s tempting…” she teased, pretending to think.

“Do I need to be more persuasive?” Cullen asked, voice deepening as he bent his head to kiss her neck.

“Maybe…” Asta prevaricated. “There is a dwarven bookseller here. I could spend a couple of days at the inn reading everything on his cart…” Cullen moved his lips up and kissed below her ear and then nipped, gently, making her squeal, much to the disapproval of the elderly elven gentleman nearby. When embarrassment made her start to pull away, Cullen tightened his grip.

“Please, Asta, come away with me? Just for a day or two?” he asked.

Asta nodded. “As soon as we know Dorian will be okay.” Her grin grew wily. “Until then, you may accompany me to the book cart, Commander Rutherford.”

“Certainly, Inquisitor,” and he followed, not that he had much choice. “You don’t think Dorian will be upset that you are book shopping while he has it out with his father?”

Asta puffed out a breath of laughter. “This is Dorian. He’s always reading. He’d be more upset if I came to Redcliffe and forgot to check if there was anything new.”

There were many things that were new, as it turned out, and Asta had spent most of her personal gold and some of Cullen’s and the Inquisition’s by the time Dorian and Bull found them.

“Oh, good show!” Dorian brightened a bit, looking at the crates being sent back to Skyhold. “Find anything good?”

“Some poetry Cassandra will like, some copies of Hard in Hightown, a few Circle tomes that will help Vivienne, I think. It’s hard to tell with her. She’s into alchemy lately. A couple of lesser works of Genitivi.” Asta shrugged. “Not a great haul, but every little bit helps.” Bull and Cullen rolled their eyes nearly in unison, but it was evident that some of the tension had gone out of the group.

“Four crates and it’s not a great haul?”  Cullen eyed the baggage.  It looked heavy, and he was glad it was being sent separately.

“Commander, it’s not the quantity, it’s the quality!” Dorian expressed passionately. “One crate of Harder in Hightown is worth nothing compared to one Genetivi letter!”

“That reminds me, I haven’t let you read my personal correspondence with him!” Asta perked up. “It’s fascinating. Remind me when we get back to Skyhold.” She eyed Dorian, but he did seem better. “Are you going to be okay?” She touched his wrist, gently.

Dorian shrugged and looked away, distant. “We’re too alike, he says. Too much pride. Once it would have thrilled me to hear him say that, but now…”

Bull spoke up, “You are nothing like him,” he said harshly.

Dorian glanced at him. “Really? I’m not so sure. I am nothing if not the product of my upbringing.”

“That’s bullshit, Dorian, and you know it,” Asta insisted. “If that was the case than the rest of Tevinter would be signing up for the Inquisition as well. You are what they should be.”

“She’s right,” Cullen cleared his throat. “Can we expect trouble from your father? Should I write to Leliana?”

“No, he leaves for home tomorrow. He only came at all because Felix Alexius stood on the floor of the Magisterium and spoke out in favor of the Inquisition. It… moved him and he wanted to… apologize.” Dorian cleared his throat in turn. “It’s not enough, and it’s not like I’m headed back to Tevinter with him, all forgiven, but it is something. I’m going back to Skyhold. I should be able to make it to an Inquisition camp if I start now. And I refuse to stay in that excuse of an inn with my father right next door.” Dorian stared at Bull as if daring him to agree. “Anyone coming with me?”

“I’m with you,” Bull said, focused.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re going to take a side trip.” _Don’t let them comment…_

It was too much to ask, apparently. “A side trip?” Dorian’s eyebrows were up to his hairline.

Asta took Cullen’s hand. “The Commander is going to show me where he grew up.”

“Or what’s left of it anyway,” Cullen muttered. _Maker, let them drop it._

Dorian opened his mouth to comment further. “Drop it, Dorian,” Bull advised and shockingly enough, Dorian did, with a wink and one last comment.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That doesn’t leave much,” Bull laughed roughly. Dorian hit him.

“Shut it, Ox.”

“’Vint.”

“Overstuffed pillow.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining before.”

“I swear, as soon as I have you alone…”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Bull’s voice rumbled back at them as the two, still hand in hand, watched them go.

“So they’ll be fine, then,” Asta said, stunned at the sudden change.

“Apparently so,” Cullen held her hand tighter, very aware of the pressure. “So, do you have any objections to a Fereldan excuse for an inn with a room next to Dorian’s father?”

Asta made a face. “Not so much the inn as the Halward Pavus.”

Cullen choked. “His father’s name is Halward?”

“Like you can talk, _Stanton_.” they reached the stables and noticed Dorian and Bull’s mounts were already gone, and their horses saddled, gear attached.

“Hey, at least it’s in the middle where I can hide it, Evelyn Beatrix Andra…”

“Don’t call me that, ass.” She attempted to bump him with her hip, but he dodged. She fell into him and he caught her before she could hit the dirt. He set her back on her feet.

“Watch your step, Asta,” he smirked.

"I thought that was your job."  She laughed and mounted her horse.  "Last one out of Redcliffe has to set up the tent."

"You don't even know what direction..." but she was already gone.  Cullen cursed and clucked his horse into a canter.  Time to catch up.

 


	28. Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. This smut is better than the last.

The ride to the pond was shorter than Cullen remembered, and he was grateful. His thoughts had not made the trip from the Hinterlands camp easy. They had shared a tent the night before, but all the scouts surrounding them had left them inhibited. That and their fatigue led them to sleep far sooner than either might have liked under other circumstances.

With the dawn they were up and moving away from the Inquisition’s eyes. It only took until late afternoon to reach the quiet spot Cullen remembered. The Blight had not touched it, except for the dock being disrepaired and the ancient Alamarri shrine being more sunken in the shallow water. The late sun was behind the hills, casting the area in cool shadow, and Cullen breathed deep, smelling Blood and Dawn Lotus amongst the reeds.

Asta caught up with him and spoke, reverently, “Where are we?”

Cullen smiled, and took his coin out of his armor. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to bring you here. I wanted… You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a while. I grew up not far from here.” He laughed softly, “I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. This place was always quiet. I used to come here to clear my head.”

“You were happy here?” Asta could believe it. The pond was serenity itself, green and blue stillness rippling outwards, enveloping the two of them in its peace.

“I was.” Cullen ran his thumb over his coin, looking at Asta. “I still am.”

“It’s beautiful.” Asta murmured, listening to the gentle lapping of the lake against the worn dock.

“Yes, beautiful,” Cullen said, still looking at her. Asta blushed, sensing his meaning. “The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training. My brother, Branson, gave me this.” Cullen held out the coin for her to see, the figure of Andraste backed by the Sunburst nearly worn away with his thumb. “I think he just happened to have it in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.”

“It’s an ancient Andrastean coin from before the Second Blight,” Asta breathed. “Where did he find such a thing?”

Cullen shrugged. “Branson was always finding things like this. It could have easily been a Dalish arrowhead, a yard of Plaideweave or a pair of torn smallclothes. He was, is, a packrat and a scavenger.”

Asta laughed. “I suppose you should be relieved he didn’t give you torn smallclothes for luck.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, waggling them slightly. “That might have given me another kind of luck,” he smirked.

Asta shoved him slightly. He continued, serious again. “Templars aren’t supposed to carry such things. Our faith is supposed to see us through.”

Asta nearly fell into the lake in surprise. “You broke the Order’s rules?! I’m shocked!”

Cullen grew slightly defensive, “Until a year ago I was all too good at following them. Most of the time.”

Asta snorted and spoke without thinking, “Until the whole ‘Meredith is corrupted by red lyrium, I won’t let her kill the mages’ thing?”

Cullen’s face fell and his brow furrowed, remembering all too well, “Yes, that. I…”

Asta winced, and took his hand again. “Hey, I know you made the right choice then. The past is what it is, Cullen. You can’t change it, and you are trying to atone.” His face relaxed a little. “You were saying…” she said, nodding at the coin.

Cullen was still serious. “This is the only thing I took from Fereldan that the Templars didn’t give me.” He slid it into her hand, wrapping his own around the outside of hers, holding it still. “Humor me. We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

Asta looked at the coin, dull in the dimming light. “I don’t want to take your luck.”

“You need it more than I do. Besides, I have a different kind of luck now.”

“Oh, really?” Asta said, curiously, “What is that? I hope it doesn’t involve torn smallclothes.”

“You make me feel very lucky, Asta.” Cullen drew her to him, earnestly. “I know it’s foolish, but it will set me at ease.”

Asta closed her hand around the coin. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“I’m glad,” Cullen said, and kissed her, deeply, warmly. Asta melted into his arms, her hands sliding around his shoulders, pulling him down into her. For once, no one was watching, no one cared about their reputations, their roles, who they were or where they came from. There was just a man and a woman alone by a pretty lake. It made Cullen feel brave, and he broke away from the kiss. “We should set up camp. Are you tired?”

“No,” Asta murmured, pressing her lips back against his again, more demanding this time. “I’m not.”

Cullen felt something strong stirring far inside, uncoiling and setting up its own camp. He wasn’t scared, he wasn’t nervous. This just felt right. Was it the lake? “Still, it’s getting dark.” He dropped his lips to her neck and unfastened the top of her cloak, locking his mouth to the exposed skin.

“Then we’ll be able to see the stars,” Asta moaned, head back.

“That’s fine, but… I’d rather not have to lay down on a molding dock,” Cullen pointed out logically, while unfastening her shirt so that it gapped underneath her breasts, exposing them to the twilight air. He kissed along her breastband, licking slightly, tasting the salt on her skin, and slowly slid a hand to cup her breast, thumbing the hard peak.

“So now we’re going to lie down?” Asta gasped, trying to arch and shove her breast further into his palm.

“It might be advisable…” Cullen dropped his other hand to her rear and pulled her against him. Asta moaned again, feeling his hard length under the layers of clothing and armor. “And I am your advisor, Inquisitor. I also have a suspicion that it might get a little chilly.” He removed her cloak entirely and pushed her shirt off one shoulder, releasing her breast long enough to pull her band loose.

Asta shivered with the sudden exposure. “You may have a point.”

“Mmm, and you have two.” Cullen dropped down against the dock’s pier and lifted her to his lap, mouth connecting to one breast and then the other with gentle, persuasive kisses. “Also, if I remember correctly, this place was terrible for mosquitoes after dark, and there were usually bats…”

Asta froze in mid-whine. “Let’s get the tent.”

“Mmm? But I’m starting to like where we are,” Cullen complained, licking around a taut nipple and biting softly. “Can’t it wait?”

“No, Cullen, it can’t. Flying rodents are not my favorite things. Build me a fire while I set up the tent.” Cullen moaned against her collarbone. “I hate mosquitoes, Cullen. Hate them, nasty little bloodsuckers. And we don’t have a mage to set up a zapping ward. Tent! Fire! That‘s an order!” Cullen dropped his head, the moment lost.

“Very well, Inquisitor,” he sighed, resigned. “I’ll make a smudgy fire, you get the tent, bedrolls and food.”

Two seconds later, Asta was cursing Dorian with the worst epithet she could think of. “That fucking Tevinter… blood mage!” Asta came fuming back from the horses. “He took my bed roll!” Cullen started laughing and almost let the small flame go out. “It’s not funny, Cullen!” Asta was actually upset. “How I am supposed to keep my distance, keep you comfortable if we are sharing a bedroll?”

“Asta, we’ve shared a bed before.”

“But there was more room!”

“Not that we’ve used it…” Cullen pointed out reasonably. “Every time we’ve shared a bed we end up right against each other by morning. And that seemed to lead to a very good morning, in both cases.” Asta was wavering. “Look, if it makes you comfortable, I’ll sleep under our cloaks. But, Asta, I was kind of hoping we’d be… I mean…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, and pretended to look at the fire. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” Asta blinked. “All right then.”

Cullen was curious. “Did it honestly not occur to you?”

“No, it occurred to me, but it occurs to me all the time, Cullen! Every moment I spend with you form the War Room to riding a horse…” Asta blushed. “Never mind. I just didn’t…”

“Think it was possible?” Cullen finished.

“No, but… that it would be this soon.”

“We haven’t had much trouble so far…”

“But that could change! Anything could trigger…” Asta was working herself up again, so Cullen stood and took her in his arms.

“I promise, if I’m uncomfortable, I will say something.” He felt her relax against him.

“Okay.” Cullen let her go struggle with the tent, reluctantly. His earlier erection was still very evident, and a little distance would be good, for now. Besides, surely after so many months of camping out she could erect a tent on her own.

“Hot shit fucking damn!” A crashing noise followed her. Cullen sighed and left the fire. “No, I can do this!” She protested. “The knots just won’t hold!” Cullen took over, and the tent was up in five minutes, Asta sulking by the fire getting the food ready. “I can put up a tent. I swear. I’m just not good enough to do it in the dark. Alone.”

“I know, Asta,” he sat down and curled his arm around her. “So, what did the fucking ‘Vint leave us to eat?”

Asta grinned, “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Cullen kissed her neck. “Not enough, I think.” She giggled and shoved him with her shoulder.

“The fucking ‘Vint left us a bottle of wine, believe it or not, some trail rations, no big surprises there, but Bull apparently decided to bless us with some of his chocolate. We‘ll have to stop in Redcliffe or the Crossroads to restock before we head to Skyhold, but still, not bad.”

“Wow, they really love us.” Cullen was impressed.

“Unless Bull stole the wine from Dorian and Dorian stole the chocolates from Bull. It’s the spicy trail rations, though. Bull loves those.” Asta handed him the wine bottle and a bag of rations.

Cullen took a sip, “I can see why Dorian keeps this hidden.” He took another and handed it back.

Asta took a sip of her own, and came to a decision. She turned slightly towards him. “Cullen, I have a question.”

“Shoot,” he turned as well and took a bite of the ration mix. It was spicy, with a heat that lingered pleasantly.

“Do you love me?” Cullen choked on his mouthful and Asta whacked him on the back. Throat clear, she handed him back the bottle of wine and let him take another sip. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but it’s just, well, you’ve said it a couple of times, but off-hand. So I was wondering if you meant it. Of course, if it was just a figure of speech, that’s fine, I understand, but…”

Cullen kissed her, stopping the flow of words. It was very effective. He could taste the wine and spices on her tongue. He drew away reluctantly. “Yes, Asta, I love you.” He held his breath, but it didn’t come right back.

“Really?” Her voice sounded flat, disbelieving.

“Yes.” He was a little curt. What did he expect, exactly?

“The last time anyone said that they loved me, I ended up in the Chantry,” Asta explained. “It’s… a little hard to believe.”

Cullen winced. Why had that not occurred to him? “Believe me when I say the last place I’d like to have you is back in the Chantry,” Cullen promised, kissing her again. “At least, not as a Sister.”

Asta’s eyes got a little wide. “Do you mean… right there on the steps? In front of Andraste?”

“Thought about it.” Cullen smirked. “Haven’t you? Or do were you lying when you said you fantasize about everywhere you spend time with me?”

“I haven’t been doing a whole lot of Chanting lately.” Asta breathed. “Mother Gisele bothers me.” She met his lips again. “Okay.” She smiled against his lips and tasted them with her tongue, licking the scar up gently. “I… love you, too.”

Cullen smiled now. “I know.”

“How?”

“You do things for me that no one has ever cared enough to do before.” He kissed her again, harder this time, enough to take her breath away, lasting several seconds of heat that was not from the spices. The freedom to do so was rather addictive, he decided. “You can’t build a fire, or set up a tent…”

“I can, too! Just not in the dark!”

“…A tent, I said, but you can stop me from working for a full day, make me want to face the ghosts of my past, and make me listen to smutty literature when I’m sick.” Cullen kissed her slowly until she mewled against his mouth and tried to push closer to his body. “You hold back even when you don’t want to, just to make me comfortable.” He pulled her over to sit on his lap, and unfastened her shirt again, longing to see her breasts on display again, just for him. She hadn’t rewrapped her breastband. This time, he unclasped her entire tunic and cupped both breasts. _Brave_ , he thought. “I know you love me because you want me to do this,” he traced her hard nipples with his thumbs and she hummed, arching back into his hands, “and I’m very tempted to take you to the tent right now, just to avoid any bats that might show up to interrupt us, and show you exactly how much I do love you.”

Asta froze again. “Is that an offer, Commander?” She was panting slightly with the effort not to grind down, or assume that what he was offering was exactly what she desired.

“Not from the Commander,” Cullen answered, and cupped her ass tighter against him and kissed her silent one more time. His body screamed at him for release and he felt very, very brave. “This offer is from Cullen, and he wants you very, very badly, my love, my Asta.” He kissed down her chest to her nipples again, and flicked them with his tongue, once, twice.

“Mmph!” Asta was starting to lose herself. “Tent, you said?”

“Unless you’d rather stay here?” Cullen bit her breast lightly again, and started fiddling with her laces. “I’m not particular, myself. Might be easier to lay down on our bedroll, though. Fewer twigs. Fewer bugs biting… sensitive places.”

“Meet you there,” Asta said, and in one swift moment that left him dizzy she was gone, vanished into the darkness behind the fire. “Are you coming?”

“Maker, I hope so,” Cullen muttered, and followed her. She had lit a lantern earlier and left it outside the tent, so he could see by it and the light from the campfire, just enough to see her silhouetted against the canvas. Lifting the flap, Cullen saw she had left her top undone but it was still on her shoulders, waiting for him to remove it entirely. She had tossed out the bedroll, not with military neatness, perhaps, but for this purpose… She was taking her hair down from her practical ponytail, it’s gentle waves falling to her shoulders. He had a sudden urge to grab it, fist his fingers in it and kiss her until she molded into him. His cock agreed with that fabulous idea, but instead of giving in, he dropped to his knees and started removing his armor. Piece by piece he took it off, deliberately going slow, and meeting her eyes as much as possible. They both knew this was different, even from the last time they had been together. Her eyes feasted on him as he pulled his shirt off in one swift movement, leaving him in just his trousers.

“It occurs to me that you have yet to see me fully unclothed. By the time we have reached that far in the past, you’ve been rather close. Considering the absolute gorgeousness that was you the last time we were together, I think it’s only fair I return the gift you offered me last time.” He stood, half bent over, and loosened his laces, and removed his pants gently. Then slowly, he removed his smallclothes, waiting for the panic that never came. He sat back down, across from Asta, still fully clothed, and watched her stare at him, all of him. She didn’t move, and he relaxed. “Asta?”

“You are too perfect to touch.” She looked at him. “Do you have an ounce of fat anywhere? Seriously, I’m a scholar. I’ve spent most of my life in a chair. I’m fitter than I was, but I’m still half pudge in unpleasant places and my thighs rub together.” She was rubbing her thighs together right then, he noticed, trying to relieve the pressure between her legs.

“Nothing about you is unpleasant, Asta,” Cullen reached out to her, and slid her shirt off her shoulders, leaving her topless. He took hold of the end of her breastband, sitting around her waist and pulled, winding it up in his hand as he went. He knelt in front of her, and ran his fingers from her navel to her breast and cupped it again, listening to her catching her breath. He leaned in and kissed her hard, with teeth and tongue. She still tasted slightly of wine and spices, but now she smelled of wood smoke too, an intoxicating perfume that mixed with her natural odor and the herbal scent of her hair. She whined into his mouth as he pinched her nipple. “Too hard?” He asked, concerned.

“No…” she whined. “I just… I want more.”

“I can do that.” He got to work on her laces while she traced his shoulders, biceps, chest, making his breath stop. “Asta, I…” She stopped, instantly. “No, don’t stop! Maker’s Breath. I just… I love the way you are touching me.” She smiled, her whole face lighting up. He finished the laces. “Lean back, love.” She did, and he reached for her waistline, as she lifted slightly to assist. He pulled them off, quickly, and saw her smallclothes were black this time. He laughed.

“What?” He had made her self-conscious, and she tried to wrap her hands around her middle. He stopped her, holding them still.

“I just… last time they were pink.”

“Wait, you noticed?” Asta was blushing. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Why wouldn’t I? After all, your smallclothes and what is in them have been a central preoccupation of mine for months now.” Cullen laughed more, and his hand moved on it’s own accord reaching out to trace one of the edges, around her thigh and down underneath. They were very damp, almost slick. She made a soft noise, leaning back against her elbows. “I… think you are beautiful.” She was lovely, lit up with the light glow of the lantern outside. “I’m a little worried, I admit.” Her brow furrowed. “Not about that! I just… I’ve heard it can hurt the first time, for a woman. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Cullen? I’m pretty sure it will hurt less than being slammed with lightening by a Venatori. I handled that fine two weeks ago. I may not be as tough as Cassandra, but I think I can handle this.” She pulled him in by his neck. “Why don’t we try and see?” She reached up to kiss him.

He hooked his fingers in her smallclothes and pulled. She helped slide them off, awkwardly, but they got there in the end, and he tossed them on top of her other clothes and looked. Maker’s Breath, how he looked. He was half leaning over her, lips inches away from her, wanting, wanting… her eyes were almost black, with just a little blue. “Asta, once we start this, I probably won’t be able to… I don’t know if… control? I’ve wanted this very badly for a long time now.” _And never as badly as tonight._

“Let’s just take it minute by minute, Cullen. It’s not like I haven’t wanted this for months. Please, Cullen,” she leaned in and kissed him, and something snapped. He moved against her mouth with his, tongues tangling, jousting between them. Someone moaned, was it him? Was it her? It didn’t matter. His hands, they were behind her, lowering her down, gently, so that he was slightly over her. He dropped the left to trace between her legs. She whined and lifted her hips at the contact. He fought to find some kind of control over himself. It might hurt. She needed him to be gentle.

He could do this, he felt it inside, the sort of confidence he had lacked since he was a teenager. He traced the outline of her core between her legs and dropped down to kiss her breasts, anything he could reach. And then suddenly, she laughed.

“Will you still respect me in the morning?”

“What?” His head popped up from her breasts, brain not registering the question.

“The Revered Mothers always said…” Asta laughed, moaning when the laughter made his hand move against her lower lips, slick now with her arousal.

“The Revered Mothers are not here.” Cullen looked at her, eyes dark. “Asta, my entire wasted life has brought me here, to you. You have my honor in your hands.” As if she had been waiting for the cue, she dropped her hand down his front to his cock, and squeezed. He choked slightly.

“Is that what this is? Your honor?” She laughed again and stroked.

He groaned, putty in her hands. “Asta, I am trying to have a moment here.”

“Sorry! You were saying.” She didn’t stop, the wench, but stroked him softly, running her thumb over the tip of his cock while she listened.

“I was saying you have my honor in your hands,” he looked in her eyes, “My respect always,” she was serious now, and a little relieved, he was happy to see. “And my love for all eternity.” He kissed her, slower now, reaching between her thighs, eager to stroke her, to give her the kind of pleasure that she was giving him, stoking him so slowly, building up the fire that was threatening even now to explode. He could do this, bring her joy. He felt the source of her pleasure, rubbed it gently, keeping it very light, and then ran a single finger along the whole length of her slit. “Oh! Cullen! Do that again!” He was happy to oblige, until her fingers tightened on him.

“Let loose a little, Asta,” he murmured. She did and they stroked each other together, smiling in passion and growing anticipation. She was trying to pump him a bit now, and he had to stop her. “Love, if you keep doing that we won’t be able to get to the good part.” _Maker in his Golden City, could anything be better than this?_

“I know, but your face when I move it just so…” she pumped and twisted slightly, making him groan and buck up slightly in response. He took her hand off of his cock, holding it instead. “I just can’t resist it.”

“I understand. When I do this,” he thrust a finger inside her and she arched up into his chest, breasts on display, and he leaned down to suck and nibble at them, harder now to keep his strength in check. “Maker, Asta, I wish I could keep you like this forever.”

“You can…” she breathed. “How can be it be this easy?”

“I don’t know, but maybe it’s only with you.” Cullen grinned wickedly. “Though I could be wrong.”

“You’d better never find out,” and she gasped again at him adding a second finger to the first, “I don‘t want to share you with a living soul.” He worked his fingers in her slowly, slowly, and bent his mouth to her neck, kissing, stroking, tongue and fingers leading her down a path of pleasure. He was aching, her hips were moving against him without her knowledge, trying to catch something, but she was hardly sure what. Just touching her was madness, he realized, torture of the sweetest kind, seeing her unravel underneath his hands and his body.  It was time, he realized, and he breathed out in tension, wound up too tightly for it to help.

He knew there was no going back, not for him, one way or another he had to have release. But he paused, one last time, positioning himself over her prone body, sliding his hand away, and holding himself instead, shaking slightly with his lust and desire. “Are you sure, Asta?” She was breathing through her nose, frustrated with the sudden absence of his fingers, but managed to reply.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, if you stop now I will judge you in front of Andraste and the world.” Her eyes opened, blown wide and nearly frantic. “Please!’

Her begging made his mind cloudy. Was this real? “Asta, keep looking at me.” Her eyes, he had to see her eyes. “Try not to shut your eyes for me, love.” His voice shook as he tried to restrain himself. Asta looked right at him, and he saw trust. Trust, passion, love… nothing like the wickedness of the desire demons. She smiled at him, and he broke, dropping his hand to between her hips and pushing, hoping faster was better, to break the barrier and be able to move on.

She enveloped him all at once, a warm, slick, tight yet soft channel like nothing else, and she called out in shock tinged with pain. Damn it, he had hurt her. The urge to move was maddening, but he froze, trying to let her adjust. This was beyond anything the demons had done or shown him, so unlike the mockery they made of pleasure. Cullen groaned, suppressing his fevered desire for friction.

Asta’s eyes were round, surprised, with a depth of something underneath he thought he recognized in himself. _Maker’s Breath, does it feel like this for her?_ As if in answer she started to move. As she rotated her hips gently, it was Cullen’s turn to call out.

“Asta,” he warned.

“I want to. Don’t you want to?” She asked curiously. “Cullen, you feel… Oh!”

Cullen finally listened to his body and hers. He started moving back and forth, slightly, a slow glide. “Yes,” he moaned. His balls tightened in response, aching more than ever. He gritted his teeth.

“Maker,” Asta gasped, overcome, her shock long over and the pull and twist of their passion returning. She rose to meet him, grabbing his thigh, forcing him deeper, trying to find his rhythm, awkwardness in her movements, but enthusiasm more than compensating. Cullen dropped a hand and started to trace a circle around her center. “Mmph!” The sounds she was making were making it hard to go slow. Cullen listened to his own need again, and picked up the pace slightly, the glide of her core pulling along, the ebb and flow taking them both to shore. “Don’t stop!” she choked out, shutting her eyes tight.

“Asta, look at me!” Cullen pleaded, just as far gone, but needing that eye contact, needing to know for sure that it was her, really her.

Her eyes snapped open, and his hand grabbed hers, and he pushed them both into the bedroll, fingers twining together. Thrust, glide, thrust, glide, both moaning each other’s name, staring at what was unwinding in front of them. His thumb danced over her nerves and she shuddered. “Cullen, I’m…”

“Asta!” She snapped her hips up against him, uncontrolled. Again, again, again, an inexorable tide that couldn’t be denied, waves rolling over her, inside and out, her voice calling out to him in words he couldn't recognize, in a tongue long dead. Cullen lost his rhythm with her release and mindlessly thrust, thrust, thrust into her, as deep as he could go. His own release followed the shout of her name, shooting into her with a pressure he wasn’t expecting. He rode it out, almost gingerly with the unexpected sensitivity that had followed, and collapsed onto her, just enough strength left to hold himself up slightly and roll to the left to not crush her.

Stunned, the two former virgins lay against each other, shaking. Every little movement made Asta moan, but Cullen was breathless in wonder as well as exertion. He kissed her neck, and she turned her head and met his lips with love behind them.

“I have never felt anything like this before…” Cullen began sometime later.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Asta murmured against his lips.

Cullen smiled sheepishly, happiness behind it. “I love you, too.”

“Can we do that again? Soon?” Asta looked very eager, though more than slightly sleepy.

Cullen just laughed with great joy, and closed his eyes, finally. “Asta, I am at your disposal. I’ll draw up a requisition immediately for Ser Morris.” He curled himself around her and they drifted off, together. And Cullen’s last thoughts before he fell asleep, a slightly snoring Asta in his arms, was a portion of the Chant of Light.

_Though stung with a hundred arrows,_

_Though suffering from ailments both great and small,_

_His Heart was strong, and he moved on._

 


	29. Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Triggers for a pregnancy scare.

Asta woke the next morning a bit sore in unusual places, which made for a nice contrast, she thought. Her ass was up against a very handsome, very naked Commander, with his arm under her head. She wiggled closer, because she could and pulled the top of the shared bedroll a little closer. She should rise and clean up, figure out how to rebuild a fire, make something hot to drink - perhaps with Bull’s chocolate. But right at that minute she couldn’t bring herself to leave this perfect place in the circle of his body.

Cullen started to thrash in his sleep, muttering incoherently. Asta put a hand on his chest. Unlike before this did not seem like a good dream. His brows were creased together and he was jerking. Should she wake him?

“No!” Cullen shouted, disrupting her from his arm, and Asta decided she should try.

“Cullen. Cullen!” It wasn’t working, in fact he thrashed against her harder, and the whole tent moved. Asta tried harder, “Commander!”

He jerked upright, panting and sweating, curly hair rioting in the hazy early morning light chinking through the tent‘s canvas. Asta had been displaced from her half of the bedroll, and he grabbed her shoulders, hard. “What? Where?” His eyes, confused at first found her. “Asta? Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Cullen. I’m not hurt.” She soothed, “maybe a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”

“Sore?” His eyes cleared completely. “Oh. Oh!” He blushed red, from his chest to his ears and smiled, remembering. “Good,” he said, lying back down to hold her, still shaking from his dream.

“Bad dream?”

“Yes,” he shuddered, “Without lyrium they are worse. Still, better the nightmares than the lyrium.”

“Are they always that bad?” Asta stroked a curl away from his forehead, teasing it tighter around her finger, turning it almost into a ringlet in her play.

“No. Sometimes they are worse.” He stated bluntly. Then he grabbed her hand, where she was playing so gently. “I didn’t mean to worry you!”

Asta stroked his hair with her other hand instead. “You can let me worry about you a little.”

Cullen chuckled, and closed his eyes. “All right.”

“Good, because in addition to allowing me to worry about you, you have to show me how to make a fire without having a mage around to assist.” Asta nuzzled into his neck.

“Mmm,” Cullen said lazily, “Maybe later.”

“Commander!” Asta drew back in mock horror. “Are you… malingering?!”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” He rolled her over, so that she straddled him. “I believe I am.” More than recovered from his nightmare by now he kissed her hand and laid it on his chest. “The temptation is just too great, my lady.” He loved this view, he decided, with her wearing nothing but a pout, sitting on top of him.

Asta eyeballed him critically. “Well, you are honest, at least,” she observed. She laid down on top of him, breasts crushed between them, hands playing in his hair again. It was getting very curly under her ministrations. “You know, I may join you. It’s not like we often get a day off at all, much less together. What shall we do while we malinger together?”

Cullen rubbed her backside gently, almost absentmindedly. Asta made happy little sounds and his cock twitched in response. “I can think of something…”

“One track mind, Commander?” Asta teased. “Can’t get enough of me now that you’ve had a taste?” She nuzzled further against his check and kissed his neck.

“As if a taste would ever be enough,” Cullen murmured against her hair. “You said you were sore, though.”

“I know, you don’t want to hurt me. Cullen, it’s sore muscles. I always have sore muscles. I spend my life on the back of a horse or climbing cliffs or running towards demons. It’s not a mortal wound. Don’t drag out the elfroot potions quite yet.” Asta sat up, and feeling a presence behind her, decided to ask. “Do you always wake up like this?”

“With a beautiful woman in my arms? Not enough.” He squeezed her buttock.

Asta rolled her eyes at how corny he was. “You know…” she blushed, “hard.”

“Usually.” Cullen sat up on his elbows and pulled her to him to kiss her. “Lately I’ve been finding it more convenient than not. But without attention it usually passes quickly.” He chose not to mention that he had been masturbating more than he ever had as a teenager lately, thanks to her.

“And with attention?”

“Do you want to find out?” He lifted his eyebrows and kissed her once, twice, and on the third she opened fully to his tongue. Her breasts rubbed against him enticing him further.

Asta could already feel pulsing between her thighs, his hard cock a happy reminder of the night before resting between her legs. She slid along him, and she realized that she was already slick, just from the suggestion and the position. “Oh, that’s… maybe I do.”

“Only maybe?” Cullen laid back down. “Well then…”

“No, I want to!” Asta realized too late he was teasing. “That’s not nice, Commander.”

Cullen smirked, and Asta leaned in to run her tongue along his scar, nipping it slightly. The action moved her along him again. “Oh…”

Cullen grabbed her hips and moved her purposefully. “That’s… nice.” He pressed up against her harder, arching his back a little, and guided her hips. Asta found his lips as if she were a compass needle and he was due north. They rocked together, Asta moaning with the gentle contact, but wanting more. She pressed down as he arched up, and Cullen groaned. “Maker, Asta, you feel amazing,” he nearly grunted against her, his scrotum tightening. He dodged her lips, and latched his lips against her collarbones, and then scraped them with his teeth when she moved against him even harder.

Asta cried out, but not with pain. He tried it again, and kissed and licked it to make her moan and jerk against him slightly. He moved down to her left breast and latched onto it and pulled with lips and teeth.

She bent backward like a bow, arcing against him, grinding down almost by accident. Cullen moved his other hand from her ass, and touched her sensitive nub, lightly, feeling his own tip between her legs as she moved upon and around him. He sat back and watched her a moment. She was so free, bare and disheveled, mouth open with moans as she chased the bliss he offered.

Asta whined at the loss of his lips on her skin, she wanted more. She wanted what she had last night. She lifted herself slightly, and his cock followed her, as if it were trying to settle itself where it wanted to be, Cullen thought in a daze, feeling the cool air against the wet slickness she had left behind.

She opened her eyes, and Cullen lost himself in them. “Cullen, I need you. Please?”

“Then have me,” he groaned, as she slid him home. It felt different, he realized, the angle, the pressure. And Asta liked it very much, from the sounds coming from her tensed lips. She continued to rock against him, almost desperately and he had to clench his teeth. He gripped her hips again, raised her up and sunk her back down onto him.

Asta gasped out, “Move me again!” He did it again, and again, her words morphing into groans. “Just like that, please!” He raised his own hips slightly with the next round and she attacked him, kissing his neck with her teeth and tongue, leaving marks that he would have to explain away… or maybe not. He drove into her harder and she arched back again, hands behind her.

“Asta,” Cullen was breathless, her passionate abandonment driving him to the edge, “touch yourself?” He wanted to see her come like this, above him, out of control, in broad daylight instead of in the shadows.

Asta shook, but she managed to reach around and touched her own breast, as it ached against Cullen’s ignorance, she pinched it and moaned again at the pressure. She pulled her other hand around and touched where she needed the pressure.

Cullen watched her fingering herself, rubbing her own breasts and nearly lost it. He bit his lip, trying to find his control. She was so lovely. The sun was well risen now, and the tent was warmer, sweat was dripping down her body and his, slicking their thighs where they moved together. He thrust up again and Asta’s release echoed around him and pulled him down into the chasm after her.

Asta fell against him all at once, and he held her tight, kissing her hair, her forehead as she shuddered.

“I would give anything to wake up like this every morning,” she said at last.

“Well, the gossip is already at a peak,” Cullen said. “I wouldn’t complain either.” _Maker, to have her with me, every night, every morning when she‘s at home… I wouldn’t even dare to ask._

“It’s going to be very hard to go back to that drafty monument of a room, that’s for sure.” Asta sighed. “I’ve never been so happy in a tent before.”

Cullen laughed at that, content, and they were silent for a little longer, watching the water’s refraction on the walls of the canvas.

“So how cold is the water in that lake?” Asta asked at last.

“If I remember correctly, it’s cold, but it’s shallow. So… not as bad as it could be?” Cullen remembered running and jumping off the dock, and the shock of the cold water, but it warming around him quickly. “Just don’t dive.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.” Asta sighed again and stretched. “I’m going to go have a bath. And then we are eating Bull’s chocolates for breakfast.” Cullen laughed again as she slid away from him gingerly, as if she weren’t sure her legs would hold her up. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get a cramp, you animal.” She gathered up her clean clothes and then grinned wickedly, tossing her smallclothes at him.

“What was that for?” Cullen asked, puzzled, picking them up off his chest.

Asta winked, “For luck, Commander.” Cullen threw his head back and laughed. He was very lucky indeed.

***

The raven found them late that afternoon, just before they reached the Crossroads where they were hoping to resupply before heading back to Skyhold. It had two messages, one for each of them, and a small bottle. Cullen tossed Asta’s letter to her and opened his own. It was from Dorian.

_Dear Commander,_

_I do hope our offerings were adequate. Bull and I decided not to stop on our way back, and so were able to provide you with the wine and chocolates in an effort to lighten our loads._

_As for the lack of a separate bedroll, you can thank me later. Dorian is a lovely name, don’t you think? Bull seems to agree considering how much he likes to yell it lately. We received an official dressing down from Josephine. Apparently certain dignitaries don’t like to be awakened by the sound of Bull yelling my name in the middle of the night. Prudes. And the fire wasn’t that big, whatever Leliana tells you._

_See you back at Skyhold. Varric looks forward to settling his debts._

_Dorian_

Cullen shook his head and turned to Asta, who was reading her letter with a line between her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“We didn’t think about something.”

“I thought we thought too much?” Cullen smirked, “Seems like people have been telling us that for a while now.”

Asta picked up the little bottle. “This is a preventative. For pregnancy.”

“Oh,” Cullen blanched. “We didn’t think.”

“I’m going to take it now, but we will have a little wait… Leliana has informed me…” Asta bit her lip. “Here, just read it.” She handed him the letter and opened the bottle to drink it, wincing at the bitterness.

_Dear Asta,_

_I sincerely hope that you and the Commander are having a pleasant side trip. All is well here, but it occurs to me that you might need this. It will prevent the presence of a third party showing up at what would be a very awkward time. I hope I don’t have to spell it out. It should work even after the fact, Vivienne informs me. You’ll need to find something more permanent after this to prevent it in future. This is more of an afterthought._

_I’m sure you wouldn’t like the rumors we spread at the Winter Palace to be based in truth after all. I doubt Corypheus would slow down his plans for a very pregnant Inquisitor. I trust in your discretion._

_Josie offers her congratulations, though I believe she is disappointed that you didn’t manage to get it over with at the Winter Palace. I can’t imagine when you would have found the time, myself. She has also informed me that she is scheduling an interlude upon your return for the full details. I may attend, as well as Cassandra. Sera is disgusted and has not so politely declined._

_Have a pleasant trip home._

_Leliana_

Cullen folded the letter and looked at Asta. “So much for being a tactician. I didn’t even think about it.”

Asta bit her lip. “I’m probably okay. My cycle… it’s due in a few days. I’ll ask a healer when I get back to Skyhold for something. Maybe the surgeon? Vivienne is studying alchemy, maybe she knows something. Though asking her for birth control would be… awkward.” She sighed, frustrated. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think about it. I could have been taking something for months.”

Cullen folded her in his arms. “It’s okay. We’ll know in a few days, and we won’t make the mistake again. Not until, or if, you want to.” She didn’t relax, but she nodded against his chest. “And in the meantime, we will find other ways, or just hold off, if you’d rather.”

“To the Void with that,” Asta pushed him, “I’m not giving up one of the few things that makes this whole thing worth it just because of… this. Other ways, yes. I’ll find out what I can do when we get back. Or… the Crossroads! There is the healer at the Crossroads! I’ll ask her!” Her face lit up. “No awkwardness, and she owes me! I provided everything she needed to stock up!”

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. “I make it worth it, hmm?”

Asta looked at him, slyly. “You are one of the things, I said.”

“And the others?”

“Almost unlimited money for books. I can justify buying anything if it’s for the Inquisition’s library.”

“Anything else?”

“Early access to Varric’s unpublished works.”

“Is that all?”

“The food is pretty good at Skyhold. Not so much on the road.”

“So, food, books and sex? Isn’t that a little hedonistic?”

“Well, do you want me to say that saving Thedas is reward enough in itself? Maybe it should be, but there are a lot of really stupid people in Thedas. Like that mayor that flooded his village, and Mother Victoria in Ostwick, the Orlesian Grey Wardens, and practically the whole royal family and court in Orlais…”

Cullen held her tighter. “Asta, I doubt that anyone begrudges you anything that would make this situation easier for you. You didn’t ask for this, weren’t prepared. If that means that I become your sex slave, give you all of my personal income for books, and Josie orders you a private supply of those little cakes from Val Royeaux, then that’s fine.”

Asta froze. “You’d be my sex slave?” She couldn’t even believe he was making the joke.

“Well, within reason.”

“Can you be a sex slave within reason?” She asked curiously.

“It was an example, Asta.” He felt her laughing. “You really are insatiable.”

“Let’s get to the Crossroads and then hightail it to the nearest camp. I’ll show you insatiable.”

“Even with all the scouts?”

“Eh, they work hard. They deserve to be the first to know. It’ll be good for morale. Besides, I still don’t have my own bedroll.”

 


	30. Talking is Hard

The little smirks and witty one-liners didn’t last nearly long enough for Asta after their return to Skyhold. Varric admitted without ire that Dorian had won the pool, however deviously, but after the plethora of cheating by the other participants he couldn’t really say it was unfair or that the bet was forfeit. “Besides,” Varric claimed reasonably, “Sparkler doesn’t have an outside income. He needs the money to keep himself and Bull in silk pillows and curtains.” The news of the duo’s passion induced conflagration had swept through Skyhold faster than a forest fire, and had more than one new found lover of a mage acting a little more cautiously, and keeping a bucket handy.

Those rumors helped take the heat off Asta and Cullen, who, despite their mutual longing were still having issues with time, though the appropriate places had been worked out, mostly. But without opportunity, even being an open couple with an entire hold cheering them on wasn’t enough. They were back to stolen kisses - Asta doing the stealing- and longing looks - with Asta doing most of the longing. Or so it seemed.

Asta missed the tent, and the privacy of the pond. The first time she tried to sleep in Cullen’s loft upon their return, it snowed. He laughed and claimed it had never done that before. She spent the entire night curled against him, trying to get warm enough to rest. The next day she requisitioned six additional blankets for the Commander’s bed, and had to explain to Ser Morris why she needed them and not the Commander.

After that conversation Asta was fairly sure Morris was a virgin. His hair looked red he blushed so hard when he realized where she was sleeping. He needed to get out more.

And now Cullen was so deeply entrenched in planning for Adamant that she wasn’t seeing him at all. He was very late to bed at night, long after she had fallen asleep, still shivering under her mountain of covers, and up before she woke in the morning.

The advisors were leaving the siege planning in his care after the initial scouting done by Leliana’s team. The ravens flying back from Rylen in the Western Approach were a conspiracy in their own. Asta was out of her element, and Cullen was buried in his. He was excited to show her the ancient maps and blueprints of Adamant Fortress, and explained where he thought the major battles would take place. He even made time to show her how to calibrate a trebuchet… not that she would need to do so again any time soon. She hoped. But the stolen moments and the discussions around the War Table weren’t enough.

Asta decided she needed a greater purpose, and there had to be something she could do to aid with Adamant. Excursions were off the table until after the siege was over, so she ended up predictably in the library with Dorian, poring over everything it had to offer about Grey Wardens. She had interviewed Hawke and Varric until they both ran the other way as soon as she entered the room. She had grilled Blackwall until she was sure that something wasn’t right - a sword to kill an arch demon? Then they just could have shipped it during the Blight. - and then she had tackled Stroud and his terse answers instead.

“Too many secrets,” Asta seethed, closing a book on the Calling that Stroud had finally lent her in hopes of being left alone in the tavern.

“They do seem even more closed mouthed than the Chantry,” Dorian delicately read through a list of the Wardens who had died in the Second Blight. “Why is that?”

“Right now I’m pretty certain it’s because if they told the whole truth no one would want to join in the first place,” Asta rubbed her eyes. The little black squiggles on the page were running together.

“That would explain the recruitment of murderers and convicts and their basic similarity to the Legion of the Dead with their eventual death in the Deep Roads,” Dorian stated thoughtfully.

“Andraste’s dimpled buttcheeks!” Asta slammed a large tome down. “What I wouldn’t give to speak to a member of the Legion of the Dead about it all. Why doesn’t the Inquisition have more dwarves in it? All we have are surfacers!”

“That’s an excellent question, but we are located on the surface. Orzammar doesn’t exactly smile kindly on leaving, if you remember. If you leave once, you are a surfacer. Doesn’t lend itself easily to joining up. And it’s hardly worth damaging books over.” Dorian looked at her closer. “But this frenzied studying isn’t really about Adamant, is it. Or our mysterious bearded friend, or even Corypheus. What’s going on, Asta?”

“I don’t like to feel useless,” Asta slumped in her chair and put her head on the tome, buried in her arms. “Anim dmphing a woomali.”

“What was that?” Dorian blinked. “Ancient Elvhen? I thought you didn’t speak…”

“I’m dating a workaholic!” Asta shouted. The ravens one floor up cawed nervously and dropped suspicious matter, causing Solas to curse. The librarian shushed at her imperiously and she cringed in remorse. “Sorry!” She mouthed at him. He nodded and went back to shelving books. Dorian started laughing and Asta glared. “Yeah, laugh it up, mage-boy. Your boyfriend gets to hang out in the tavern until he has to hit something.”

“I’m sorry,” Dorian stifled his smile. “Come on, Asta. Let’s take this to your rooms.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her away still scowling. Once safely ensconced in her room he sat on her sofa and patted the seat next to him. She chose to pace. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing!” She fumed. “Well, Adamant is happening. Otherwise it’s been two weeks since I saw him for more than a quick kiss on the battlements. And the last time that happened the bastard smirked at me and had to run to the next meeting!” She picked up a knight chess piece and set it back down instead of throwing it. “I’ve tried bringing him meals, distracting him deliberately, telling him he needs a break… he just smiles - I’m going to punch that smile off his face one of these days - and then he accepts, every single time. But if I manage to pull him away he works all the later that night. I stopped sleeping in his bed two days ago and he didn’t mention a thing. Dorian, I don’t think he’s slept in his bed for a lot longer than two days.” Asta crossed her arms over her body. “I know Adamant is the most important battle we’ve yet to plan for. I know it’s unlike anything the Inquisition has done up to this point. I’m trying to be supportive, but the jackass _won’t stop working_.”

“That’s hardly healthy.”

“I know. Personal considerations aside, I think he’s trying to work hard enough to forget… things. Things that the lyrium helped him with, or he thought it did, before he stopped taking it. I think maybe I… may not be good for him. I… do you think he’s avoiding me because I remind him of bad things?” Asta had tears in her eyes as she stared at her friend.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. And if it is, I bet it isn’t consciously happening. I would put money on the fact that he doesn’t realize he’s hurting you. As far as working too hard is concerned - have you said anything? Have you watched him work? I have a thought, but it’s going to take preparation.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Let’s get your brother.”

Asta narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Dorian shrugged. “He’s cute? He has muscles? Muscles we can use for lifting furniture? Cullen is a little scared of him? He happens to be between missions? There are many reasons, my dear. None of them are better than another.”

“You think my brother is cute? Does Bull know?”

“Asta, Bull agrees with me. Unfortunately the man is oblivious. Straight as an arrow, and what a waste.”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more.” Asta shuddered at the thought of anybody finding her brother attractive.

“Very well, let’s collect him and find you a new desk.”

They started immediately, though Max had to be convinced not to threaten Cullen’s life again. He glowered at him as he deposited a desk in the far corner of his office while Dorian watched appreciatively. Cullen sat back a little. What had he done? He ran through his brain quickly, but couldn’t think of anything, and soon enough was distracted by the work in front of him. The next delivery was a crate load of books, and another smaller one of reports and letters that Asta had been putting off since her return from Halamshiral. Asta thanked her brother, and he left after narrowing his eyes at Cullen one more time, but saying nothing. Asta got to work organizing the mess, and was quickly absorbed in the action.

It took several hours for Cullen to ask what was going on. “Oh, just building myself a little workspace! It’ll be nice to work together!” Asta trilled.

Cullen’s face creased in confusion, “Don’t you have a desk in your room?”

“Yes, but you are so busy I’ll never see you up there!” She beamed sincerely in his general direction. “This way I’ll be around even if I can’t interrupt. You won’t even know I’m here.” She plopped down in her chair. “Now, I have reports and letters that Josie has been nagging me about, and maps to go over… to work?” She brandished a quill and tackled the top of the pile.

Unfortunately, Asta did work well around Cullen. They worked in complete silence for over an hour, decreasing the amount of work left steadily. And then she reached the stack of inquiries that Josie had received on the two of them after the Winter Palace. She sorted them into her pile and his pile, and picked up his - considerably taller than her own, and smiled wickedly. She stood up and started to read aloud.

_'Ambassador Montilyet,_ _I am utterly entranced with your Commander. Such a Man, my dear, such a fine Leg, such Hair… I dream of running my fingers through it in passion. You must tell me, my darling Josephine, who is his family? Where is Honnleath in Fereldan that it grows such specimens?'_

Asta giggled as she wandered by his desk. “What is that?” Cullen didn’t look up, distracted, but Asta flipped to the next letter.

_'My Lady Montilyet,_ _As I am sure you know, I respect the Inquisition greatly, and all of the good work it is doing around Thedas. As you also know, I have five eligible daughters and understand your Commander is single. At his age! Surely an arrangement can be made?'_

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen cursed, “What are those things?”

 _"'Ambassador Montilyet, my dear Josephine,_ _My passion cannot be denied!'”_ Asta read in a throaty voice, draping herself over Cullen’s desk in a mimicry of passionate abandon. _“'Your Commander, I must have him! I will give anything, titles, money, lands. He is my single shining star in a sky full of clouds!'”_ Asta squinted at the line, not sure if she had read it correctly. “Andraste’s ass, that’s terrible prose.”

Cullen tried not to laugh, to refocus on his work. There was so much to do. “Asta, I’m trying to plan a siege on this desk.”

Asta scanned the next letter. “Actually, this next one applies. This woman is offering her siege equipment in exchange for an hour alone with you. Should I reply favorably?”

Cullen rubbed his exhausted eyes. “Asta… no. Just burn them all.”

“Nope, Leliana wants to know exactly who pines after our Commander, besides me, of course.” She sat up off the blueprint of Adamant that she was blocking with her butt. “And I think I’ll give that one back to Josie. This lady is in Eastern Orlais. Maybe she can work something out that doesn’t involve your… gratitude, shall we say?”

“Siege equipment would be helpful.” Cullen pressed the palms of his hands over his sunken eyes. Maker, he was so tired. Asta watched him, concerned as always.

“Cullen, you need to sleep.”

“I need to get the supply lines sorted out. They have to be in place before we march.”

Asta leaned over and covered the map of Thedas he was trying to focus on. “Cullen, you need sleep.” She touched his wrist. “The supply lines can wait until morning.”

“Asta,” Cullen rolled his eyes impatiently. “I appreciate…”

“No, Commander,” Asta’s voice cracked like a whip and he sat back involuntarily. He had never seen this side of her before. “We have to take Adamant. I understand that. But you cannot serve the Inquisition if you are falling asleep at your desk just to wake up and work again an hour later.”

Cullen rubbed his neck sheepishly. “How did you know?”

“Other than the fact I’ve missed you in bed for over a week?” Asta folded her arms defensively. She was scared of what he was going to say next, but wouldn’t let herself back down. “You did say you didn’t mind me staying here. Would you like to take it back?”

“No!” Cullen finally met her eyes, recoiling from the anger in them. “Have I messed up?”

“Yes.” Asta’s voice was still sharp. “For one thing you didn’t even make time to ask if I was pregnant.” Cullen winced. “I’m not, as it turns out, not that it was even on your mind with all of this…” she waved her hand, “running through it instead. Am I in there at all?” Cullen opened his mouth to protest. But she moved on, “I mean it, Commander, I can’t have you at less than your best professionally, but personally, I won’t allow myself to be shoved to the side for work you should be delegating!” Asta flipped quickly through the reports in the massive stack on his desk. “You have the supply lines roughed out. Give them to Clark tomorrow. She can make the final adjustments and implement them. Xavier can track the lyrium shipments. He’s dating a scout, and works well with Leliana’s forces.” Cullen started to protest again, but Asta shut him up, “He’ll report to you, Commander. Not Leliana. But this should be a team effort.” Asta scanned the rest of the work. “Additional housing for troops can’t be solved in one night. Postpone until the next war meeting. Morale at Griffon Wing, alternate sources of water, varghest problems in the Western Approach… honestly, Commander, why haven’t you shared these with all of us? Griffon Wing needs to be at top performance before we descend on them in a mighty horde.” She finished sorting and delegating his entire workload in minutes, stacked neatly in piles for the next morning. Cullen gaped like a fish. “Tomorrow I will ask Josie for a recommendation for an assistant for you. What do your Captains and Lieutenants do? Even if an assistant can only sort and prioritize, you can still delegate.”

“I wanted to make sure it was done right.”

“So you don’t trust your officers?”

“Of course I do!” Cullen’s brow furrowed.

“Then give them more responsibility! Over-working aside, the Inquisition cannot afford the time it would take for you to do it all yourself.” Asta leaned back, hip cocked out insolently. “Delegate and start sleeping at least four hours a night, Commander, or I’ll replace you with Rylen.”

“Asta…” Cullen warned.

“Inquisitor, if you please. Now, go to bed. To sleep. That’s an order.” Asta was furious. These petty trials, they were keeping him away? Little pittances that any officer should have the sense to take care of? How dare he let them? It was all his fault.

Cullen was wise enough to move away and set his armor piece by piece on it’s stand. Asta watched, eyes narrowed in her ire, not trusting him to not go right back to his desk if she left the room in her anger and pique. He climbed the ladder silently, raging. She was right, and that was the worst part. He raged at himself, at the situation and how he had let it get this far, and a little at her for ordering him around like that, necessary or not.

She followed him up the stairs and started getting ready for bed. It took her sliding into the other side for Cullen to push back his sullenness to ask, “You’re staying?”

Asta bit her lip to avoid asking him the same thing. She didn’t want a shouting fight. She wanted him to sleep. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” He bit off. And then sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I did think about it, but figured you would say if…” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You should be.” Asta was shivering on her side, refusing to touch him.

“I don’t like it when I’m obviously wrong,” he added, unfreezing a little. “I don’t like losing anything.”

“Nobody does,” Asta agreed, coldly.

“Will you be my assistant?” Cullen rolled over to face her.

“No. I out-rank you,” but she was trying not to smile at the question. “Besides, I’m not sure we could work together.”

“We work together all the time!” Cullen protested.

“No, you report to me, and I handle final decisions and concerns. If we couldn’t tell who was in charge… it would get complicated. I’m not sure how, but we have to keep our personal life separate.”

“Will you leave your desk here?”

“If you like. It would be nice to have a place to sit.” Asta’s voice sounded funny. “But only if you promise to delegate and sleep. I like you, I don’t want you to kill yourself with work, Cullen.”

Cullen reached for her hand and kissed it. “I’ll try.”

“And you’ve got to stop trying to work so hard so that you won’t have to think. And don’t say that isn’t part of it. It is. Lyrium used to provide you a purpose, a false sense of duty. You are trying to fill that with work, with the Inquisition. It isn’t healthy.”

Cullen swallowed, “I’m not really used to anyone caring what… whether I’m healthy.” Asta nearly cried. Did he realize how pitiful he sounded?

“Get over that right now,” Her voice cracked. “If this is going to work you have to be more than a Commander. And stop assuming that people don’t care. I care. Dorian cares. Your sister cares. Maker, even my blighted brother cares, though he expresses it in death threats. Do your job. Do it well. And get some fucking sleep already!”

“In short, I’ve been an ass.”

“Yes, but now you’re _my_ ass.”

“Andraste’s ass?” Cullen laughed rustily. Asta put her cold feet on him in retaliation. “Come here.” He reached out and pulled her in. “I did miss you.”

“And yet I’m right here. Will you notice now?” She sniffed, trying not to cry. It had been a hard week.

“I always noticed. Even in Haven. I couldn’t keep my eyes from you. And I worried about you this week, when you didn’t say anything about... I didn’t know. So I worked harder, trying not to think. Like you said.” He kissed her head. “Maker’s Breath, if you are always right it’s going to get really old.”

“Then do better. Start asking questions. Quit putting this on me.” Asta’s harsh words were belied by her cuddling into his heat, even though the blankets were around her like a cocoon. “Oh, you’re so warm. Your bed is unbearable without you, you know.”

“So you missed me? Or my body heat?”

“Both. Now sleep, you ass.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 


	31. I Helped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may be a little busy this week with the new DLC. Not really sorry, but if I don't post much or anything, I hope you understand. Off to play The Descent! I'll try to at least come up for air and food.

It was a bad day. Cullen had woken long before Asta, guilt and stress weighing him down onto the mattress and making him feel suffocated. So he rose instead, and making his way down to his office, he longed for clarity, or at least for the illusion of clarity that lyrium would bring him.

 _You aren’t enough. You can’t do everything, you can’t do anything the way it should be done. You, commanding an army? A broken man who abandoned all his loyalties? All his vows? And you think you can love her? You got back to Skyhold and ignored her, out of fear, using work as an excuse and escape. Coward. Fraud._ The voices were insidious as he stumbled through his morning work, made simple by her swift organization of the night before. He collapsed, his head in his hands, thinking. He didn’t want to take it. She thought he was strong enough without it. He wouldn’t take it. She didn’t want him to. Did she?

To distract himself he walked out onto the battlements, trying to find a runner to deliver messages to Leliana regarding assigning Xavier to one of her scout groups, but it was barely dawn - no runner was evident yet. Of course. Only he, the man who couldn’t sleep, and the endless parade of guards were awake at this time of day. His mouth twisted wryly. Apparently five minutes of triage led to him being able to sleep past dawn. He could hear Asta moving around above him, now, and part of him wanted to avoid her, make an excuse and leave his office before he had to see her. But his behavior had been cowardly and she was right. So he made himself stay, to face her and the consequences.

“Morning.” Asta sounded terse.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Good morning.” It wasn’t, and an awkward silence blanketed the room like drifts after a blizzard. It filled the air around the whispers in Cullen’s head. _Not enough. Never enough. Just take it and be enough._ “Asta, I…”

“I’m sorry.” In the harsh light of the morning, Asta realized she had blown it. “I took it too far. You’re an excellent Commander, the Inquisition would be nowhere without you. I shouldn’t have let a personal matter influence me to threaten your position. I was out of line.”

Cullen blinked. But she had been right. “I see,” he managed.

Asta had a lump in her throat the size of a bog fisher. She swallowed it. What had she expected, for him to throw himself into her arms and kiss her madly? _Silly little girl._ “I’m going to have someone send up food for you. And I’ll go speak to Josephine about a list of assistants for you. Maybe I can have something by the end of the day. Any skills you require, Commander?”

“Um,” Cullen thought about what he liked about her helping him, what he liked about her reports, other than that they came from her, “Good handwriting? Combat experience - they don’t have to be a good warrior, or anything, but some training would be helpful. An organized mind? Common sense.”

“That last is rarer than it should be, but I’ll see what Josie has to say.” And she was gone, his chance to beg her forgiveness, to try to make it better was gone, vanished with the morning fog.

***

Josie was most accommodating. “Inquisitor, how did you manage to make him admit that he needed help? I’ve been trying since Haven!” She opened a drawer and rifled through it madly, as if afraid that the Commander would change his mind if she waited more than a minute to comply. “I’ve had a list for months!”

Asta sighed. “I yelled at him. Told him he wasn’t fit to be Commander of my armies if he wasn’t sleeping. Insulted his delegation skills and how he uses his officers. I threatened to remove and replace him with Rylen if he didn’t take better care of himself. Then I organized his desk, and removed about 40% of his responsibilities.” Asta looked rueful. “I was a bitch.”

“So you had a fight.” Josie finally found the sheet of parchment, scanning it quickly to make sure it was the right list.

“You might say that. We have to work on the whole personal versus professional life thing. I need boundaries. He needs to quit closing himself off when he’s unsure.” Asta shrugged helplessly. “It’s been a horrible week. Hopefully it gets better.”

“It’s a shame that’s what it took to get him to accept help. But here,” Josie laid out the sheet of names for her. “I don’t think you know any personally.”

“The Commander requested someone with an organized mind, common sense, and combat experience. Oh, and good handwriting. I think he may need glasses but won’t admit it. I keep catching him rubbing his eyes.”

“Men,” Josie sighed. “And some women. Leliana is the same way. Spends all her time in that dark rookery reading reports but Maker forbid I ever suggest better lighting.”

“Well, I’ve pushed far enough with this, I fear. Maybe when he doesn’t have to read minor requisitions for hours on end his headaches will improve.” Asta sighed. “I said terrible things. I wonder if Cole could make him forget them.”

“Who? Oh! Cole, the strange young man. I don’t think that would be wise. A… talent like that shouldn’t be misused. It’s tempting, though, I grant you.” It was Josie’s turn to sigh. “We’ve all things we wish we could forget, but overcoming them makes us better people.”

Asta squeezed her hand and rolled up the parchment. “Thanks, Josie.”

“You are quite welcome, Inquisitor.”

***

Cullen paced in his office, food sitting untouched.

“The look in her eyes as she spoke, the pain in her voice. Cold, so cold. How can I warm her again? The slick of lyrium as it coats my throat, I’d rather taste her. Can’t forget. I’ve hurt her, hurt her, hurt myself instead.”

“Cole, this isn’t helping.” Cullen leaned against his desk with both hands.

“She’s hurting too. Said too much, meant it then but didn’t this morning. Words can’t fix everything. I’ve broken us, broken _him_. What have I done? Cold tower, icy wind cutting through the warmth of his voice.” Cole stopped, puzzled. “Why do you both think this can’t be fixed? Cracks can be mended, the right glue makes them stronger. She wanted to help, but you wouldn’t listen without the hurting. She’s sorry. You’re sorry about something that didn’t happen, for not planning enough, for causing her pain and fear over something that you want but Maker, not yet?” Cole looked even more confused. “You locked yourself away, working to forget. Maker, what a mess I’ve made, everything I touch is ruined.”

“Cole, please…” Cullen collapsed in his chair, head back in his hands, trying not to weep.

“But it didn’t happen. Never did. Why are you guilty? This isn’t the Gallows, she’s not trying to hang you.” Cole stepped closer. “You were happy at the lake. Coin in her pocket, she slides her fingers along it, worries over the edges, smoothing them out, like a river stone. A rare thing, made even more precious. It’s _his_. Am I still his? Is he mine?”

“Of course I am!” Cullen had to grab the tray, nearly overbalanced, with his abrupt standing.

“Then I helped!” Cole popped out of the office, air whooshing in to fill the vacuum he left. Cullen sat back down, shaking now with nerves. Cole was too disconcerting.

***

Asta made her way slowly back to Cullen’s office, reluctant to face him again, and Cole’s abilities still on her mind.

“You think you want him to forget, but it’s you that wants to forget. Neither of you need to. You both say you’re sorry, but you won’t forgive yourselves. You aren’t even angry at each other, though you think you should be.” Cole tilted his head, enormous hat shadowing his face. “I don’t understand. Why should you hold this in when he doesn’t blame you?”

“Because he should blame me, Cole. I was wrong.” Asta leaned against a wall, main hall thankfully empty with the early hour.

“He says the same thing. He just did. If he’s not angry with you, and you aren’t angry with him anymore, why are you so sad? You should kiss him. That makes you both glow.” His eyes drifted off to follow the dust motes that floated in the dawn light streaking through the stained glass windows. “Water shadows playing patterns across her skin. I thirst, but not for water. Her lips like wine, let me drink from them, drunk upon her taste. The smell of morning fog and the dampness of dew, she is brighter than the sun, deeper than any lake. Maker, let me be brave.”

Asta blushed, “Cole, we’ve talked about this.”

“But he doesn’t mind people talking. He’s proud, wants to shout it from the battlements, that you chose him. That hasn’t changed.” Cole stared. “And you should know, he’s told you. Why aren’t you listening?”

“It’s not that simple, Cole. I said mean things, I caused the hurt. That makes me feel bad.”

“He hurts, but not from you. He hurts himself with the wrong words. He wishes you were there. You make the words stop for a while.” Cole nodded. “That’s it, I helped now. You should go help him. I could only help a little.” He disappeared as suddenly as he came.

Asta shook her head, still fingering the coin in her pocket. What had just happened? She ran now, clearly seeing her destination, ignoring Varric, just appearing by his fire, Solas stacking books and calling out a good morning. She had to get back to him.

They met each other on the bridge between his office and the tower, his coin in one hand and the list in the other. Asta just blurted it out. “I say things when I’m angry. I mean them when I say them, but… I need to learn to hold my tongue.” Asta clenched her hand around his coin, edges digging in. “Any suggestions on how we fix this?”

“I should apologize. I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s been such a long time… I’ve been alone too long. But I want this, want you, in my life.” Cullen took her hand, and turned it face up to see his coin. “If you need to learn when to stop, then I need to know when to start. I need to quit feeling ashamed to ask. All we can do is keep trying, unless… you don’t want…” He blinked, trying to talk through the constriction in his throat.

“NO!” Asta grabbed his other hand, and gripped it tight. “I don’t want our first fight to make us fall apart. Neither of us know what we’re doing. We will make mistakes.”

Cullen laughed bitterly, “I’ve made enough mistakes for a lifetime.”

“You and me both. But we will make more. That’s life. We’re adults, even if we aren’t used to this part of being adults. We can do this.”

“Maybe you can, I…” Cullen shook his head. “You deserve better.”

“No!” Asta squeezed his hands. “ _We_ can do this. Like I said at the lake, you are one of the things that makes it worth it. I’m not losing you, Cullen. Not over this. Not as a Commander or as my… what are you? We’ll have to figure that out, too.”

Cullen smiled, more than a little relieved, “I am yours.” His smile, sweet and honest took her breath away. “And I am sorry, for everything I did and didn’t do.”

“As long as we remember that just because we fight it doesn’t mean that we are automatically going to dissolve, I think we’ll be okay. A fight can be resolved. Conflict is healthy, if we do it right.” She looked at him, shyly. “Now can I have a good morning kiss? I missed you.”

“You can have all the kisses you want,” He dropped her hands and held her, tight against his furry shoulders. “Feel free to distract me any time.” He kissed her chastely.

“Well, maybe not any time. I doubt I should interrupt you in the middle of meeting with your officers. Oh, and I have your list! Josie’s had one ready for you since Haven! Why didn’t you say anything back then, you stubborn man?”

“Come on, let’s eat the food you had sent up, and I’ll look it over. I have an idea or two myself.” She leaned against him as they walked back, Cole watching them from the roof of the tower.

“I helped,” he whispered, and smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I head canon that one of the reasons that relationships were a little too easy in the game was that Cole was bebopping around Skyhold fixing things before they festered horribly. Given enough time to try to help, he would. Compassion and all that. Turns out that he's really hard to write. Worked on this chapter, short as it is, for a week. Hope I didn't blow it. I wandered around the house channeling Cole every time I talked to my family. My husband may think I'm insane.


	32. Dreams Upon Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had nearly forgotten how much I hated the Deep Roads. So I'm coming up for air pretty often. It's still a great DLC. Just... the Deep Roads. Ugh.

Cullen marched for Adamant with the Inquisition forces two weeks later, weeks filled with too much busyness, and too little time for each other, as they ramped up for the most difficult mission the Inquisition had yet to attempt. He looked tired, but didn’t fall asleep on his horse as he left the gates. Even he admitted that having dedicated help made a huge difference, even if the young chevalier was Orlesian.

Asta left a week later with her smaller, faster team, dread in her heart. This would be bloody and a lot of good people on both sides were going to die. She was tired of killing people, tired of having hands stained in blood while she tried to rebuild Thedas into something better. That they were attacking to prevent ritual sacrifice did not make it easier for Asta. It was just a grim necessity, an evil made palatable by its need.

It didn’t help that the nightmares had started as soon as she left Skyhold. The first night she thought it was just a dream as she woke gasping in the blackest night, the anchor shooting sharp pains up her arm toward her heart. She had dreamt of blood, blood staining her hands as if she had dipped them in a bath full of the slimy warm liquid. When she woke she could still feel the ichor and she rubbed herself red trying to rid herself of the feeling.

The next day she was tired, and it showed in her movements. Her sleep had remained fitful, and gave her little rest. Her group inquired if she was well, nervously, knowing that it would have little impact on anything if she wasn’t - they had a deadline to keep, and only a few days leeway. She felt Solas’ and Coles’ eyes upon her, but insisted she was fine, just needed more sleep the next night.

But the next night she dreamed of Redcliffe, incased in red crystal as it grew around her slowly, first stopping her from running, then preventing her from taking a deep breath, freezing her to the wall like it did Fiona in her cell, and then taking her mouth, frozen in a silent scream, her nose, making her breathe cease entirely, muffling her ears, covering her eyes as she finally saw nothing but refracted red. She woke screaming, Cole next to her in an instant.

“Red, red, it’s all red. Died screaming, dead, dead, they all are dead. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.” Cole was distraught, and Solas came bursting into the tent.

“Calm down, Cole, it was just a dream,” Asta gasped, trying to slow her heartbeat and get enough air. The air tasted so sweet, it felt so good to move her chest.

“Not a dream, not a dream. He fights the Veil, so thin, so thin, just a little tear, a minute rip and he’ll be through.” Cole chanted, rocking a little.

“I see,” Solas rocked back on his heels at the entrance to her tent. “Cole, was it a demon?”

“Demon, yes. He is the one who feeds. The Grey turn red, dead, falling to folly.” Cole grabbed her hand. “Don’t take me with you! I need to stay with the Commander!”

“You can stay with Cullen, Cole. I won’t make you come with me.” Asta soothed, somewhat recovered. “Solas, what is going on?”

“I believe you are being attacked. The veil grows thinner, I fear. The Wardens have begun the sacrifices, and as the veil thins, you are more vulnerable. The anchor makes you an easy target, I believe.  One that is blocked with the ancient wards that are upon Skyhold.”

“Bright, so bright, brighter than you should be. They stretch for it, long for it…” Cole stopped suddenly. “Trying on your dreams, what fits, little girl?” He tilted his head, as if listening. “He’s gone for now. You should sleep again. I will stay.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Asta laid back down. “Solas, we’ll talk about it in the morning?”

“Certainly, Inquisitor.”

***

The dreams were standard for Cullen, he dreamt of dragons, ripping in the dark, watching her fall when he could not reach her, his shield shrinking until it disappeared entirely, of demons taunting him with their bodies, wearing Asta’s face, but the worst was the blood mages, corrupting him with red lyrium, slowly changing him from the inside out. It was unnerving, but he was barely phased. He had nightmares every night.

No one realized the entire camp was having nightmares every night.

***

Asta dreamt of the Fallow Mire, bony hands reaching from underneath, pulling her down under the diseased water, tasting of muck and filth as she choked on it, as her flesh dissolved and she discovered that she was one of them.

She dreamt she was a mage, held by ropes of hemp cutting into her wrists and ankles, bound and gagged, and Cullen was wielding the Tranquil brand. She woke just as he touched it to her forehead. Cole sat with her after that as she sobbed, despairing at what the demon had done in her dreams.

“It’s not real, feels real. He didn’t do it, but he knew it had happened, all too late. Too late. We can’t be too late.” Cole stroked her hair. “He melted the brands behind the wall. Never again.”

“Cole, how can we stop this?”

“We can’t. Not yet. It will happen too soon, not soon enough.”

“We have to move faster. Get there sooner. The dreams are worse.” Asta shuddered.

“What will you do when they are real?” Cole asked.

Asta had no answer.

The next night the anchor had swallowed her whole, itching like little legs as it devoured her entirely until all that was left was a green glow no one could see.

“I see you. You are Asta, bright but not lost.” Cole reassured. She held him tightly, unable to go back to sleep.

And then the spiders came, clicking madness out of a gloomy grey, drooling and spitting poison and always so large. They crawled and bit and wove her into their webs, paralyzed and numb. She couldn’t use a bedroll after that, and slept under Cole’s cloak and her own. The cold desert nights were not conducive to just light covering, but she was barely sleeping anyway. After all her lectures for Cullen to sleep, Asta couldn’t bear to close her eyes.

And then they were there, in sight of Griffon Wing, the keep a flurry of activity inside and out. It looked amazing, no longer the decrepit remnant of a forgotten Tevinter presence, the Inquisition’s banners snapping in the wind, glowing against the desert sun. Cullen’s construction teams had even dispelled the dark miasma that had haunted the far edge of the keep’s boundary. It was so crisp, so clean, in the midst of the sand and grit. It felt almost like coming home.

And then she saw him as she climbed, rucksack on her back, trying to find him, Rylen, anyone she knew in the cramped close quarters of the suddenly inadequate keep, her companions already scattered, most to find a drink and a bed. His face lit up unprofessionally, dismissing the officers accompanying him with a curt nod. Rylen’s mouth twisted wryly, seeing all too well why the Commander was so eager.

He walked quickly, never deviating, expecting others to dodge him, perhaps, in his single mindedness of reaching her. “Inquisitor!” He beamed, “Wait until you see the siege engines!”

Asta burst out laughing. “Josie came through, then? Without any - gratitude - on your part?”

The Commander blushed like a small boy caught in the act. “No, though she made me write a thank you note.”

Asta snorted, “Yes, horror of horrors to have to write. That does sound like Josie.” They fell into step together, hardly caring where their feet led them.

“When did you arrive?” Cullen feasted on her face. She looked tired, worn down.

“About fifteen minutes ago. I was just trying to find you and Rylen, find where to hang my helmet, so to speak. Any clue?” Asta babbled a bit, having him so close and not able to touch him was a small slice of torture. “I won’t keep you long, but it would be nice to wash the sand off before we go get filthy again. I hate sand, but I told you that.”

Cullen had stopped, looking around the Keep quickly. “Follow me.” He kept a brutal pace that was working the stiff muscles from the saddle out all too well for Asta. Her legs felt like limp Rivani noodles. “The intent was to keep you close to the center, with the rest of your team, Rylen, Hawke, Stroud and I. Temporary, since we march in two days, but there you go. Well, it’s all temporary - the keep doesn’t have much in the way of permanent rooms. Alcoves, lofts…” Cullen trailed off, thinking of a purpose for some of the more secluded alcoves. And then he jerked back into himself, “And here we are. Your tent, Inquisitor.”

“Commander, we already have tents! Just show us a spot to set them up,” Asta protested.

“No, but I’ll take the ones you have. Some Orlesians showed up unexpectedly and we are running a little short of accommodations. We were already sleeping in shifts,” Cullen confessed. “Well, not the officers, just the troops. It’s very tight quarters, I’m afraid.” He waved a lieutenant over “Patterson! Take this tent and see it gets to where it needs to be!” He handed it off, ever efficient. “And no, Inquisitor, you will not be sharing a tent. That would not be appropriate.”

Asta gave in. “Very well.” She slung her pack down and stored it away, not really looking. “My companions have tents as well, Patterson. If supplies are that short, I suggest you check in with them. They are probably mostly in whatever passes for a tavern.”

“No taverns, Inquisitor, but they might be in the mess. I’ll find them. Ser!” Patterson saluted and marched out.

“So how’s the water situation?” Asta asked.

“Not idea, but better,” Rylen stepped up behind Cullen. “You’re early, Inquisitor. We’re still getting set up. I’ll have the troops ready for inspection immediately.”

“That won’t be necessary, Knight-Captain,” Asta protested.

“On the contrary, Inquisitor, it’s good for morale! Inspection isn’t for you, it’s for them. Remind them what we’re fighting for, eh, Commander?” Rylen winked at him. “Well met, anyway, Inquisitor. I’ll just go and rally the troops then.”

“Off with you, old man. Go find something useful to do,” Cullen dismissed him.

Asta blinked after him. “Commander, have you known Rylen long?”

“Met him after Kirkwall. He showed up from Starkhaven literally putting out fires. With a bucket. Handy, practical fellow.”

“Old man?” Asta followed Rylen with her eyes. “He hardly looks ancient.”

Cullen grinned. "We had the same rank in Kirkwall. A little easier to be familiar with each other that way. He’s one of the few friends I made in that mess. But he’s about eight years older. So naturally, cocky sort that I am… I’m sorry, it’s a little unprofessional.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve just never seen you so…”

“Relaxed?” Cullen prompted.

“In your element. It makes me wonder why I’m here.” Asta tried not to fidget. There were a million eyes on her, weighing her down with their respect and admiration.

“Well, if you can postpone your sponge bath, we can jump right into that, if you’d like.” Cullen led her around the grouping of tents where simple trestle tables had been set up with books, maps and reports, all weighed down with inkwells and rocks. “There’s been a lot of making do out here, as you can see. Doing a tour at Griffon Wing is becoming synonymous with being a tough bastard. The cook you sent is excellent though. Try his fish pie, if you get a chance.” Cullen looked over his shoulder, “Makes Rylen homesick. Got all teary-eyed.”

“Fuck off, Commander.” Rylen briskly rejoined as Asta laughed.

“Insubordination?” Cullen twinkled and winked at Asta.

“Just telling it like it is, Ser.”

Asta shook her head. The nightmares of the last week had not prepared her for a jovial, crisply efficient army camp. “Gentlemen? You were saying?”

“The scouts have reported that the Wardens have holed up in the center of the keep, here.” Cullen indicated. They are maintaining a watch, but none of their scouts…”

“That we’ve seen…” Rylen interjected.

“Have investigated us. It’s odd, I would have thought the Venatori involvement to be greater with Erimond in charge, however tangentially. No matter, I’m sure they still have plenty of information about our numbers and your expected presence.”

“Why is that?”

Rylen sighed. “Lost a scout patrol near Adamant yesterday. Never found the bodies, so it wasn‘t varghest or that damn dragon. Captured, probably killed. Blood magic in the air.”

Asta winced, “So the demons?”

“Are in the fortress, Inquisitor. There will be heavy resistance. Wardens are trained fighters, experienced at killing the worst that Thedas has to offer. They won’t make it easy. I don’t have to lecture you on how to fight demons, of course,” Cullen complimented, smirking her way.

“On the contrary, if you have a lecture prepared I’d love to hear it,” Asta flirted.

Rylen groaned, “Keep it in your pants, Commander. No one wants to see this.”

“I do!” Dorian slid alongside Asta. “Everyone's settled, Inquisitor.  So what’s the plan then?”

“As I was saying,” Cullen cleared his throat, “Hawke is going to be on the battlements, attempting to keep them free for our foot soldiers. Stroud is going in with you. He’s hoping his presence will cause defections amongst the Warden warriors. The mission is either to stop the ritual entirely by persuasion, or in the worst case, take out their leadership and Erimond so that we can wipe them out, or break the influence Erimond is having over them.”

“And I need to be there because…” Asta prompted.

“We have reason to believe they are tearing the veil, trying to bring something through.”

“Bigger than a demon?”

“A very big demon.”

“Pride?”

“Bigger.” Both Rylen and Cullen looked grim. “We need you to mend that rift and stop the ritual.”

“Wow,” Asta shook her head. “I am so not the right person for this job.”

“No, you are literally the only person for the job,” Rylen pointed out practically. “The soldiers will clear your way, Inquisitor. This has to happen. If the Wardens succeed, a demon army will march across Thedas. Our soldiers know the risks. They’re behind you.”

“We all are,” Cullen affirmed, catching her eye. Rylen snorted, but didn’t comment otherwise.

They adjourned after that, Asta leaving to find some wash water. She got about halfway down the steep flight of stairs before being tugged abruptly back into an alcove. “Mmph!” A hand was over her mouth. A familiar hand. “Cullen, what in the Void?” She hissed.

“Hi.” He smirked at her and kissed her, up against the wall, hidden from view, at least temporarily. “I had to figure out how to get you alone to greet you properly. If I had done it out there, there would have been cheering. Rylen is a terrible gossip and tease.” He looked indignant and Asta kissed him back, to remove the silly look from his face. “I don’t mind - he’s a friend after all - but the entire Inquisition looking on our private affairs… I thought maybe keeping them private for once sounded… nice.”

“I am a little upset I won’t be sharing a tent with you,” Asta admitted. “You have been sleeping?”

“Yes, Rylen’s like a nanny. Did you write to him or something?” Asta’s guilty look gave her away. “Oh, Asta…” he kissed her again, hardly able to keep away. “Maker, what wouldn’t I give for some real privacy.”

“Make it up to me back at Skyhold?”

“It’s a promise.” They kissed again, closer this time, wistfully pulling away and resting their foreheads together. “I have to go. Rylen will be looking for me. I probably won’t see you before tomorrow. I’m sorry.” He looked up, eyes wide with longing.

“Don’t be sorry. Work is work. I’m exhausted and will be sleeping as soon as I can manage to be horizontal.”

“You have to inspect the troops first. Rylen wasn’t kidding, I’m afraid.” He nudged her as they walked out of the alcove, Rylen surveying them, arms crossed, from the top of the stairs. “You shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“I didn’t mean to. But… I started having nightmares. Solas and Cole think it’s the Veil. Something is trying to get through.  I hope it's not the same thing you think the Wardens are trying to bring through.  Cole says I’m bright there, that demons and spirits can see me. Whatever it is, it’s trying me with a different nightmare every night.” Asta shuddered, remembering. “I hope I don’t have to face it. It… it’s been awful.”

“Now I really wish I was sharing that tent with you,” Cullen’s brows creased in worry. “Ask Cole to stay? He doesn’t have a tent in any case - since he doesn’t sleep.”

“Already done. He’s been very… compassionate.” Asta laughed, tired, so tired. “After the one with the stupid spiders he even gave me his coat so I could avoid being cocooned in a bedroll.”

Cullen hugged her with one arm, disregarding Rylen’s watchful knowing eyes. “I wish I could help, love.”

“I’m fine. Let’s just do this and go home, okay?” She looked at him and he nodded, brief but firm.

“You’ve got it, Inquisitor.”

 


	33. Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diverging from canon. Hope nobody minds.

The cloudy night sky glowed with the fire of a thousand arrows. Asta waited, poised near her Commander as the ram slammed through the doors, the siege engines already mounted on the towers, and Inquisition soldiers climbing them like so many ants up a hill. The gates breached suddenly, the shiny black fortress cracked open like a nut, shining like obsidian in the flash and the smoke of the battle.

Asta had only time for a quick nod at Cullen, firm and controlled, fear in her eyes and then she jumped into the fray, her circle surrounding her, herself an island in their protecting sea.

The Wardens were formidable, but they had already mostly abandoned the courtyard, and Iron Bull and Cassandra made short work of those left, Stroud not even getting a chance to demand they stand down.

They fought their way through to the Main Bailey, hearing Warden warriors cry out against their own mages. The battle wasn’t just with the Inquisition, Asta realized, the Wardens were actually fighting amongst themselves. “Just fall back!” She cried out. “I don’t want to kill you! Our argument is not with the Wardens, but with the Venatori!”

“All right,” a Warden called back. “We will retreat. Clarel has gone mad with power.”

The group ran to the battlements, focusing hard on the soldiers struggling to find a purchase there against demons and Venatori. They found Hawke, Champion mode in place, and Asta called out, “Protect my troops! We’ll take out the rest of the demons!” Asta still wasn’t much use, but managed to take out a couple of rage demons with Solas’ help. The Pride demons had to be left to the warriors, as she slashed helplessly at what passed for their knees. It was a hard slog, but at last the battlements were clear, and at least some Inquisition soldiers lived. Asta restocked their potions and went to find the center of the keep. It was time to find Erimond and give him a reckoning he would never forget.

Clarel stood on a low dais, proclaiming the Warden’s betrayal by the Inquisition and the rest of Thedas, working her warriors up to sacrificing themselves for a greater evil. Erimond was at her side, bemoaning her delay of the blood sacrifice. Asta felt nothing but disdain.

“The Inquisition is inside, Clarel - we have no time to stand on ceremony!” He protested.

“These men and women are giving their lives, Magister. That may not mean much in Tevinter, but to them it is a sacred duty,” Clarel put the magister in his place firmly and turned to her colleague, an older Warden who had the look of a seasoned warrior.

“We have served together many long years, my friend,” Clarel affirmed.

“Too many, Warden Commander. If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do.”

“It will,” Clarel breathed in his ear like a lover, and sliced his throat to the spine. Asta gagged at the blood, so much blood, and saw a glint of bone as he fell grotesquely, neck barely connected to his body.

Erimond smirked and called to the waiting Wardens - “Stop the Inquisition! We must complete the ritual!”

Asta took a deep breath and held up her hand, holding off Stroud and her friends. “What are you doing, Inquisitor?” Cassandra hissed.

“I’m going to try a little diplomacy, Cassandra. It’ll be just a moment.” Asta called out to Clarel, “Don’t do this! How will it serve Thedas or the Wardens to kill off it’s most experienced warriors?”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will, Inquisitor!” Clarel insisted. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

Stroud jumped in, “And then the magister binds their will to Corypheus.”

“Corypheus? But he’s dead,” Clarel stepped back.

“Clarel, these people will say anything to shake your confidence!” Erimond schmoozed, practically dripping with insincerity.

Clarel ran her hand over her face, confused. “Perhaps we could delay the ritual, test the truth of these accusations?”

“But you’ve come this far, won’t you see it through? The end of all Blights, Clarel, picture it…” Erimond hissed.

She popped her eyes back open, determined. “Bring it through.”

“Please! I have seen more than my share of blood magic, it is never worth the cost!” Hawke pleaded.

“I trained half of you myself!” Stroud protested, “Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!”

Erimond looked out on the collected Wardens, hesitating at the Champion and Stroud’s impassioned pleas and narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor. “My master told me that you may come here, Inquisitor. He sent me this to welcome you.” Erimond tapped his staff deliberately a handful of times, sneering like a two bit villain out of a cheap melodrama.

“Seriously,” Dorian asked, “where do they get these characters? There must be a breeding kennel for evil Tevinter Magisters.”

Sera snorted. “Yeah, that would make sense. And it would explain the evil laugh.”

“Wah ha ha ha?” Dorian tried it on for size.

“Nope, no good. You’re not a magister, though, are you?”

“Good point. My parents have failed. Ah well, moving on.”

Corypheus’ dragon winged through the sky, each buffet from its wings sending the sickly sweet stench of red lyrium down to the Inquisitor and her companions. The mages audibly gagged as Clarel looked stunned, backing slowly, glaring at the archdemon and at Erimond equally. She attacked him in the next instant, a single lightening bolt to the magister’s unsuspecting back and he crumpled and fell to the floor of the dais. She shot him a look of disgust with her next bolt, but Asta couldn’t tell if she was more disgusted with herself or the magister.

“Clarel…” Erimond warned, but he was in no position to threaten her now. “Wait!” She threw another bolt of lightening, this one at the dragon. It fell short, but it fired at her anyway, from its perch on one of the stone spires.

Knocked back, she shouted one last instruction at the Wardens, “Help the Inquisition!” And leaping to her feet she followed the flying beast. Just in time for the Pride demon to manifest out of the rift, roaring as it came.

Asta was overwhelmed, but tried to take into account events. “Blackwall, Vivienne, Varric, Dorian, Sera, Stroud!” Asta called, “Stay here, help the Wardens and kill that demon!” Detain anyone who tries to stop you. Bull, Hawke, Cassandra and Solas, you’re with me. We’re going after Clarel, Erimond and that dragon.”

“All right!” Bull grunted, hefting his axe and shaking blood out of its fullers.

The smaller group ran for the stairs, pushing hard to catch up with the determined Warden. They were delayed, first by lesser demons and then by the dragon itself, which seemed determined to tease them, but not engage. “This doesn’t act like any dragon I’ve ever fought!” Hawke shouted around it’s red lightening.

“Is it because it’s an archdemon?” Asta shouted back.

“I don’t know - how should I know? You left all the Wardens back to kill the Pride demon! Nice going!” Hawke replied.

“Sorry! I had to make a call! I can’t be right all the time!”

They climbed ever higher, reaching the top of the keep to see Clarel popping bursts of flame at Erimond.

“Okay, good, now he’s the enemy,” Asta gasped, out of breath, leaning on her knees. “That’s something, I suppose.”

“You’ve, you’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!” Clarel fumed, intent on Erimond’s destruction. She fired again, disarming him entirely.

“You did that to yourself, bitch,” Erimond claimed, wiping a trail of blood from his lip. Clarel snarled at him wordlessly. “All I had to do was dangle a little power in front of your eyes and you couldn’t wait to get your hands bloody.” He sneered again, pitifully, and she lost her temper, throwing a bolt that knocked him back towards the battlements. She strode towards him deliberately, outwardly calm now, with death in her eyes. “You could have served a new god,” Erimond gasped, wheezing and rocking in pain.

“I will never serve the Blight!” Clarel declared, a bit late.

The dragon swooped down and snatched Erimond up in its mighty jaws, Clarel firing bolts after it in desperation. It landed, crunching Erimond between its teeth, and watching Clarel insolently, like thinking about seconds, but Clarel continued to advance.

“In War, Victory,” she seethed. The ground beneath them all shuddered.

“The weight of the dragon,” Asta breathed. “Adamant wasn’t designed for this.”

Hawke snorted. “You’d think a Warden fortress would be designed to hold the weight and bear the attack of an archdemon.”

“The trebuchets weakened the entire structure,” the Iron Bull observed. “It’s going down. We need to get out of here.”

“Not without Clarel,” Asta insisted, as the mage fired another bolt at the dragon. The stone cracked underneath this time.

“In Peace, Vigilance!” Clarel yelled, completely focused on the dragon.

“Boss, you’ve got to get out of here.”

“If we don’t stop her, it could all happen again!” Asta put her foot down. “We’re not leaving unless she’s with us or dead.”

Clarel shot again, and Asta cried out a warning as the stone around her began to crumble. “In Death, Sacrifice!” She fired once more, realized too late her precarious position and turned, running for safety.

They all fell into the night as Asta’s hand flared green, and they disappeared.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erimond's trial was stupid. He deserved to get eaten. He's the only person I executed every. single. time. And the dragon was hungry. Sue me. It takes a lot of energy to fly around the desert avoiding your lesser relatives.


	34. Fading Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally divergent here. Couldn't help but to read more into the fears in the Fade.

“Cole, why aren’t you with the Inquisitor?” Cullen was distracted, trying to watch the big picture and catch a glimpse of Asta at the same time. The spirit was sticking to him and it was hard hearing so many last thoughts of pain.

“I can’t go, not like this!” Cole refocused his eyes, “You need me more. She needs me to stay. Maker, what if I don’t come back?”

Cullen shook his head, and then had a thought. “Where is she, do you know?”

“Fall back! Fall back! I didn’t sign up for this. Is that an archdemon?” Cole’s eyes were unfocused and cloudy again.

“An archdemon?” Cullen’s eyes grew wild and desperate. “We have to find her, Cole!”

“She’s left them behind. No! Not Asta! They fight the Pride while she runs on. So many _stairs_.” Cole stopped and looked at Cullen. “She doesn’t like the stairs. What did they do to her?”

Cullen choked, grabbed Cole and started running, reaching the main courtyard in record time, only to be confronted by the Pride demon left behind by Clarel. Cullen and Cole dispatched it together, as Asta’s companions struggled to help. Cole handed out potions, and Cullen lifted Blackwall up by his armor, snarling. “Where did she go?!”

“She followed Clarel and Erimond,” the man panted, exhausted. “Top of the fortress, Commander, if I had to guess. Hard to hide something of that size.”

Cullen dropped him and ran again, Cole at his heels. “Soot on stone, red arcs off the walls, it takes out even the demons in its way. Victory.” Cole whispered, Cullen nearly unable to hear him over the pounding of his pulse, “Vigilance. Sacrifice.”

They reached the top of the stairs just to see her fall, green light haloed around her.

“I will never serve the Blight,” Cole whispered as Cullen fell to his knees.

“She’s gone.” His voice sounded dead, “She’s gone and I…” Cullen’s face was sunken, hollow in despair. His eyes distantly noticed the dragon fly away, back to its master.

“This is extraordinary,” Cole said, sounding like Solas. Cullen didn’t lift his head. “This is nothing like the Maker’s Bosom,” now he sounded like Hawke, and Cullen half stood, grabbing the slight man by his shoulders.

“Cole! That was… are they alive?!”

“Yes,” Cole tilted his head, focusing on the here and now. “You didn’t know? Confused, it’s not real, but too real. Not a dream now. There’s no darkspawn in the Fade, Clarel.” He sounded like Solas again, and Cullen nearly laughed in relief, and then realized.

“She… they are in the Fade. Physically in the Fade. How do we get her… them, back?” Cullen shook him ever so slightly, “How, Cole?”

“The rift. It’s better than staying here.” Asta’s cadences came through with this phrase and Cullen nearly wept. _She’s alive._

“Then let’s get back to the courtyard.” He led the spirit back with him, gently. “Keep talking, Cole, whatever you can pick up.”

“Bull’s afraid,” Cole volunteered, “Stay out of my head! Yours holds no interest.” Cole shook his head, “No, that was before. This one is different.”

The Wardens gathered around Stroud. “Where is Warden Commander Clarel?” They were all young, inexperienced and other than Stroud, leaderless, Blackwall fading into the edges of the courtyard, keeping his distance.

“The Inquisitor opened a rift and fell into the Fade,” Cullen could hear his voice, detached and impersonal. “She lives, Cole says.” His voice cracked slightly and Dorian closed his eyes - in pain or relief, Cullen couldn’t tell.

Dorian snapped them back open, “Wait, she’s in the Fade? Physically? Where’s Bull?”

“How extraordinary,” Vivienne breathed in fascination.

“Yes, well, Cole can hear them, so they live, for now. He says they can come back through this rift, here. So, we wait.” Cullen crossed his arms. “Bring Rylen to me. I need a list of the dead, we need to get a makeshift infirmary set up to treat the wounded and someone tell me where that blighted dragon flew off to!”

***

Asta was very fed up with her companions right now. “Yes, we are in the Fade. Yes, the Chantry tells us that the Blight started with Magisters entering the Golden City and corrupting it. But Clarel, I don’t see any darkspawn, do you?” She tried to soothe Bull, shaking with his fear.

“Nonsense, it all started here,“ the obsessed Warden insisted. “This is our chance. Destroy the Black City and maybe…“

“There are no darkspawn in the Fade, Clarel,“ Solas confirmed. “If there were, I would have seen them. I am an expert on the Fade.“

“You couldn’t possibly have seen everything that is here,” the mage sneered.

“I am a Dreamer. Surely you’ve heard of them? Your experience is hardly that of a Circle mage, however you started out, correct?” Solas’ condescension was making Asta’s jaw ache with the clenching.

“Look,” Asta said, “We have to get out of here. There, I think that’s a rift. Solas, how much do distances apply in the Fade? If we go through there, will we be in the Western Approach?”

“It’s possible,” Solas thought. “No one has entered the Fade physically in ages. It would be impossible to say.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Asta gritted out. “Fine, we make for that rift. It’s better than staying here.” The small group started walking.

The Divine was a shock. Asta wished madly that Cole were with her, maybe he’d be able to tell who, what she - it?- really was. But did it matter? To Bull it did, evidently, but she seemed to want to help. Maker knows they needed all the help they could get. So Asta went to recover her memories, only to be waylaid.

 _She was knee deep in blood, sticky, viscous. She was swimming in it, drowning in it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t reach the surface… she…_ Was brought back with a shock, as Bull took out a spidery looking creature that had pinned her down. “What happened?”

“It looked like it was trying to eat you, Boss,” Bull wasn’t shaking anymore, the physical release of hitting something helping him confront his fears. “So I took it down.”

“It was replaying my nightmares,” Asta said. “Prepare for more resistance. They don’t want to let me have them back.”

“Let’s prepare for a unique experience,” Solas was still too giddy.

“Can it, Solas,” Asta gritted out. “This may be your idea of a great time, but this _sucks_ for me.” She turned a corner and creased her brow in confusion. “How in the world did these get here?” A desk and a chair sat in the middle of the area, partially cornered by rocks. “I know these… this is Cullen’s desk, Cullen’s chair.” She walked towards it slowly and read the note. _Crushed, buried at Haven, trapped between the rocks and caught in darkness, monsters all around. It’s Cullen’s. This is his._ She collapsed onto the chair. It seemed real enough. “It’s one of Cullen’s nightmares. I just know it.” She snapped her head up. “Get me a candle. Someone, someone must have a candle.” Cassandra handed one to her, and Asta placed it on the desk. “Solas, light it, please.” The mage complied in silence, and the Fade seemed a little less tense. Asta took a deep breath. “New plan. If we see any more of these notes, we fix what we can. Got it?” Her companions nodded, except for Clarel, who sighed impatiently. “Clarel, if you don’t want to be left behind in the Fade, you will obey me.”

The mage narrowed her eyes and nodded.

Asta continued to be attacked by the spidery things, each one replaying her own nightmares, but as they were slain by her companions she recovered her memory. “Maker have mercy, Corypheus…” she breathed, trying to set aside dreams of being encased in red lyrium. “He was there, at Haven. All along? Surely not…” She shook her head at Cassandra’s concern. “Let’s keep moving. We have to get back to Adamant.” _To Cullen…_

***

Back at Adamant, Cullen was trying to focus on his work, but Cole, true to Cullen’s request was keeping up a constant monologue. “She’s lit a candle for you. Just for you. The Nightmare is dragging her down, but she won’t let it get to you. Not Cullen. Cullen is safe. Shining knight in the shadows, I must get back.”

“Thank you, Cole, keep it up, please.”

“Solas is interested. The Warden Commander is plotting. No darkspawn in the Fade, but the Blight started here. Must be a way. The Nightmare feeds. Well, shit.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “Is she going to hurt them?” He tensed. _Maker, if she betrays them there is nothing I can do._

“No, she has only one thought and that is the Blight. End it. Take it to the Deep Roads, kill it with fire, lightening. Die, die, die.” Cole paused. “Bull likes to kill the demons. It makes him feel better. He’s worried about Dorian. My mage, my Kadan… would he be my Kadan? Centered, stilled, filled. Crap, I hate demons. Not getting in my head, you fuckers.” Cole tilted his head, “Commander, what is a fucker?”

“I’ll explain it some other time,” Cullen was aware of Rylen’s amusement. “Rylen, any reports?”

“The Divine is there, and her memories are hurting her. No, I wouldn’t! I couldn’t! Wardens! Wardens did this! Clarel believes, she _knew._ Clarel and Hawke are yelling, fighting. SHUT THE FUCK UP! Let‘s argue after we kill the giant Fear demon!” That was so clearly Asta’s voice that Cullen blinked, and took a sharp breath.

“We have an infirmary set up and are handing out rations.” Rylen propped his hip against the makeshift desk. “We didn’t lose as many as we could. The soldiers on the battlements said it was Hawke and the Inquisitor’s doing. Apparently between them they took out all the demons up there and most of the Venatori. Also, we have a single Grey Warden who has asked to be taken into custody for war crimes, Ser Ruth.”

“She wants to be tried?” Cullen was confused, and Cole was babbling about flowers and nugs.

“Apparently so. Feels a strong sense of responsibility. Apparently she slit a fellow Warden’s throat and can’t handle the guilt.”

“Take her in, when the Inquisitor gets back we’ll have her tried then.” Cullen turned back to his endless paperwork.

Rylen hesitated. “You seem sure she will return, Commander.”

“She will, Knight-Captain.”

“She may be alive, but she’s in the fucking Fade, man. You should at least admit the chance…”

“No!” Cullen slammed his hands on the table, making it rock. “I do not. I will not. To work, Knight-Captain.”

“Yes, Ser.”

***

Asta looked at the flowers and at the vanity. “This is my vanity. Back at Skyhold. I remember this nightmare.” She set the flowers, Andraste’s Grace, down, and felt a slight release of tension again. She laughed, “Flowers in the Fade. Now I have seen everything.” Cassandra grinned at her as well. “Onward, I guess. I think we’re doing good here. The atmosphere isn’t as forbidding, don’t you think?”

“We are changing the Fade around us,” Solas confirmed. “It’s probably a product of the anchor’s influence.”

“I don’t care how we’re doing it, but it’s better,” Asta confirmed. “Moving on?”

The next dream had Clarel falling to her knees in shock. “Clarel?” Asta asked, moving to her side, “Are you okay?”

“It’s mine…” the Warden whispered. “This is my nightmare. Alone and dying in the Deep Roads. I never wanted to go that way. I’ve dreamt this for decades now.” She stood, suddenly determined. “I will not die in the Deep Roads. There will be another solution.” Asta looked around, and saw a tarot card, with a Warden mage that looked uncannily like Clarel.

“Was that there before?” Cassandra whispered, slightly disturbed.

“No,” Solas breathed. “She is creating what she needs from the raw Fade. It is…”

“Extraordinary,” Cassandra said dryly. “You said that.”

Asta dropped it into a waiting cauldron, and Clarel relaxed. “Let’s keep going.”

The next dream was bizarre, but Clarel seemed to recognize it. “It’s an ancient Warden,” she said, almost reverently. “This… was this how…” She snapped her head up. “This is a Warden secret. We need a vial of darkspawn blood. NOW.” Even Bull fell in, all of them searching, but again, it was Asta that who found it, cradling the small container, and then handing it off to Clarel, who set it down, gingerly. They all felt the change in the air, and sighed as one.

“Maker,” Cassandra sighed again. “What are we doing?”

“You are making the Nightmare angry.” The spirit of the Divine spoke. “You are changing his part of the Fade with every dream you take away, with every memory the Inquisitor recovers, with every Fear you destroy. You are weakening him, and he’s not used to being weak.”

“Fascinating,” Solas lit up, “How else can we change things?”

“There is another dream, just ahead. Calm the fears, remove the nightmare.”

Bull found the note on the little bed. “Damn, it’s a kid. A kid from Haven. Saw the world destroyed before his eyes. Wait, I know this kid. Krem made him a nug. He named it Ser Snort.” Bull laughed, “Figures we’d need a stuffed nug in the Fade. Krem will never believe this when I tell him.”

“Split up, then,” Asta said. “Search for a stuffed nug.”

“A stuffed nug with only one ear. The kid destroyed it by chewing on it.”

“Gross,” Cassandra stated.

Bull shrugged, “Eh, kids are weird. They’ll put anything in their mouths.”

Asta smiled when she found it, and tucked it in the bed gently.

“That’s the last of the dreams you can fix, Inquisitor,” the Divine said. “These were little fears, easily mended. There are more, but they are deep-seated in those that dream them. To take care of those the world will have to change.” Sure enough, they encountered more, but they were dreams of apostates and Templars, too afraid of each other to resolve. A child, abandoned during the Blight to darkspawn overrunning Denerim. Asta thought of Sera, and wondered.

Asta sighed, “We have to get back.” She faced the Divine, “How close is the Nightmare?”

“Not far. You will reach him soon.” She glided away.

“Too soon,” Bull grunted.

Then they found the graveyard. Some of the fears didn’t surprise Asta, like Cullen’s “Cowardice” and Iron Bull’s “Madness”. But Cassandra’s ‘Helplessness’… she caught the warrior’s eyes, surprised.

“Cassandra, you are the least helpless person I know!”

“It’s taken a lot of work to get that way.” Cassandra commented. “I see what I used to be, and I refuse to be that person any longer.” She shuddered. “I will never be that person again, Maker willing.” Asta reached out and held her hand, smiling in understanding.

***

“Dreamers dream gentle now, the Nightmare is hungry. Angry. Silly little girl, come to steal the fear I kindly lifted from your shoulders. Hawke, did you really think you could make a difference?” Cole said, “It’s time. She has to face the Nightmare. All of the Nightmare.”

Cullen sat down on the stool someone had found for him. “Maker, Cole. That is…”

“Yes. It is bad.”

“Keep talking, Cole, let me know what is happening.” Cullen closed his eyes, and put his palms over them. “Let me know what she’s doing, what they are all doing.”

“The spiders try to drag her down, to feed. She fears for you, for her, for her friends. They fight for her, as she is overcome. She must overcome! She fights, fights harder, fights for you. She has conquered your darkness, conquered Bull’s madness. She is no longer helpless, she is never alone. There is always something, Sera’s Void doesn’t exist.” Cole’s eyes buzzed back and forth, not seeing where he was. “Blackwall fears himself. She has defeated him, restored him. Vivienne is given purpose. I will never despair!” The spirit glowed slightly, and Cullen put his hand on his sword. “Dorian is above temptation! Varric denies his parents! SHE WILL NEVER GO BACK!” Cole collapsed onto the ground, and Cullen grabbed him, releasing his sword. “She is safe, he is driven back.” He shuddered and grabbed Cullen‘s hand. “The Nightmare is still there. Clarel wants to stay. Stay! To find the Black City, defeat the Blight. Hawke is arguing. Asta has chosen. A Warden started this, a Warden will end it. They come.” Cole went limp in Cullen’s arms, and the rift spat randomly, Bull, Cassandra and Solas tumbling out.

Cullen set Cole down, gently, and ran over. “Where is she?!”

“She’s coming,” Cassandra stumbled, and held on to Cullen’s arm, as he helped her to the ground. The rift spat again, and Hawke fell out, sprawling. Rylen ran over and lifted her, setting her feet to rights. It spat again, and Cullen was there, catching Asta, as she lifted her hand and sealed the rift, resigned and weary.

“You’re back, you made it back.” Cullen gasped out, fear choking him. Asta’s eyes were wild, she drank in his face. “You live, you’re alive.” Cullen wrapped his arms around her, “Maker, Asta, Asta…”

“Cullen, you’re… alive? The Nightmare didn’t…” She drew a shuddering breath. “It was real, so real? But not real.” She grabbed him. “You are here. This is Adamant. We made it back.” She passed out, suddenly and completely, and Cullen lifted her gently.

“I’m taking her to the infirmary. She will decide the fate of the Wardens once she has recovered. Rylen, you are in charge.”

Rylen nodded, eyes wide. “Andraste’s Shining Sword, Cullen, she came back,” Rylen wondered aloud. “She…”

“I know, Rylen. Worry about it later.” He tightened his grip around her. “Trust me, she’s human. As human as it gets.” He nodded at Cole and the others. “Take care of them. I won’t be back until she’s recovered.”

Cole breathed, “She walks into darkness again and again. Always comes back. Andraste preserves her, must, has to be.”

“Cole, keep it to yourself,” Cullen ordered. “She doesn’t need people worshipping her.”

“No,” Cole agreed, “Just you.”

Cullen blushed, and left, Asta in his arms, for the infirmary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everyone saw Clarel staying in the Fade, since I took her along. Best place for a Blight obsessed Warden.


	35. Barriers

Asta fought to maintain her sanity. The Nightmare had descended upon them all at once, without warning. Her last conscious memory was of the Divine trying to drive it back, so that the small group could take on one aspect of the demon at a time. But instead, Asta had fallen into some sort of waking trance, where she was aware of her friends and allies fighting around her, but she could not help at all.

“And that’s not unusual, is it, Silly Little Girl?” The Nightmare sneered, making the insult a title. “You’ve always been on the weak side. Your friends rally around you, protect you from harm. How tired they are, always having to jump in, take the hits meant for you, keep you out of the danger you make for yourself.

“Take the Bull! He follows you everywhere - how many times has he been injured as a result of your own stupidity? And you wouldn’t even sleep with him to lighten his burden, pay him back for his selfless defense. How selfish can you be? And do you think that if he dies in your service that Dorian will ever forgive you, my dear? Dorian _cares_ for him, after all. The first person that Dorian has cared for that actually cares back.”

“That’s not true, Dorian cares for me, and I care for him. I would never hurt him!” Asta protested. “He is my family, him and Bull both!”

“And yet you keep dragging Bull around as your bodyguard, since you are so incapable. So helpless. Not like Cassandra. She has spent her entire life fighting her fear. You reveled in it, rolled in it, let it encompass you and define your life. You know she deserves better than to defend a weakling, a infant, an incompetent.”

“No! Cassandra trains me! She helps me get better! We recognize the same fear in each other and help each other overcome!” Asta was getting angry now. “And Bull is a professional. He knows the risks. He knows that I would die for him as much as he would die for me.”

“What is the price of _your_ life, Little Sister? You aren’t concerned about him spying for the Qun? Sweeping in and taking everyone you love, turning Sera into a nothing - that’s what she fears, you know. The Void. One wrong step and everyone that follows you would fall, brainwashed and retaught, broken and frail. Sera reduced to - what was Bull’s phrase? - sweeping floors in a shop in Par Vollen? She wasn’t made to follow rules, after all.”

“Sera is stronger than she realizes. She makes the world around her better, defends the people in ways that they will never know. She will never live in an empty world with an empty mind!” Asta’s head hurt, what was truth? Were her words even helping? Was it any good to banter with a demon? But she couldn’t move, could only exercise her mind.

“And Blackwall. You know he can’t be trusted. If you only knew about how black the walls are that he has built to hide his sins. You should send him away, kick him out of the Inquisition. His kind are only fit to serve pigs their slop. If you were a better leader, you would recognize the liability. Or do you see yourself in him as well, hiding and lying from your sins? After all, Silly Little Girl, Silly Little Sister, you are responsible for the Divine’s death. You know and I know why you were in the Temple. Should I share it with your friends? Would they block arrows and swords for you then?”

“My sins are my own.” Asta gritted her teeth. “I will not judge Blackwall his secrets when I have my own. He is a good man, he saved my life the first time I ever met him. I will not send him away. No matter his faults, he has a purpose with the Inquisition.”

“A purpose, you say? A purpose like Cole’s? He is so like me - I take away the fear that people cannot handle, just as he takes away the pain. Don’t you think we are the same?”

“No! Cole just makes people forget so that he can try to help them again - so that they’ll trust him! You steal people’s fears to make them weak and yourself stronger! Cole doesn’t _feed_ on his friends!”

“How do you know? Don’t you remember?” A series of events, her recent arguments with Cullen, a bevy of interactions with her friends scrolled through her mind. “Oh, Cole has been busy indeed.”

“Those are all ways he has helped! Cole always helps! You help no one except Corypheus!” Asta shouted.

“I see,” the Nightmare was amused now. “And who does Varric help? Raised from youth to be the spare, the extra son, his parents hardly taking notice, even when he flaunts his own misguided affair in front of their eyes. He’s more like them than he knows, obsessed with bets and money, building his own little empire while he takes care of his brother’s. Didn’t you know about his brother? For a storyteller, he certainly doesn’t tell his own stories. Just other people’s. How will he tell yours, I wonder?”

“Varric isn’t like that! He makes bets, yes, for his own and other people’s amusement. He’s done more for the morale of the Inquisition than anyone else! I don’t know his parents, but Varric is unique. He will never be like them. No one is like Varric, he is loyal and kind and funny and supportive!” Asta was tired, so tired. “Varric is my friend.”

“Is Vivienne anyone’s friend? Really? Her ambition is greater than anyone’s I’ve ever met. She is truly willing to do anything - from seducing a Duke - awfully convenient that she fell in love with him after all.“ The Nightmare paused, seemingly thinking, “Oh! Do you think Cullen is doing the same? Or maybe he‘s like Solas - who is allowing his fear of dying alone to lead him in with a ragtag group fighting against the very gods?”

“Vivienne is Vivienne. She doesn’t have to explain her plans to me. I respect her. We don’t agree most of the time, but she is powerful. Who am I to say if it’s okay for her to like the power she wields?” Asta narrowed her focus. “Solas is… reclusive. He never needs to fear dying alone. He will always have us.” Solas heard her speak, and did a double take in the background. Asta looked at him in confirmation and weariness. “And leave Cullen out of this.”

“How could I leave Cullen out of _this_?” The Nightmare’s voice took on a triumphant note. “Your _brave_ Commander knows he has to be your shield else the only chance for Thedas - your own left hand - will be buried and gone forever. How far do you think he’ll go to protect your hand. Would he make love to you? Seduce you? Make it think it was your idea? When this is all over, he’ll send you back to the Chantry, alone and desperately in love, knowing he had done his duty. He’s the real hero, here, not you, for aligning himself with a silly lovesick _innocent_ child full of her dreams. So he plays along with your hopes for a future… how long do you think those will last when you are no longer necessary? He’ll sign you over to the Sunburst Throne himself, kiss your hand and say goodbye, and probably head right to a tavern to celebrate.”

“He would never…” Asta gasped. “He loves me.” She fell to her knees. “He loves me. He said so.”

“There are all different kinds of love, Little Sister. Who is it to say that Cullen’s for you isn’t the sacrificial kind, taking you on for the greater good? There is your brother, after all, choosing to protect you - you can’t even save yourself from your family, can you, weakling? If you fail, how long will he stay?” The Nightmare paced around her, reminiscent of Cassandra’s pacing in the dungeon when they first met. “You don’t think he cares about you any more than your parents do, do you? Where was he when Adamant needed to fall?”

“I…” Asta’s brain was failing her. She fought back. “I don’t know if he loves me, but he is not like my parents. He’s his own person, and I will always give him the credit of the doubt. He reports to Leliana. She will use his skills as she sees fit. It’s better for me not to know, sometimes.”

“Then let’s discuss Cullen some more, shall we? Do you think you are enough to overcome a decade of remembered abuse, torment? Don’t you think you only make it worse with your silly fantasies, your daydreams? Do you really think he meets you with his own? Isn’t he just playing along? While you drag him down through his murky past, dredging up the worst times in his life? Who do you think you are?” The Nightmare teased. “Maybe he‘s already dead, dead in the battle he fought to reach you, killed by the Pride you left in your wake. You have too much pride. Just a Silly Little Sister who has read too much and thinks she knows it all.”

“No, I am not!” Asta rallied. “I am the Inquisitor!” _I am. I am the Inquisitor,_ her heartbeat pounded. She drew a breath, gathered her strength. She realized her palm was spitting at her, the nerve endings ready to explode, and hatched a plan. She hated to do this, _it hurt,_ but this once, it was necessary. They had to win. She had to save her friends.

“You are worthless!” But the Nightmare seemed lesser, Asta realized, and she could see her friends making headway, hacking away at it. Solas managed to freeze it still, and it shrieked. “You are nothing! Less than nothing!”

“I may not be much,” Asta stood up from where she had fallen, “But I’m all Thedas has. And I will NOT allow you to belittle me. I may be afraid of everything, but I control those fears, not you. They will make me stronger, and they are a part of me. You have no power over me or my friends that I do not give you.” She let her hand explode, enveloping the Nightmare and shredding it into little pieces. “I deny you, Nightmare. I am no silly child.” She watched it fragment away back into the fabric of the Fade, exhausted.

Bull spit on the ground. “Damn, I bet that felt good, Boss.” Solas started to put away his staff and froze.

Cassandra gasped. “Asta! Behind you!”

Asta turned slowly, and saw the massive spidery thing bearing down on them all. “Quickly! To the rift!” Cassandra, Bull and Solas ran for all they were worth, and made it to the rift and through before the Nightmare came between them and the portal. “Hawke, Clarel! Get through! I’ll distract it!”

“NO!” Hawke stopped Asta as she headed back to engage it again. “You have to get back. I’ll fight it. You get back! The Inquisition needs you!”

“Hawke, I can’t take you away from Thedas!” Asta’s mind boggled. “You’re the Champion! Thedas needs its heroes!”

“Let me stay.” Clarel spoke, eyeing the demon warily. “I started this mess, believing the false Calling, believing in Erimond’s foolish wishes. I didn’t want to die in the Deep Roads. My fear led us to this state. Let me atone for it, die a Warden‘s death.”

Asta stared, wild eyed at her, and then nodded. “Clarel, I know that you think Thedas will never thank you. But let me instead.” Asta saluted hand over her heart, head bowed. “Thank you, Warden Commander Clarel. We all owe you, the Wardens, our future.”

“Just go,” Clarel insisted. “You don’t have long. Get out of here before I change my mind.” She charged towards the Nightmare, while Hawke disappeared through the rift. “In Death, Sacrifice!” Clarel screamed as Asta watched, stepping backwards through the rip in the Veil, to fall into the arms of her Commander.

She lifted her hand wearily, seemingly by reflex, unaware of what she was doing, and sealed the rift at last, only then realizing who held her, where she was. Cullen was holding her, babbling at her nervously, and she gripped him. “Cullen… You’re alive? The Nightmare…” She drew a shuddering breath, “It was real, so real? But not real.” She grabbed him tighter. “You are here. This is Adamant. We made it back.” And she passed out, suddenly and completely, knowing she was finally safe.

***

Asta woke, hours later, but she woke distant, quiet in a way that Cullen had not seen in her before. A solemnity blanketed her, her mind preoccupied. He couldn’t find an excuse to stay, not with Wardens to find housing for and half the Inquisition to placate about their new allies.

“Go, Commander,” She had told him. “You have work to do. The healers say I am fine. We’ll talk later.” So he kissed her gently, as if she would break apart under his hands, and left. But later kept being pushed off by unnecessary jobs and meetings that should have been messages. It wasn’t until the night before their scheduled departure that Cullen finally caught her, curled up in an alcove behind a stack of lumber for scaffolding, crying to the point of broken sobs.

He said nothing, but pulled her close to him. She cried harder, so he held her firmer. It was a long time before she started to calm, voice still hiccupping, tears still running. “I’m…” Asta would not lie to him. She wouldn’t, but she wouldn’t tell the whole truth, either. If the Nightmare had told the truth… “just having a hard time with being worshipped. No one looks at me like I’m human anymore. No one cares that it was just an accident, that I picked up a ball at the worst time! It doesn’t matter that I was complicit in the death of the Divine!”

“Complicit?” Cullen couldn’t imagine Asta involving herself knowingly in an assassination attempt. “What do you mean?”

Asta eyed him, but this little truth was the safer one to trust him with. _I can‘t tell him I doubt him. I just can‘t. It‘s not true, I won‘t let it be. But how could he want_ me? “This is the worst part of my restored memories. You can never tell Leliana. She’d have me killed. Yes, the Divine told me to go, she sacrificed herself to save me. It’s true. But she was reaching out to me. If I wasn’t so scared, I could have… and that’s not all. The day the conclave… ended, I was headed to a meeting with an unknown person, a noble, I was led to understand, who was interested in my research.” She said it in a rush, the words falling from her lips. “My research on cults, the Old Gods and Andraste. That’s why I went into the room where the Divine was being held, Cullen. I was supposed to be meeting with Corypheus, or one of his people, anyway. I was early, but I wanted to set up, to be prepared…”

Cullen swallowed, “But instead you interrupted -”

“and got caught up in events that led to the death of the fucking Divine! I don’t know much about blood magic - it’s not my field - but, Cullen, they were probably binding her.” Asta’s eyes were round and sorrowful with remembered shock and fear. “To control her mind, like the Wardens. If I hadn’t interrupted, she would be alive.”

Cullen shook his head, “And Corypheus would have succeeded all the sooner, love. And as for your research - all of us are responsible for our own choices. My choices in Kirkwall, in Kinloch telling The Warden to annul the Circle… I’m filled with regret. But my choices led us here. All the regret in the world cannot change them. You’ve more than made up for your innocent tendency to be overtrusting with your work. You’re hardly the same pale academic you were back in Haven, you know.” He held her tighter, pulling her into his lap, almost fiercely against his chest, wishing he didn’t have his breastplate on.

“But the damage it could have done, could still do, perhaps is doing - I don’t know whose hands it has been in while it was in Ostwick. Maybe I should stop. Maybe the truth I was searching for is too dangerous…” she said, shaking, despair in her eyes, staring up at Cullen, nearly too frightened to explain.

Cullen grabbed her hand. “No. Asta, the people of Thedas have been living their lives based on secrets, lies and half-truths for too long.” A stab of guilt shot through her. She should just ask him, told him what she feared. But she didn’t want it to be true. “They deserve the truth.” He pulled her closer, thanking the Maker silently that she was still there to hold. It had been so close. “You are the key that will unlock their chains, my love.”

She quieted a bit. _My love. He’s still calling me that, even though he knows about the conclave. I should just ask. But I can’t. Could he be this good of an actor? I wouldn’t have thought so, before. I need to trust him, trust myself to know. I can’t let the Nightmare win this round, either._ She smiled, feebly for his benefit. “That’s awfully poetic, Cullen.” She leaned her head in against his shoulder. “You really don’t think it’s all my fault?”

“No. If you hadn’t barged in on that… ritual the world would be in a far worse place.” _You wouldn’t be in it,_ he wanted to say but just swallowed instead.

Asta relaxed a bit more, trying to believe him. “Okay.”

“Any other fears I can assuage?” Cullen asked, kindly. “Should we return you to your adoring public or can I keep you with me for a bit longer?”

Asta shuddered, “I don’t want to face any of them again. Even Rylen won’t even crack ribald jokes around me now. I can’t be who they want me to be, the Herald of Andraste, but they already believe I am.”

“I don’t know,” Cullen tried again. “You are brilliant, kind, forward-thinking, loud… all those things make for an excellent Herald.”

“I wish we could leave right now, this instant, today,” Asta muttered. “I want to get back to Skyhold, where my dreams aren’t messy and full of fear. I want to sleep in your loft with you instead of in a tent by myself. I want to find something to read in the library - there’s nothing to read here. Are you still sure food was a better choice than books?”

“That sounds more like my Asta,” Cullen smiled against her head and kissed it gently. “We can’t leave yet. But tomorrow we will be ready.”

“Tomorrow,” Asta sighed. Another night of bad dreams, of being alone with Cole holding her hand. The spirit looked worn out - as much as a spirit could seem worn out anyway. He had spent every day since the battle jumping everywhere trying to help. He was too busy with too many pains to help everyone, but he was trying. “Tomorrow we can go home.”

“And in the meantime, I have done everything I have to do for now. I will hold you until you are calm, and then see you safely to your tent. I will be your shield against those who blame you and those who believe you divine.” Cullen kissed her again. “I know the truth. You may not be Andraste’s Herald, but you are Andraste’s Asta. That‘s much better.”

Asta snorted, “You still think she chose me somehow?”

Cullen shrugged lightly. “It’s a better explanation than any other I’ve been given. That’s a whole lot of coincidences to swallow, otherwise. And I choose to believe that she chose you for me.” _And me for you_. “She knew what I needed.”

“You needed me?” Asta froze against his chest. _That doesn’t sound like I make it worse._

“I will always need you.” Cullen opened his mouth to say more, and changed his mind. “But that’s another discussion for another time. Let me just say that when I saw you disappear into the Fade, I thought my life was over. I love you, Asta.” _It’s not the time. When we are back at Skyhold, I will tell her, show her. Somehow._

Asta didn’t reply, but she held his neck tighter, and relaxed a little bit more. _The Nightmare is wrong. He has to be._ But how do you prove a Demon wrong?

It required some thought.


	36. Asta Greatly Approves

The trip back from Adamant was long, the wounded of both sides of the bloody battle hindering the Inquisition’s progress. Thankfully, they had only one prisoner, Ser Ruth, and she was cooperative. Asta had flatly refused to put her to death in the field, and had told everyone she was to be treated humanely until they had reached Skyhold and she had thought further on an appropriate sentence.

Cullen could tell in a nagging sort of way that something was bothering Asta. She was reluctant to pull away from the others - even once they had stopped for the day he had troubles getting her alone. Alone was relative in any case. Her smiles were tentative, prone to disappearing, leaving him wondering if she had smiled at all. She treated her friends and Cullen as if they were made of spun glass, liable to splinter or shatter with a strong breath of wind.

“What happened to her in the Fade?” Varric asked Cullen, running his fingers along Bianca nervously.

Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She regained her memories of the Conclave, and faced a Nightmare demon that has apparently been feeding off of the entirety of Thedas for ages.” He stared at Varric, “I think it tried to possess her, from her description, but she fought it off,” he shook his head in admiration, “but she won’t talk about it, and it’s left… scars.”

“Well, that’s a load of shit to go through.” Varric stared back at Cullen thoughtfully. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I - Varric, I just told you she won’t talk to me, to anyone about it. Cole probably knows the most, but you know what he’s like. I just get a replay of what I already know. I might as well be talking to a sphinx.”

“So don’t talk.” Varric rolled his eyes. “Look, you guys were all over each other before this mess. Puppy eyes meeting across the War Table, bad flirting, stolen kisses, disappearing together for days at a time… I could make a fortune off this shit. Now, she watches you, worried, but only when you aren’t looking.” Varric poked Cullen on his breastplate. “Ow.” He shook his hand. “Something happened to make her doubt you, Curly. So fix it.”

“Why would she…” Cullen started.

“I don’t know and you don’t know. Women are weird. Trust me.” Varric shrugged. “Hawke once blew up at Choir Boy over his belt. Claimed it was staring at her. True story. But it’s still up to you to fix it.”

“Great,” Cullen’s brow creased, “How can I fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Would I be single right now if I knew how to deal with a difficult, stubborn woman?” Varric winked. “You’ll think of something.”

***

Asta knew what she needed. But it couldn’t come from her. This once, Cullen had to make the advances. She had to know it wasn’t out of misplaced duty or because she was the Inquisitor. He had to approach her.

As Josie had once said, the Commander was a hammer to whom everything tended to appear as a nail. Lately Asta had been wishing a little too often for comfort that she was a nail. Bluntly, Asta needed a hammer. Instead, Cullen had been positively sweet, reassuring and patient, camping nearby without taking a single damn liberty with his proximity. Either he was perfect, in his own way, or the Nightmare was right, and it was all just an act, a performance to keep the Inquisitor sane and grounded, in the best interest of Thedas. Or he just couldn’t take the physical intimacy at all… because she made his own nightmares worse. She went back and forth in her mind, stuck in a rut of thoughts, uncertain about what to believe.

She wanted to believe him when he did finally pull her off to be alone, when he kissed her until she was weak in the knees, pressed up against a tree or a ruin, or in once memorable occasion, against the floor of one of the war wagons, crates and barrels stacked around them so that they almost had privacy in the near-dusk. She had been so sure it would go further - it was the most privacy they had had for weeks at that point - but he had pulled away, wincing.

“You deserve better than this,” Cullen had said.

Asta had wanted to scream, but they were surrounded by soldiers and Wardens less than a scream’s length away and as much as she wanted him, she let him help her down from the wagon after making sure they were unobserved, except by ravens. The ravens were always everywhere.

It took nearly three weeks of stolen moments for them to reach Skyhold, and by that time Asta was clenching her teeth and trying to avoid Cullen. The sexual angst was going to kill her otherwise.

***

Cullen was trying to fix things. He had brought her flowers, whatever he came across and remembered as having an appropriate meaning. Her fleeting smiles had been bought with most of them, the primrose being the most successful (I can’t live without you), but it had faded when their interlude was interrupted by Sera chasing a Halla towards them.

He caught her fiddling with a stalk of Sweet Meadow (uselessness) and worried, but decided it was a coincidence. He wove her a crown of Nasturiums (Victory in Battle) afterward, but she fed them to her nuggalope.

“He likes the peppery taste,” she explained, half-laughing insincerely, and then fed one of the flowers to him, humming slightly when Cullen nipped her fingers, but pulling away all the same.

He kissed her under an oak tree (bravery) hung with mistletoe, and thought for a moment that he would embarrass both of them with the way she ground into him, almost desperate for contact. But she stopped and drew away, breathing heavy and eyes black with desire and… fear? Sadness?

“Asta -” Cullen nearly begged, “Why… what is going on?”

She just smiled sadly and walked back to camp and her own tent, leaving Cullen in the woods to find a cold creek to bathe in.

Two days before he reached Skyhold he found a four leaf clover and handed it to her. Her eyes flashed up to his and he whispered, “Be mine?” in an attempt to not disturb the ever present ravens and let the entire battalion know exactly where they were hiding this time.

“I already am,” she whispered back. “Are you mine?” She scanned his face avidly, more than eager.

“Always,” Cullen replied, confused, “Asta, you know… what on Thedas… Why do you doubt me now?”

But Asta, as much as she wanted to confess, to tell him everything that the demon had said, just couldn’t. She just kissed him madly, deeply, crushing the clover into his hair as she wrapped herself around his lips. He almost laid her down right there, but held back again. And when she realized, she pulled away once more.

“Maybe at Skyhold?” She said, a question in her voice.

“Definitely at Skyhold,” Cullen clenched his teeth against the throbbing. “This is madness.”

Asta giggled half-heartedly. “You have no idea. I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t travel to Adamant together.”

Cullen rested his forehead against hers. “I couldn’t have stood for it,” he confessed. “I would have been sneaking into your tent like a sex-crazed teenager.”

Asta huffed, “Then why aren’t you doing it now?” She gritted her teeth, frustration and need pumping through her veins. She couldn’t help but just ask.

Cullen traced the circles under her eyes. “My love, something happened with the Nightmare. You haven’t been the same since the Fade. You are worried about all of us, about me. You _doubt_ me.” She started to cut him off, but he covered her mouth his hand. “No, it’s not the time for protests or even explanations. You do. I don’t know why, but when we get back to Skyhold you’ll never doubt me again. I swear it.” He kissed her one more time, slower and sweeter and walked away.

Asta watched him leave, desire ringing through her head and body, with a mixture of hope and regret. Two more days. _Merciful Andraste, I should have just told him._

***

It was a long two days, and Cullen knew by that point that she was avoiding him. He defied his own doubt and summoned his bravery and pursued her instead. He left flowers and a sprig of cedar (I live for you, think of me) in her tent as soon as he had set it up - the first one to pitch that night. She wore it pinned to her leathers the next day, catching his eye more boldly, but not moving to be near him.

They crossed over the bridge into Skyhold late that night. She didn’t come into his loft, choosing instead to sleep in her drafty room, wondering if the nightmares would finally leave now that they were back.

For once, Cullen was fine with that, as he had some planning to do, and a few to set in motion. He had had three weeks to plan, his love raging through him every moment, fed by their little interactions, and his conviction that she needed this, somehow. Now he had until morning to get everything set up. He already had a note ready for his assistant to deliver to his officers, and another for the Inquisitor. He had prepared as much as he was able. The rest could wait for morning. He fell into his own bed, satisfied and exhausted. _Tomorrow night._ He swallowed his nervousness and tried to fall asleep.

***

Asta woke the next morning in her chambers, fully rested for the first time in what felt like longer than a month. She reminded herself to tell Solas that Skyhold did keep at least her nightmares away. Too bad it didn’t work for Cullen. She bathed, it having been too late to request hot water upon her return the night before. She yawned, jaw cracking. She still had a lot of sleep to catch up on. She dressed slowly, deliberately thinking about the day ahead. A war council was inevitable, she knew, though perhaps a delay of a single day could be managed? Everyone was so tired.

She wanted to see Cullen most of all, desperately, but dragged her feet. Finally, dislike and the chill of her room conquered her fear and she opened her door, only to be confronted with a runner.

“Inquisitor!” The runner handed her a sheaf of messages, the Commander’s on top. “You are needed in the War Room at your earliest convenience!” And the young man was off before Asta could ask. Not that it would make a difference, she knew. She wandered in that general direction idly, reading the rest of her mail, but leaving Cullen’s for last. Josie wasn’t at her desk, but Asta assumed she was already waiting in the War Room. She hoped they hadn’t been waiting for her long.

The messages were all trifles, other than an urgent request from a Fairbanks regarding red templars and lyrium and bandits. More red templars. Asta sighed, suddenly weary again. Would this never end? She would discuss it with the advisors this morning and plan the trip to the Emerald Graves. She sighed, walking through the massive door. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to leave too soon.

She looked up at the quiet - usually Josie and Leliana were chatting amiably when she walked in. The War Room was not empty, but Leliana and Josephine were no where to be seen. Cullen stood nervously in his normal location, holding the hilt of his sword, but meeting her eyes. He looked… anticipatory.

“Good morning,” Asta started, “Where is everyone? I thought I’d be the last person here. Oh Maker, was I so late that Leliana and Josie left? I’m sorry, I was so tired…”

Cullen stopped her, “Leliana and I have agreed that we should put off a war council meeting until tomorrow to allow you to rest,” he started rubbing the back of his neck. Asta narrowed her eyes. Now she knew something was going on. “I’m considering giving a holiday to the troops as well, though I need to meet with my officers tonight, regardless.”

“Then why the meeting?” Asta raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And where’s Josie?”

“Josie also decided to take the day off. Holding down the fort with two of the leaders of the Inquisition gone has taken it’s toll. I have been informed she is taking a long bath with a novel and some Antivan chocolates and that she won’t share, so don’t ask. Leliana is working, but can put off any news until tomorrow without problems, she said.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Did you read my message?”

“Not yet,” Asta cracked the seal, and then looked at him. “Did you just want to tell me?”

“Not really,” Cullen looked mildly terrified at the thought, but also vaguely amused. “Just read the message, Inquisitor.”

Asta sighed and opened it.

_My dear Inquisitor,_

_At this point I believe we have a serious morale problem. I have consulted with Leliana and have some suggestions. Please meet me in the War Room at your earliest convenience to try to resolve this issue._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Commander_

Asta’s eyes slowly drifted back up to Cullen. He was blushing, and staring at the ceiling. “I see,“ she finally managed, after catching his eye at last. “A loss of morale, is it? Even after the recent victory?“

“Apparently,“ Cullen stated, “and in some of our most important troops.”

“Perhaps we could use the same tactics here as at Griffon Wing?” Asta was tired, so tired. “Better meals? Shoes? We already have a library… What did Leliana suggest?”

Cullen took a deep breath. _Brave._ “I don’t think any of those would take care of the underlying problem, here.”

“Oh? What problem would that be?” Asta asked. “What am I missing?”

“An army’s morale is affected heavily by their commanding officers’.” Cullen said pointedly. “Leliana has advised us both, in her words, ‘For the love of Andraste’ - rather appropriately, I thought - ‘just get on with it.’” Cullen walked, almost stalking, around the table, holding her eyes boldly.

Asta’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t sweet Cullen of the days prior, or even the shy Commander. She swallowed, her body already turning traitor when he hadn’t even touched her yet. “So how do we tackle that?” She stepped back at his approach, almost unconsciously.

“Hmm, tackling…” Cullen snickered, “I have some… thoughts.” He leaned in, eyes dark.

“Can you prepare a report…” Asta realized too late that she was backed into the wall. Merciful Andraste, he was close. He stared at her, his eyes dropping to her lips.

“No.” And in one swift moment he had her in his arms, his mouth, wet and warm and velvety, tasting of mint tea, over hers. His arm snug around her waist, the other braced against the wall. The kiss went on and on, long past when Asta would have expected it to end, heat burning between them. He was cupping her ass, pressing her against him so that she could feel him getting hard. Cullen held nothing back, his longing thick enough to attract a desire demon - and he didn’t care.

And then he stopped, all professionalism and self-control outwardly, despite the noticeable erection, even as his body screamed at him to have her _now_ , before she could run away, or retreat into her fears. “No, I think I need to demonstrate what I have in mind. Meet me at nine, Inquisitor. I have a meeting with my senior officers that should be over by then. But please, if it runs late, feel free to interrupt.” He traced her check softly. “I want to give you my full attention.”

Every nerve in Asta’s body was attuned to his finger now tracing her lips. She leaned in, only have him pull back, smirking. For the second time in her life she wanted to punch that smirk off his face.  Cullen merely turned to the War Table and placed a dagger in Skyhold, along with one of his own markers.

“I’ll expect you then, Inquisitor,” he smiled, the room lighting up with his anticipation, and exited briskly. “Now, to work?”

The door slammed shut behind him and Asta slumped to the floor, her legs giving out. That man was going to be the death of her. And then she smiled, her first true smile since Adamant. Something was going on with him. She greatly approved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm over 100,000 words! Wow, that was quick. Or not so quick. Thanks to everyone that is reading. Love the comments and feedback.
> 
> Next chapter will be up by Wednesday. NSFW.


	37. Leading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - but I'm still not worth being fired over. Please, use discretion!

Asta was early. Cullen was still wrapping up his officer’s meeting when she slid in silently and leaned up against the wall, politely waiting for him to finish.

“Rylen’s men will monitor the situation,” he delegated, as his eager assistant took notes on a board much like Josephine’s.

“Yes, ser!” the assistant affirmed, gathering the requisite reports and letters into his hand. “We’ll begin preparations at once.”

“In the meantime, we’ll send soldiers to…” and then he saw Asta propped against the wall, one knee up to brace herself, with a small smile on her face as she watched him work. He swallowed and grinned, all his nerves coming back to shake him now that she was here. With barely a pause, he continued, “to assist with the relief effort.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She smoldered in the smoky torchlight, like a statue of Andraste carrying a bowl of fire and incense. “That will be all,” he choked out, ending the meeting abruptly.

“Ser!” His officers saluted, and filed out before him, clearly relieved the long day was over at last, chatting amiably about meeting at the Herald’s Rest for a pint together. Cullen shut the door behind them with finality.

“There is always something else, isn’t there?” He sighed, resigned.

“Wishing we were somewhere else?” Asta teased.

Cullen leaned against the door with both hands and laughed, pushing himself upright with ease. “I barely found time to get away before. This war won’t last forever. When it started, I… I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival.” He wandered away, almost aimlessly from where she still leaned against the stones, and turned back to face her. “But things are different now.”

“What do you mean?” Asta said, walking towards him with a little swing in her step. He turned away from the open invitation, his profile illuminated, golden and brown in the dim lighting. The sun had long been set, and he watched the dark clouds gather over the moon, and then drift away.

 _Brave_ , he thought, and spoke, “I find myself wondering what will happen after, when this is over.” Cullen turned and pick up her hand, earnest and eager. “I don’t want to move on,” he confessed, stroking her cheek and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Not from you.” He watch her throat swallow, longing to run his mouth along the line it offered. He dropped his eyes, confidence gone. “But I… don’t know… what you… that is,” he couldn’t look at her, couldn’t find the words, despite practicing all day in his own head, so he walked back to his desk, covered with the random bottles of water and wine and papers, book and candles of the long meeting. “If you, uh…” he leaned against it, awkward. _Maker, just say something_ , he demanded of himself.

Asta’s face lit up in sudden comprehension, and she slid herself between him and the desk, trying to regain his attention. “Cullen, do you need to ask?” She wondered aloud, love leaking through her calm tone. She sat back on his desk, and Cullen looked at her, really looked and saw her faith and hope in him being restored. _What did the Nightmare say to her? Maker, let me go through with this._

“I suppose not,” he breathed, relief and something else fighting to come through, his hand clenched in a fist as he fought it. _Slowly, slowly…_ “But I want to…”

Asta shifted slightly, and knocked a bottle off the desk, little shards of glass flying everywhere. Chagrined, she winced. “Oops. I’d better clean that up.” She went to move down from the desk and he blocked her, shaking his head slightly.

“Not good enough,” he smirked, as he took both hands in a fit of impulse and with one swift movement flung the books, the papers, the candle - thankfully going out with the rush of air - off the desk, sweeping it clean with one stroke. For once his work wouldn’t be coming between them, and he got a wicked, wonderful idea. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, I want you.” This wasn’t how he had planned this. It was all wrong, not romantic enough, but something about it felt right all the same, as if he had done this just this way in a thousand different lifetimes.

Asta blinked, still in shock from the mess he had just created. And then smiled, “What did you have in mind, Ser Knight?”

“Lie down,” he breathed, and as she complied, he climbed over her, bringing his lips to her neck, tracing the line he had longed for earlier, tracing it’s sweetness and saltiness, bracketing her body with his arms.

“Are the doors locked?” Asta said, suddenly nervous.

“By the Maker, I don’t care,” Cullen vowed, “Any one that interrupts us will meet my blade.”

Asta laughed and squealed slightly as he bit her gently over her pulse. “Still, to save the poor lookouts from an untimely death?”

Cullen growled against her skin. “Fine,” frustrated, he got up and barred the doors, Asta stripping off her shirt as he went to all three. The last door barricaded, he faced her, still on his desk, pale skin shining and shadowed. She started to remove her breastband, “Wait, let me,” Cullen said, crossing his office in two strides. He took the end from her, “I like this. It’s like unwrapping a Satinalia gift,” he confessed, “only better.” He stroked the side of one breast lightly.

“Better than Satinalia?” Asta was impressed. “I knew I had a nice rack, the Iron Bull has said so, but…”

“Better than nice,” murmured Cullen, bending his head so his lips could skirt along the swells. “It’s glorious.”

“I didn’t think you knew a word better than nice,” Asta teased, catching her breath in the next moment as his hand came up to cup the other breast, his thumb contacting the nipple almost accidentally.

“I do now,” Cullen dipped his head and licked the other nipple, lightly, making her shudder. “It’s Asta.” He came back up and kissed her finally, melding his lips with hers. “Let me get this armor off, and I’m yours,” he said at last, pulling away very reluctantly.

“Don’t bother,” Asta said, grabbing his cloak, loosening the ties and shrugging it off of him. She tackled his laces. “I’ve wanted you for weeks, Cullen, and I swear, with all the teasing on the way back from Adamant…”

“No,” Cullen stopped her hands in their ministrations. “This time, I’m leading. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, Asta,” he reminded her of their dance at the Winter Palace, “but please, let’s take our time. We’ve never… made love in a bed, Asta. Our moments are all stolen and mostly frantic.” Asta looked vaguely disappointed. Cullen tipped up her chin with a finger, “I want to… draw this out. So please, this time, my way?”

Asta looked at him, and trusted him, smiling. “At your order, Commander,” she saluted, hand against her breast. “Can I at least help with the armor?”

“Just watch. I don’t want you to move off that desk,” Cullen said. “In fact, sit right in front of my chair. I have an idea.” The fantasy unscrolled in front of his eyes, Asta naked, spread in front of him. He’d never be able to work on the desk again without thinking of it. He smiled, eyes lighting up. _Totally worth it._

He peeled himself out of the armor efficiently, wanting to get back to the important part of the evening, and not even glancing at his armor polish. He finally came back to her, in his trousers and undershirt, and Asta’s fingers slipped underneath his waistband, close, so close, as he stood between her legs. She played with his laces idly, but didn’t untie them, as he pressed himself back against her, reveling in her warmth as he kissed her again, letting her tongue play against his as he cupped the back of her head.

He moved his mouth back to the hollow under her ear, and she sighed, “Ah sweet victory!”

“Hmm?” Cullen kissed down the center of her chest, and pulled his chair in closer with one leg, capturing a nipple in his teeth, and rolling it with his tongue.

“I’ve finally vanquished your desk and all your paperwork. My rival, defeated!” Asta laughed and then gasped as he increased the pressure with hands and mouth, sucking harder against her. “Oh, that’s…”

“Believe me, the desk was no competition.” Cullen dropped his hand down, and stroked between her legs, over the cloth, rubbing gently. “And after this, I’m afraid my productivity will suffer. You will have ruined this desk for me entirely, my love.” He moved the hand back up to tug at her laces gently, pulling them loose without any resistance.

“Ahh, I feel rather like celebrating,” Asta breathed, catching her breath, and lifting her hips, let him remove her pants and smallclothes all at once. He dropped them to the floor, deeming them irrelevant.

“Asta?” Cullen asked, shifting back in his chair, and propping her legs on the arms of it, fencing himself in.

“Yes?” Asta grinned cheekily, anticipation lighting her eyes when she realized what he meant to do.

“Make noise for me,” and he bent his mouth to her cunt and licked, once, twice, spreading her legs a little wider as he leaned down. She braced her hands behind her and almost at once started to shake.

“Make me,” she dared, her saucy words lending an obvious lie to the emotions welling inside her. She locked her eyes on him as he recast the magic he had performed before, swirling his clever tongue around her center. She hummed as he increased the pressure around her clit, so he sped up the pace and cupped one breast, running his thumb over it again, and then pinching and rolling, slowly, carefully. Long minutes passed, with him circling both breast and nerves, occasionally dipping down in a long, languid stroke. She hummed louder, and moaned in response to a pinched nipple.

“That’s… good,” she squeaked, forgetting why she didn’t want to make noise. He stroked a finger along her slit, gathering the dampness, and then switched places, rubbing her clit with the finger, round and round, while he penetrated her with his tongue, first shallow, and then deeper. “Oh! Cullen!” Her belly grew tight, coiling together as her passion grew. Her arms threatened to give out, and her thighs shook, begging her to squeeze them against his head and ride his mouth to completion.

“Better,” he hummed into her, dipping back in once more, deeply, and then shifting again, entering her with a single finger, watching for a response. She arched back, arms shaking against the desk and her hands, falling apart. She moaned as he moved the finger, and curled it, “Please!” she begged.

“Yes?” Cullen inquired, and then blew gently against her wet center. “What do you want, Asta?” He licked her again, harder now, as she shuddered around him. “Tell me, Asta.”

“Maker, Cullen!” Asta was increasingly desperate. He thrust harder, curled firmer and sucked against her.

“Which one is here right now, Asta?” His eyes met hers and was taken aback by what he saw. She was on fire for him, going up on a pyre of sex and desire. He kept her eyes locked with his, and sucked again.

“You!” She nearly shouted, all control lost, as he added a second finger with the next glide. “Please,” she shuddered a single breath, trying to breathe, “please, I need you.” He curled the two fingers against her gently.

“Not yet,” he laughed against her, the vibrations making her moan louder yet. “I want to see you come again like this. I can be patient.” His cock begged to differ, but he ignored it in favor of her pleasure. She needed this, needed to see that he cared enough to make her come undone around him, that she mattered, as more than a hand or a figurehead, as a woman. She moved her hips now with his hand, fucking it desperately. He pinched and rolled the breast in his hand and sucked against her again, watching, watching as she dissolved into bliss, whines and unidentifiable sounds coming from her throat. He ran his tongue down to his fingers, stroking and even stretching her gently and then swiped back up harder yet, letting her relax, just to build her back up again with a sucking kiss. She was on the brink, he thought. Just a little more. He dropped his hand down from her breast, hearing her moan from the sudden chill and lack of attention there, and rubbed his thumb against her core. She shattered all at once, like the bottle from his desk.

“Oh! Oh!” The waves hit her hard, and he drank her eagerly, thrusting his tongue into her, delving deeper. “Maker, you’re so sweet, Asta,” he groaned, pants too tight by far now, and longing just to sheathe himself in her, finish fast. _No,_ he denied himself, _Not yet._

He pulled her towards him at last, relieving her shaking arms of their burden, holding her gently, rubbing her back. He waited a few minutes, kissing her, letting her taste herself on his lips, before he asked, hoping to return to his previous plan, “Can you climb the ladder?”

Her sweet Cullen was back again, Asta noticed blurrily, shuddering against his chest, cheek pillowed against his shoulder. She kissed him blindly, licking around his scar, tasting her essence on his tongue. _Ladder? What ladder? Oh, that ladder._ “Maybe?”

“Okay, follow me up in a few minutes. I have something I want to show you, but I have to get it ready.” He helped her to his chair, where she slumped against it, eyes closed. _Damn, every time I sit in it I’ll see her naked and wet, shuddering for me. Still totally worth it._ “I’ll tell you when.” He climbed up gracefully, and through the aftershocks she could hear him moving around.

“Cullen?” She called up, recovering and curious.

“Okay, come on up!” He called, heart in his throat. _Here goes…_

Her head breached the floor and she gasped. Her furniture, her vanity and dresser, her _books_ and knick-knacks from around Thedas, they were here, all lit softly with the light of a dozen candles. Her thick comforter on the bed - still his bed, she noticed - all her things. Her shocked gaze shifted to Cullen, standing on her rug, her bear rug made out of the first one she had helped Cassandra hunt in the Hinterlands. “What?” Asta swallowed, but it didn’t work. She started to cry, great racking sobs as she pulled herself up to the rest of the room and stood, clothes falling out of her hands as she tried to hide her face.

“No! Maker in his Golden City,” Cullen cursed, at her side in a half a step. “You’re not supposed to… I’m sorry, Asta. Don’t cry! I thought… I should have asked first? But if you knew that I didn’t want to… move on, and you agreed, I thought.. Maybe…” Crestfallen with the apparent failure of his surprise, and despairing about the rest he dully said, “I should have asked first.”

“It’s fine! It’s wonderful!” Asta wailed, weeping ugly tears. “How did you manage?” She grabbed him, buried her face in his shirt, tears soaking into his chest. He relaxed a little, not understanding, but sensing she wasn’t upset at him.

“I asked volunteers to use their day off to help me. It wasn’t hard, you don’t spend any more time in your former quarters than you have to,” he started.

Asta struggled to find a grip on her emotions, and settled on dread, “Josie is going to kill you. And possibly me.”

“No, actually, she accepted my suggestion that we use that room for the highest ranking dignitaries.” Cullen looked inordinately proud at making a suggestion that Josie agreed with. “The nobles always complain about their accommodations anyway, but they can’t complain when they are given the Inquisitor’s former room.” He bent down slightly to try to look at her better, still unsure. “They couldn’t fix the roof in a day, but one of the dwarves thinks he has a solution, something he calls a ‘skylight’ - like a window in a roof. I’ll have the plans soon.” Asta threw her arms around him, and he tucked her head into his shoulder again, stroked her hair and cleared his throat. “Um, there’s more, if you want it.” _Brave._

“How could there be more?” Asta held him tighter around his waist, “You’ve just given me a _home._ ”

“Not entirely.” Cullen dug in his pocket and clenched something in his fist. “So… I don’t want to move on, and I know you are a noble, and the Inquisitor, and Josie says there will have to be contracts, but despite your parents refusing to approve, she says it should still be okay…”

Asta had frozen at ‘contracts’. “Cullen?” She pulled back, candlelight gleaming around her, making her brown hair reddish in its glow. Her eyes were swollen, red and damp. She had never looked more beautiful. “What are you on about?”

“I know it wouldn’t be soon, there’s Corypheus, and you’ll be gone a lot, but,” Cullen stood straighter, and then dropped to a knee, Asta still naked and half-crying, her discarded clothes at her feet. “I know what I want, and I love you.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, “And it’s not fancy, not like Gaspard or any of those other nobles would have given you.” He held out a simple silver ring, equal parts fear and hope in his eyes. “Will you… I mean, even if you want to think about it… consider… making this permanent?”

“Permanent?” Asta squeaked. Her brain finally caught up just as her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the floor. “Cullen,” she asked slowly. “Has this whole evening been you _asking me to marry you?_!”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, knees starting to ache with having to hold this position. “Yes?” She looked at him in disbelief. “Is that… okay?” She still hadn’t answered. It was making him nervous, not that he wasn’t already. _She’s going to turn me down._ Resigned, he started to put the ring back in his pocket. “It’s okay, it’s too soon, I understand. It doesn’t change anything…”

“NO!” Asta grabbed his hand with the ring in it. “I mean, yes!” Her face glowed, cheeks reddened, eyes swollen, and she sniffed pitifully. “Yes, please!”

“Yes, please?” Cullen looked at her, trying not to laugh, “Did you just accept my proposal with a please?”

“Yes!” Asta threw herself at him, wrapping her hand around his with the ring, and toppling them both over onto the bear rug. They both laughed, kissing and he rolled her over, slipping the ring onto her hand, kissing her down until she was against the rug, and he was propped over her, hand beneath her head, and the other holding the hand with the ring.

“You said yes,” he clarified, wonder in his voice.

“I did,” she said in equal surprise. “I guess the Nightmare was wrong.”

“What did it say?” Cullen’s brows creased in worry. “You’ve been worried and preoccupied for weeks.”

“He said you were extremely dutiful. To the point of seduction, actually. But even I can’t believe that you would do all this,” and she wove her hand around his transformed room, “just to keep your Inquisitor sane enough to mend rifts. Also, I think if you had been ordered to propose, or done it out of a sense of extreme duty, you might have stammered less. And there would probably have been less oral sex.” Cullen buried his head between her breasts, laughing.

“Definitely less oral sex,” he wheezed. “Maker, Asta, why didn’t you tell me? The doubt has been killing me, thinking your feelings had changed.”

“I’m sorry,” Asta traced her fingers through his hair. “They hadn’t, I just… doubted yours. By the time we got back to Skyhold I was pretty sure I was wrong, but the Nightmare came every night until last night. He found something that stuck, and he was using it.”

“You are never going into battle without me again,” Cullen swore.

“Cullen, that’s impractical. You can’t promise that. I have to leave to go to the Emerald Graves, there’s the clean up in the Exalted Plains… you can’t come with me.”

“I know,” Cullen sighed. “But still, I will be with you, as much as I can. Please let me.” He kissed her neck, her jaw, her mouth, wearing her down with his repeated assault. “Please.”

“As much as you can,” she sighed, giving in. “But the other advisors have to agree, and I don’t get a vote. I’m too prejudiced already. Also, my companions have to be okay with it.”

“Why them?”

“Because if we travel together, we are damn well sharing a tent! If the Nightmare comes back I don’t want to depend on Cole. He’s overworked lately. I wasn’t the only one having nightmares. And it’s not fair to just expect them to accept our relationship for what it is. And the noises… well, I’ve heard Bull and Dorian. Everyone has. They are matter of fact about it, but it has created resentment in a few people. I’d like to avoid that, if possible.”

“All right.” He smiled, his lips against her chest again, all too aware that she was still completely naked beneath him and his body reacting in kind. “Now, I believe I mentioned that we have never made love in a bed. Want to change that?”

“More than anything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I the only person in the world to interpret Cullen's stammerings as a proposal? I mean, it was definitely a request for commitment, but I don't think it's a massive leap to take from 'I don't want to move on - not from you' and 'I don't care as long as I'm with you'. Anyway, I'm running with it. It's my story, and I'm sticking with it. So, nyah. Also, it's my birthday, so I'm not going to be around until Tuesday at the earliest. More NSFW stuff then. Hope this was good!


	38. Say Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back from my birthday camping trip. Wasn't much to do but write and read. This is NSFW, a little birthday present to myself and everybody who is still reading. Thanks for sticking around. We're past the halfway point now. When I started this I thought I'd be done at 30 chapters! Hahahaha... Your comments and kudos make me glow. :D

Cullen kissed her slowly, there on the floor, tasting their new promises on her tongue, and then he surged upward with her in his arms. She protested slightly, surprised, but wrapped her arms around his neck all the same, increasing the intensity of their kiss. He could feel the heat of her bare skin through his shirt, and the dampness still present between her legs where he cradled her, seated against him. As if sensing his thoughts, she wrapped her legs around his waist yet tighter, a belt he didn’t need, and his earlier desire resurrected with a force that left his head swimming.

He squeezed her butt lightly and she caught her breath at the pressure. His other hand moved towards her center, testing and stroking, and he stifled an exclamation at how wet she still was, even after so much time had passed. He moved them gently in the general direction of the bed, tripping slightly at the much bulkier rug than he was accustomed to. He broke away from her lips briefly, “This would be a good place to leave your boots for me to trip over on my way to bed.”

Asta snorted a laugh and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Planning on being late to bed often, then?” She would have sounded prim if not for the breathy note in her voice that spoke of love.

“With you waiting for me there? Never!” Cullen proclaimed, his lips meeting the pulse in her neck for a moment, and then stopping, “But if, perchance, I was late, then maybe I would trip over your boots if they were left in such a place.” He tipped her back onto the bed, smirk in place, but it fell away into a mingled look of awe and lust at the sight of her against the comforter, face and chest flushed from suppressed laughter and arousal. He fisted his hand in the back of his shirt and pulled it off with one smooth movement, rumpling his hair, curling slightly with the disturbance. Asta sat up, eager to see all of him here, in _their_ room. She reached out for him, and paused, looking up wordlessly for permission. “Asta, you don’t have to ask any longer. I’m not much, but what I am is yours, scars and all.” He sighed with the admission, a weight lifting. _Brave.  Hers._

Asta’s eyes went wide with the thought of having such freedom. It was a little frightening as well as exciting. “Really?” She bit her lip, hesitating, and lifted her hands, shaking slightly, to pull gently at the laces that held his pants up. They came loose all too quickly, and she wrapped her fingers around his waistband and pulled down before she could chicken out, leaving him wearing just his smallclothes and the shadows.

The candles flickered and shuddered in a sudden gust from the hole in his roof, sputtering, but not quite going out with the wind. The mottled darkness shifted across his skin in strange stripes of golden light and blotchy grey, and Asta couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, she traced the line of his waist to where it dripped beneath the clothing and laughed away her fear. “Talk about Satinalia presents…” She bit her lip again, wanting, but still intimidated.

Cullen understood, sensing her feelings so much like his own. But Maker, he wanted this. He would not let his own cowardice stop him from having this with her. So he covered her hands with his, and together the eased the cloth over his lean hips. “I meant it, Asta.” He leaned over slightly and finally caught her eyes, as she touched him so gently as to almost tickle. Her eyes dropped down and she explored him, tentatively. “You don’t have to hesitate. I will tell you, I swear it, if anything is… too much.”

He was silk and gold, smooth and hard as she touched and stroked curiously. She ran her fingernails over the flat panes of his lower stomach, and giggled as they rippled with the soft touch. “I don’t know why this feels different,” Asta confessed, “We’ve already…”

“I know,” Cullen replied, stilling her tickling fingers before he broke into helpless laughter. “I feel it too. Something has changed. I thought maybe it was because it’s been so long - months.” He sighed as she brought her hand around to wrap around him, stroking again, more confident, and closed his eyes.

“No, it’s because this time, it’s… forever.” Asta lifted her eyes to his, and watched him responding to her touch, moved out of her shyness.

“Perhaps you are right,” he sounded almost surprised, and his eyes opened as Asta rose up into his arms again, hands flat against his back, skin against skin.

She kissed him first this time, feeling his soft hair on his chest against her breasts teasing her. She kissed him, swearing herself to him with every caress of her lips, every touch of her body against his, giving her life to him as he dedicated his in kind, a mutual worship and servanthood that neither felt worthy of, but both ached to give to the other.

Cullen turned them around gently, somewhat resigned that if he wanted her to stay in the bed he would have to be in it first, and sat down, holding Asta between his legs. He threaded his fingers through hers, and leaned back, slowly, making her follow him with a small throaty laugh. He ran his free hand down her body, fingers trailing a path of heat against her side, cupped her ass briefly and then ran it down the back of her thigh, pulling her leg up to straddle him, as she echoed the movement with the other side. It left her wet and open against him, and it took all his willpower not to slide in at that moment, as she arched against his cock in eagerness, humming at the simple contact. He buried his face in her shoulder, holding her hand tighter, and tried desperately to stop shaking. He kissed the upper curve of her breast, trying to distract himself and failing miserably.

Asta could feel his shaking, “Cullen?” her voice rose, sounding concerned.

“I don’t want this to end too quickly. I want…” Cullen shuddered against her. “I’m afraid I won’t last. You are so…” this time, unlike the first, he knew more what to expect, and that he didn’t need to fear - and his body’s memories betrayed him all too willingly. He looked up at her beseechingly, eyes wide and desperate.

In response, Asta rose up on her knees slightly and disentangled her fingers from his. She slid them between them, and awkwardly positioned him against her. “Cullen, I don’t care about that. I love you. Please?”

He groaned, and pushed upwards as she pushed down. She was so tight, so slick and warm in contrast with the cool air around them, a juxtaposition of heat and cold, light and dark.  Her hand glowed against his, trapped fadelight beaming out between their palms. He drew back slowly and pushed again, Asta catching her breath at the increased pressure and depth of him inside her. “Cullen,” she whined, “that’s… oh!” Her hips rebelled and snapped down and against him, seating him deeply. It was her turn to shake, overwhelmed with sensation and otherwise unmoving, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to lie her down against the featherbed, flipping her over and sliding out only momentarily. She eagerly reaccepted him, legs wrapped around his back as if she were scared he would suddenly abandon her.

Cullen wanted to hammer into her, but managed to restrain himself, to his own surprise. Her legs loosened, and she spread them against him, the little movements making her gasp. She rocked her hips up, and ordered him, “Cullen… move!”

He couldn’t help but laugh inwardly at the imperious demand in her voice, but obeyed all the same, passion held firmly in check, lest he lose all control. Instead, he took her like a vow, every glide an oath, every touch an unspoken promise, the act of lovemaking itself a sweet sacrament in service to her. It didn’t take her long to cry out, breaking around him gently as he stroked her where the two of them joined. And at the end, he breathed into her ear, “Forever,” and followed her into a deep chasm that swallowed them both up, dark and warm and welcoming.

He came back to himself slowly, and rolled off to one side as soon as he remembered to not crush her, pulling a blanket over to shelter her from the absence of his heat. She curled into his side and he wiped yet more tears from her eyes, slightly worried. “Tears? Asta, are you…”

“Just the good kind,” she sighed, sleepy and content. She closed her eyes, unable to resist the pull of warmth and security he offered. “I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep, Asta,” Cullen whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” She answered with a yawn. “I love you,” and he wrapped his arm around her, hand against her back, determined to hold her safe while she slept.

“Love you, too,” she muttered, already almost gone, and she drifted off with her words, no nightmares chasing her with no fears to prey upon.

She was home at last, and Cullen’s last thought before he followed her into the Fade, was that in making a home for her, he had built one for himself as well. _Funny, I didn’t even realize that I needed one._

***

Dorian tapped his foot impatiently, leaning up against a beam, as he pretended he was reading about Arcane Warriors and how they compared to modern Knight Enchanters.  He certainly wasn't watching the door to Cullen's tower, after all. Solas had leant him the book, highly recommended by Vivienne. It wasn’t his field, but it seemed like an interesting topic, so he had picked it up. But he couldn’t concentrate, not with his dear friend about to come busting through that stubborn door with the news. Surely she would tell him first, he argued with himself. It wasn’t like it would be a surprise. Cullen had fallen to pieces when she fell into the Fade, with only Cole's vague messages to keep him glued together. Even the hesitant Templar couldn’t argue with himself after that little wake up call. The only true question was why they hadn’t been going at it like rabbits on the way back from Adamant. Dorian and Bull certainly had. Bull’s inventiveness had been raised to new heights indeed, with more than a little encouragement from himself, of course. He preened a bit in memory, and then sighed.

Of course, Dorian had not specifically been involved in the manual labor necessary to transform Cullen’s barren little loft, but the only person that hadn’t noticed the little project going on yesterday was Asta. She had been buried fully in her maps and records with Cassandra, apparently planning their trip to Caer Oswin while her quarters were emptied of anything that was specifically hers, like those silly toy soldiers from all over Thedas, and that monstrosity of a bear rug. Why anyone would decorate with fur, he couldn’t imagine.  Just barbaric.

The door opened at last, and Dorian peered over his book with subterfuge, arching an eyebrow when Asta appeared, glancing up shyly and beaming when she saw him. He allowed himself to crack a smile as she ran up the steps, apologizing to the scouts she displaced in her hurry, but barely pausing all the same. Dorian tossed aside the book with less care than he normally would have shown, and earned himself a scowl from the rebellious archivist.

“Dorian! You know better!” Asta scolded. “Pick it up and reshelf it!”

“I’ll just pick it back up as soon as you are gone,” Dorian justified. “Now, what news, young lady? Something juicy about a strapping young Templar of our acquaintance?”

Asta beamed in response. “You already know?” Her protests were inadequate, her joy coloring any disappointment she might have felt.

“Well, your room was being dismantled. Either you were dead, or moving out!” Dorian waved his hand idly. “Now, Asta, I want the details. What did he say?” Asta held up her hand, the simple silver ring saying it all for her. Dorian slumped back against his post. “You mean he…”

“Asked me to marry him.” Asta’s smile faded as she took in Dorian’s look of shock. “You didn’t know?”

“Quite the contrary. I figured he asked you to stay with him, live with him, or declared his undying love. Something of that sort.  I didn’t realize…” Dorian grew a little severe. “Asta, you know he has been… marked by demons.” _A charming euphemism for a scar that will never fade or disappear._

“Yes, he told me months ago.” Asta furrowed her brow. “I know it’s not going to be easy. That’s the sort of thing that you don’t really get over.”

“Exactly,” Dorian confirmed, “Asta, are you sure this is what you want? Just because you sleep with him doesn’t mean you have to marry him.”

Asta’s eyes narrowed. “Dorian Pavus, are you saying I don’t know what I want?”

“Not at all! But your relative inexperience…” Dorian didn’t want to crush her idealism or her perfect dream, but he would be far more gentle than, say, Vivienne.

“Altus Pavus, I know what I want. Him, demons, scars and all. No one is perfect. We will not have it easy. We have to spend a lot of time apart. We won’t be able to even get married until all this…” and Asta circled her hand, indicating all of Skyhold and the Inquisition, “is over and done with. We aren’t rushing off to Mother Gisele in the garden at the first opportunity, expecting our love to see us through. But all of this, the hand, what happened at the conclave and in the Fade and the Inquisition itself was thrust upon me. I have had so little choice in my life. Please, Dorian, understand. I know when I want something, and this is something I could have, if I’m brave enough.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I want some happiness in the midst of this chaos. I need it.”

Dorian relented. “My dear, I could deny you nothing, even if I had the right. Only you can make your own choices. And when the day comes, I hope you will both be very happy.”

“We already are.” Asta sighed, “I’m not an idiot, Dorian. I know my chances of survival are basically nil. I’m a terrible fighter, set up against a self-proclaimed god, a mage, no less, centuries old and corrupted by blight and red lyrium. I… want to have this, while I can. Is that wrong?” She looked guilty.

“Oh, Asta,” Dorian gave into his impulse and took the hand with the simple ring on it. “No, it isn’t wrong. And you have nothing to feel guilty about. It was not my place to rain on your parade. And if Bull and I or even Cassandra have anything to say about it, you will come back alive to your ex-Templar. You will have dozens of little curly haired babies, naming the first one Dorian, of course, and retire peacefully to the country, where no doubt he will learn to cook since you are hopeless.”

“Actually, we’ve talked about that. Babies are out - at least for a while. We’re going to have adventures! Cross the Boeric Ocean, explore the Deep Roads…” Asta frowned. “Though maybe not the Deep Roads. Cullen has a problem with enclosed places.” She waved that concern away. “But you see my point. We’ve both been trapped by branches of the Chantry all our lives. We’re going to see the world, visit Seheron and even Tevinter, if I can find a way in. I keep thinking about that amazing library…” she trailed off, looking dreamy. “I’m just sure all the answers to the questions I have about Andraste are in that library. Ages of lost knowledge, just waiting to be uncovered.”

Dorian barked out a laugh, “I would have thought you’d had enough of adventures already to last a lifetime!”

“On the contrary, the Inquisition has merely whetted my appetite. I was talking to Sky Watcher the other day - that Avvar we picked up in the Fallow Mire? He has some fascinating observations about his Lady of the Skies - I’m wondering how his mythology compares to the Old Gods and even the Elven pantheon. I certainly hope I get the opportunity to discuss it with him further.” Asta straightened. “I should go. I’m supposed to meet the advisors for a War Meeting and finalize plans for a trip to the Exalted Plains to mop up the rest of Gaspard’s followers. There are some strange rumors coming out of that place. Interested in going?”

Dorian hesitated, “Is Bull going?”

“No, I think I’ll take Cassandra or Blackwall, since they speak Orlesian. I figure it can’t hurt, even if they mostly speak Common. Actually, does Bull speak Orlesian? I’ve never asked, and many of his references came from there. I’ll have to ask! But I can take Solas or Vivienne, if you… want to stay with Bull?” Asta nudged him. “What’s going on there?”

“Going on? Why should there be something going on?” Dorian’s voice was a little too innocent. Asta frowned at him and then a wicked smile sparked her lips.

“Dorian, I will tell you all of the details of our engagement sex if you will share what exactly your relationship with Bull involves,” Asta wheedled.

“Ugh, no thanks. Go tell Cassandra, she’ll eat it up.  Besides, I don't want to corrupt your innocence.  Yet, anyway.” Dorian waved her away. “Go on, attend your meeting. Let me know when you are intending to leave.” After all, he didn’t even know if you could call what they had a relationship. Mutual satisfaction, yes. But… a relationship? _Don’t make me laugh._ “Asta, don’t let your own happiness turn you into the worst sort of matchmaker. It’s a nasty trap to fall into.” He deflected expertly and turned away, stifling the strange feeling of jealousy he had felt at her news.

_People like me don’t have relationships._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sooner or later I'm going to edit the heck out of this, tighten up the wording and plot (or what calls itself a plot). I'll probably wait until it is finished, though. In the meantime, if anyone would like to call out plotholes (ha, plot, I know...) or typos I've missed I would be grateful. Typos I would happily fix immediately. When I use it's instead of its or your instead of you're and notice it later, I cringe. But I type faster than I can catch it, and even with multiple edits and rereadings I miss stuff. I'd like to appear literate, however silly this story has become.


	39. Asunder

_My Love,_

_Oh, that does feel good to write. Love, love, love… it makes this trip seem worth it, just because I got to write those words, even though Caer Oswin is just a ruin of a keep in Fereldan, ruined further by the former Lord Seeker’s insanity. Maker’s Golden Balls, Cullen, I miss you._

_I should start at the beginning, I know. The trip here could have been worse. Vivienne called Cole a demon the entire trip. He was positively friendly about it, though, and confessed he would expect someone to kill him if he turned. Poor kid. I’m not sure what he is, exactly, but he’s special. I don’t think I would have gotten through the nightmares before Adamant without him. I hope he realizes he always has a place with me. Vivienne, though… I admit, she wears on me. But her skills are extraordinary. I hope we can limit the damage her beliefs could cause._

_Anyway, we arrived and found another cult. I’m serious - I guess with a title like the Herald of Andraste I attract them. I didn’t know much about these ones - Cassandra called them Promisers, and I found a book of their writings, but naturally I didn’t have time to read it while we were fighting for our lives. Again. I miss the Blades of Hessarian. Ivor of the Blades is relatively sane in comparison with most cultists, even if they do seem to worship me more than I like. (Namely, at all…) I think you’d like him, actually - you should see if you can get him to visit Skyhold._

_The Promisers appear to believe that the world has to end in order to be rebuilt correctly. Well, duh, is what I have to say to that. Seriously, every dull-witted student of history knows that an empire has to fall in order for another to take its place. The elven empire, Tevinter, Orlais… but they apparently take it a little more literally than that, and believe that hastening the process along is actually a good idea. Nut jobs, the lot of them. And they have it out specifically for the Seekers, so when Lucius sold out the Seeker order to Corypheus…_

_Ugh, I’m getting ahead of myself. (Also, judging by my disgusted noises, I’m hanging out too much with Cassandra. Who sends her congratulations by the way. She thinks our engagement very romantic.)_

_In the end, I decided Lucius was another fine example of Thedas’ insanity, babbling about Seekers being abominations and so on. He gave Cassandra a book - the official history of the Seekers - and she’s been poring over it for the entire trip back, looking more and more grave the closer she is to finishing. I think I need to see Varric about the Swords and Shields chapter she longs for, just to cheer her up. I’d like to read it to you anyway, considering what happened the last time I read a naughty book out loud to you…_

_What is it about Lord Seekers? Seriously, talking to Cole about Lord Seeker Lambert, I’m GLAD he killed the bastard. That man was a miserable excuse for a human being, and Cole’s friend Rhys is a sweet man by all accounts. Though maybe I just sympathize with him on his taste in lovers… after all, ex-Templars are the best. I wish Cole had kept going and taken out Lucius too. Because the Lord Seeker sold out his subordinates to Corypheus, who naturally fed them red lyrium because OF COURSE HE DID, just to see what would happen…_

_Is this letter going to trigger your symptoms? Oh, Maker, I’m sorry. I’ll skip over that part and tell you in person now that we are on our way back._

_But I digress. Again. The upshot is, that between Vivienne, Cole and Cassandra, aided in some small way by myself, another Chantry leader is dead by the Inquisition’s hands. That he deserved it is no matter. I would have liked to see him tried by the Divine, whoever she ends up being. Thank the Maker it won’t be me. Leliana informed me as much last week that my name has officially been removed from consideration due to my… worldly desires. I hope that means you and that I’m not being made out like some power hungry imperialist. No interest in ruling the world, here. Just want to clean up this mess and go find a nice library somewhere. Though lately I’m wondering if it will ever end. As you told me recently - there is always something else, isn’t there?_

_We will be back in a week or less now. I long for you, and our bed, and a warm bath, not necessarily in that order. I’ve been bathing in streams and my scalp still aches from the cold water. After I’m clean I want to wrap myself around you like a scarf. Hope that’s okay._

_In talking to Cole this morning, he rambled a bit, as he does, but he said something that made me think of you. ‘Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.’ Was that you? Or was he picking up someone else’s thoughts? Has he ever told you any of mine? Of course, mine are probably not half so lovely._

_I love you,_

_The future Mrs. Rutherford_

_(Maker, that looks and sounds ridiculous. But I wanted to see what it looked like. Now I know.)_

***

_Dear Asta,_

_If you like writing it, I like reading it. Getting your letter was the best part of a very long week, though a productive one. I think we need to get you and your team to the Emerald Graves sooner rather than later - that lead on Fairbanks is a good one. I think it will lead us to Samson._

_If you want to wrap yourself around me like a scarf, I will not complain. I’ve had some… ideas of my own, with your absence. Perhaps upon your return you will allow me some time to demonstrate? I would greatly like to show you how much you are missed. And yes, Cole’s ramblings were probably me. I have often had thoughts of pride about you, both in you as a person and in myself in that you chose me. And your presence soothes me, as I told you at the Winter Palace. And you know I long to be your shield, even when I cannot be near you._

_I don’t think it sounds ridiculous at all. And yes, that is the official response. But my morale would be greatly improved with you accepting that title, though you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand, with the many versions of contracts that Josie is shoving across my desk, that apparently many nobles don’t change their name upon marriage. So whatever you decide, my Asta._

_On a side note, I had no idea this - marriage - was going to be this complicated. Even though neither of us has land or many belongings, apparently your parents could still claim any children of our union as heirs - even though they officially disowned you after Halamshiral. However unlikely that event might be, considering your other brother, Leonard, has three children of his own. Did you know that you were an aunt? I only ask because I didn’t know I was an uncle… Then there is apparently a difficulty with a deceased Great Aunt Lucille? Did you have a Great Aunt Lucille? Apparently she left you a legacy that could be claimed if you ever married or had children. And no, she didn’t make those dependent on each other. Didn’t she realize that you were a Chantry Sister? I felt rather sheltered, when I realized what Josie was implying. Apparently your Great Aunt Lucille was quite prepared to have you leave the Chantry, and find a patron… of one sort or another. I’m glad I got to meet you before that happened. Though, imagining you as my mistress invokes quite another sort of longing. Perhaps you should come home…_

_So your family ties have caused complications. I think Josie is losing hair and sleep. And Max is alternating between being my best friend and glowering at me for not just marrying you overnight. As if Mother Gisele would have had anything to do with such a thing - Josie would have killed her, even if she looked upon you favorably._

_I hope you don’t mind about being disowned. I know I don’t. Between your brother and Dorian, and my sisters and brother, and DORIAN, for the love of Andraste’s Apples we have enough family to go around. Both Max and Dorian are acting odd, though, so come home soon. I cannot cope with both of them at the same time. I’m rather pleased that my family is safely distant._

_And yes, I wrote to my sister. I expect I will hear her squeals of shock and delight and immediate demands to meet you all the way from South Reach. Maker’s Breath, perhaps we should just elope when this is all over? Would you consider it? Of course, now that I have written it down, Leliana will know in any case. Hello, Leliana. Enjoy the letter. Sorry if it isn’t racy enough for you._

_Varric says I’m spending too much time polishing my armor and making sad puppy faces off the battlements. Dorian says I need a hobby, and recommended gambling, of all things. Just what I need, another addiction. Bull keeps inviting me for drinks in the tavern. What is Maraas-Lok?_

_Quite honestly, I may accept the invitation for drinks. I could use the distraction. I had Guy dust your desk and move some of your work down so it didn’t seem so empty. He rolled his eyes and said something very Orlesian. You might have to teach me a little, just so that I can tell when he’s being insubordinate. If he weren’t so bloody efficient… Bloody Orlesians._

_I enclose a stray dandelion that I found in the garden. Nothing much is blooming right now, but even such a lowly weed has lovely meanings. Faithfulness, Love’s Oracle, and Wishes Come True. All of them apply._

_I miss you. I love you. Come home to me, safe and sound. I pray for the day when I can leave with you. Mother Gisele is very pleased with the frequency of my chants. I wish she would go hang out in Val Royeaux._

_I’d better try to get some sleep. My bed seems very empty. Funny how quickly that happened._

_Your Commander,_

_Cullen_

***

Asta tipped her head back and blinked back tears. Disowned. _It shouldn’t hurt like this,_ she thought. _I barely know them. But they didn’t even wait to see how I rebuilt the continent. No doubt that’s why Max is acting weird. He was probably hoping that I would come home triumphant and trailing glory, relieving him of any duties as heir._ She folded her letter carefully, and tucked it into her saddlebags. _Ah, Leonard. So much a nonentity. Still following the parental line, married the boring neighbor girl they intended for him. Hope he isn’t miserable. At least he had kids so Max and I don’t have to._ She sat up. _That’s right, disownment works both ways._

“Vivienne!”

“Yes, my dear?” The mage glided over, imperious and regal as always, even after two weeks on the road and several bloody skirmishes. _How does she stay so clean?_

“Is it possible to deny my parents any access or legal right to my children?”

“Whatever… yes, my dear, you could. Why would you want to?”

“I’ve been disowned. I want to make it mutual.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that at all, my dear. The Trevelyan name… it could open doors for your children, just as it did for you.”

“My children will not be Trevelyans. They will be Rutherfords. Assuming I have any at all. Maker knows. But it can be done, correct?” Asta pressed.

“Yes,” Vivienne’s lips were a thin line. “Shame that your blood will be treated so casually. Marriage is for heirs and alliances, my dear. I would have thought you would have more sense.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Madame.” Asta inclined her head, and took out parchment and ink. “I have to write a letter.”

_Cullen,_

_Please forward the enclosed letter to Josie. Feel free to read it, and let me know if you disagree. It impacts you as well. I am going to deny my parents any legal right to my - our - hypothetical children._

_I love you. I will arrive shortly after this letter, weather permitting._

_Asta_

_Dear Josie,_

_I need you to draft up a decree to deliver to my parents, disavowing any claim to the name Trevelyan. This is intended to stop their legal right to any children of my body. Let me know if you can think of a better way. But they can’t have me, and they can’t have any of my hypothetical kids, either. They can fuck off and die, and upon their death they have many heirs to choose from between Max, Leonard and Leonard‘s kids. Brats, if I remember right, but they deserve bratty grandkids._

_Great Aunt Lucille - how I miss her. She knew me better than I knew myself. Will the above impact her kindly thought? I want to do it in any case, but… it’s nice to know she thought of me. How I miss her. Perhaps I’ll use the funds and build a public garden in her name or something. Or a ballroom would be more appropriate. She always did love a party. Would it stretch so far?_

_I will be home in just a few days, shortly after you receive this letter. Please, for the love of Andraste, stop giving sample contracts to Cullen. The poor man is overwhelmed, talking elopement and getting cold feet from dealing with my hopefully temporary nobility. I’ll handle it with you when we get back, and just share the necessary details with him. Unless you can compare it to a siege. I bet he could grasp that analogy. In any case, leave him alone for now. I know it will take ages to iron out in any case. These things take time. Thank you, I know it’s above and beyond what you expected to be doing when you joined the Inquisition._

_Say hi to Max for me? It’s nice to know he’s still hanging around, despite our lousy parents. Tell Leliana that I will speak to her about him when I return. He needs a set purpose if he is staying with the Inquisition. I wonder if he is still reporting to my parents at all._

_Sincerely,_

_A.T._

***

Max scowled into his Dwarven Ale. Cabot had taken one look at him and poured him something truly dark and evil looking. Orzammar Stout, he had called it. It tasted a little like the worst kind of coffee that had been sitting in a pot for days, but it was undeniably alcoholic, and that’s what mattered.

Max had problems. His parents wanted him home. Yesterday. But Max liked the Inquisition. He had felt useful here, for the first time in his life, watching his only sister rebuild Thedas into something better, maybe even something like it once had been, before the Blight, before even Andraste. And Max… had met someone. Someone his parents were going to hate.

Her name was Bernadette. She was gorgeous, 4’ 2” on a good day, busty, sweet, funny, could drink him under the table - _Andraste’s Mercy, she’d love this stuff -_ and she was a dwarf. A surfacer. Never been to Orzammar, didn’t care to go, honestly. She had facial tattoos, and dark hair that she kept short to fit under her helmet.  She wielded a greatsword like lifting a beer bottle.  Scout Harding had introduced them, and they had served on several missions together. Max had a very hard choice to make. He liked having money. He liked having his title to open doors for him, to buy him grace when he needed the leeway. And Leonard was a prick. But Bernadette… if anyone was worth leaving all that behind for, it was her. And unlike his sister, he didn’t have a dream or any skills to fall back on if he did leave it all behind. Bernadette hadn’t issued him an ultimatum, but… it wasn’t right, leaving her hanging when he would happily give it up to be with her, if it weren’t…

Max wasn’t good at planning. He needed a strategist. He needed someone good at the Game. Josie? Sister Nightingale? Asta? He groaned. The memory of Josie’s slap still stung his cheek. Sister Nightingale hated him with a passion, though they could work together well enough. Just personally, she despised him. That left his sister, who had enough problems of her own. Max sighed. It was hopeless. He was hopeless.

“Girl trouble?” Cabot refilled his stein.

“How’d you know?”

“Oh please, I have eyes. I’m a bartender. I know when I should look like I’m listening. But if you need someone to really listen, may I suggest the Iron Bull? He’s underestimated in the ears department, but that guy knows things.” Cabot nodded in the Bull’s direction.

Max stood from his stool, a little shaky, and made his way over. It couldn’t hurt, and maybe it would help. He’d take help however he could find it.

“Bernadette, huh?” Iron Bull tipped back his huge mug, and slammed it down. “Yeah, I’ve seen her looking at you. Like something she wants but can’t have. She drinks with Lace. Lace wants her to give up on her ’noble boy’. That would be you, I take it.”

“Probably. Maker, she should. I’m nobody, just a shell with a title. She deserves better,” Max slurred. “What’s this stuff? Tastes worse than the stout, and that was like week old coffee!”

Bull roared. “That’s Maraas-Lok! It’ll put chest on your chest!”

Max squinted at his chest. “Well, it couldn’t hurt. Most dwarves are built like barrels. Bernie’d probably like it.” And he drank again. “What can I do? I wuv - love her!”

“Easy, let your brother have the title, learn a trade. You can make good money as a scout with the Inquisition, get some experience and work as a mercenary after.  Prove yourself, and I might even take you on. You wouldn’t be the first noble to leave their title behind and piss off their parents to join up. It’d probably thrill your sister, since she spends her thoughts on you wondering which side you’re playing. Let her worry less. And if - Bernie- is any indication, I think she’d take up with you in a minute if she was sure of your affections and a future with you. Your sister isn’t going to care. I saw her congratulating an elf-Qunari couple a month ago. Odd couples in the Inquisition. It’s all good here. Outside these walls, it gets harder.” Bull drank again, his mask in place.

“Yeah? Heard you and that magister...”

“He ain’t a magister.” Bull cut him off. “He’s an Altus, or was, before the mess with his dad, and yeah, we spend some time together.”

“Don’t take it wrong, I think you’re cute!” Max hiccupped. “You and Dorian, you make sense. It’s like forbidden, but perfect. You fill in each other’s spaces. You keep doing your thing, Bull.” He raised his stein at the massive warrior.  "Keep doin' your thing."

Bull’s eye glinted at the very drunk noble. “You think a grey-skinned Qunari merc and a Tevinter mage look cute together? I should show you my Dawnstone armor. It‘s pretty.” Bull grunted. “As for Dorian and I… glad someone thinks so. He’s been… distant.” He got a gleam in his eye. “Hey, Max, you up for dragon hunting?”

Max squinted, his vision more than a little blurry. “Seriously? Which one? You and Sister, you run into them all the time.”

“Just a close one. Hinterlands. I won’t drag you to the Western Approach or anything. I want a tooth, but Asta only rattles on about upsetting the local ecology or some such nonsense. She says we’ll take the Crestwood one out first, and then only the rest as necessary to keep people safe.” Bull snorted. “Cullen told me she insisted the soldiers relocate the Varghests at the oasis in the Western Approach. Said they were endangered. Bullshit.” Bull roared, “And I don’t mean mine!”

Max laughed at the rude joke, too far in his cups to try to be dignified. “Shure, I’d go. Who doesn’t wanna figh a dragon, righ? Sumtin to tell the kids…”

“To your kids!” Bull roared, “Your little dwarven children!”

“Damn right! To Bernie!” Max roared back, and then fell off his stool while trying to drink, not realizing his stein was empty, and hit his head, knocking himself out.

Bull looked down at him. “Damn, I’d better take him to the infirmary. Cabot will kick me out if I get blood on his floor again.” He slung the unconscious heir over his shoulder and made his way to the exit, nodding at the watching Scout Harding. “Evening, Lace.”

Lace watched from her bench, eyes narrowed. She had to speak to Bernadette, soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more Lord Seekers! Just a Lady Seeker! Maybe then they won't all be insane. Read Asunder. Interesting story.


	40. No Magic in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an extra chapter. That long weekend was apparently just what my brain needed to wrap these next few chapters up. NSFW

Dorian put down his book on the Qun, wishing he could talk with someone besides the Bull with personal experience. It seemed simple, and yet so incredibly complicated. The re-education that the Ben-Hasserath did was brutal - but not unlike some of the things that happened in Tevinter to enemies of the Magisterium. Without his birthright, he’d be just as liable to end up like that, with blood mages slowly convincing him how wrong the Inquisition was while he begged for a sip of water.

He held no illusions about his country. But it was his country, however misguided. At least he knew that for now, he could serve it best by being here instead of there.

He reopened the book.

‘It is every individual's choice whether or not they act according to their nature and the nature of the world, or oppose the proper order, and as such fight against themselves and the world. The individual is not truly "individual", but part of the whole. Their own nature contributes to the larger nature of the world, and so their struggle against self-balance disrupts the balance of the whole, thus hurting themselves.’

That really didn’t sound that bad. Most of his life he had been hiding his true nature. He had definitely been hurting himself. It was only when he finally stopped, refused to marry the girl and left the country that he had felt… free. Was his birthright so important after all? ‘Then change yourself. You make your own world.’ That was what Koslun had said. Under the Qun, they tested for your true nature, helped you find a place in the world that was your own. The only difficulties people had was when they didn’t fit in their given mold. Like Bull, both liar and warrior. And yet, the man was not a liar. He could lie, but it didn’t define him. Had it ever? Did the labels you gave yourself truly ever define what you were or what you could be?

Dorian didn’t know what to think any longer. Maybe it was time to stop thinking.

***

It was a rare hot day in Skyhold, one that had almost all the residents holed up in search of shade, cool drinks or both. Asta lay facedown on their bed, maps and records and reports spread out around her, quill scribbling furiously with a book as a makeshift desk as she muttered to herself about supply routes and possible campsites. “No ready source of firewood - that’s a problem,” she murmured, but marked the site as tentative all the same.

Cullen watched her quietly from the top of the ladder to their quarters, unnoticed for now. She had stripped down in the heat to just her breastband and smallclothes. His own were feeling a bit too tight, actually. She used her fingers to measure an approximate distance, brow furrowed. A single line of sweat dripped down from her forehead, hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was glistening, he realized, too warm, yet unable to stop working, even as her ink refused to dry. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and smeared a little ink across it, echoing Hawke’s blood streak, however unconsciously.

He moved up the rest of the ladder slowly, not wanting to startle her into spilling the inkwell so precariously perched on the corner of the map she was working on. But she flashed him a quick, preoccupied smile and went right back to work, her focus indomitable. He had stripped out of his armor downstairs, far too hot to be wearing such layers, and had largely had the same thoughts as her, without the paperwork. He had called it a day on account of heat - the Orlesian and Marcher officers laughing at the Fereldan boy behind their hands, but taking the afternoon off all the same, to find lemonade or cider and a cool spot in the shade.

So now, to see his Marcher up here wearing nothing but her skivvies… he laughed quietly at his officers in turn.

“What’s so funny?” Asta asked, not looking up, and measuring another distance with her fingers.

“Nothing at all, except that apparently the day is a bit hot, even for those of us from the Free Marches.”

“Of course it is. Even Dorian was declaring his intention of ‘laying out’, I believe, in the garden. Said he had been reading too much and needed some down time. I was invited to join him, but I freckle and burn, not tan. Mostly freckle. Not the most attractive look, as Dorian was forced to agree.”

Indeed she was freckled, random dots kissed by the sun across the skin of her shoulders, nose and forehead. Cullen had the sudden urge to duplicate the sun’s path, but the papers strewn about were a formidable defense indeed. Not to mention that inkwell… there had been enough spilling of ink in his office and quarters recently. The staff had yet to forgive him.

And then he caught a glimpse of her round bottom under her smallclothes, the curve just peeking out, and noticed the cleavage under her breastband, somewhat squashed by her slightly arched position, feet in the air up by his pillow. He cursed his body mentally, and then decided. She had been gone for a couple of weeks, after all, and just returned last night. They had four days at most together before she had to ride off to the Dales, and he was very inclined to make the most of their unexpected afternoon off. She would need some convincing, however, that was apparent.

“Do you need all of this paper?” He asked, taking advantage of her preoccupation to drop his own smallclothes on the floor, ignoring the basket set aside for just that purpose. It went completely unobserved by his Inquisitor, still in full planning mode.

“Probably not any more. I’ve compiled all the reports into a single comprehensive map of the area. It should include what nobles are at least tolerant, what Avvar tribes will let us cross their territories, marked supply caches and so on. I’m just trying to match up a list of tentative campsites with all that chaos. It’s harder than it looks. It’s not like the Western Approach - people actually live here. Or did, at least, before it became a war zone. I don’t want to end up camping in someone’s backyard by accident. The Inquisition needs its ties in Orlais to stay positive. At least for now. And once we leave the road just before Halamshiral it’s all going to be new. I hate camping blind. Better to have a plan, and a backup. I’m even considering skirting the Frostbacks going South - the weather will be cooler, meaning we’ll need more firewood, but some of the Avvar aren’t friendly… though Josie has been working on that. But any further East and we start running into a lack of trees until we reach the Dales. No firewood… I don’t want to have to collect the horses’ dung again like the Approach. That was nasty and miserable.”

Cullen glanced at her map while he stacked up her numerous discarded reports and maps, setting them on the floor in attempted tidy piles. “I see, that is a problem,” he settled himself comfortably on the bed, leaning slightly to see the map better. Also, from this viewpoint, he had an excellent view of her ass, cheekily disappearing under red fabric. She was completely unconscious of how beguiling her position was, lounging in her under things. By now, Cullen had bigger problems than a lack of good campsites, and if Asta had looked back, it would have been more than evident with the absence of clothing.

He made his move deliberately. “What about here? Access to a stream or river that heads vaguely South,” he leaned forward over the map, tracing the river’s path with his fingers of one hand, while running the others up her leg to her thigh and curving them around one buttock, just edging the fabric so limiting his view.

Asta caught her breath, shot a look at him, so apparently engrossed in her map, and tried to refocus. “Yes, that would work for the first night off the road. If we can camp by that copse, we’ll have wood, but it might be too green.”

“That’s easy. Have the forward scouts cut you a supply of wood.” He was stroking her idly, back and forth now, over the cloth and Asta narrowed her eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to see it in her mind’s eye, or distracted by his movements. “Have them prepare the site for you. No smoky fires that won’t stay lit. No reason we can’t include dry firewood in a supply cache, after all.”

“That’s a good point,” Asta choked out, his fingers on her playing havoc with her clear thinking. He wasn’t playing fair. This was important! But he was solving her issues… and creating some new ones.

Cullen continued, “It looks to me like that river continues in fits and spurts clear to the Dales. Tomorrow, ask Leliana if that’s the case. Her scouts probably know if it’s continuous or not. No point sending you in blind when you could be… prepared.” His fingertip grazed under the cloth now, still gently and almost absentmindedly.

Asta hummed, in pleasure and agreement, “Oh, yes, that would be…” he dipped in, slightly deeper, “…good.” She squeaked out.

“And there are trees all along that area. Fallen wood wouldn’t be an issue until the Flats, far East and days away.” Cullen pointed out. “Even with Celene and Gaspard decimating the Plains you’ll still be able to find… wood.” He had leaned his body further over her own in an apparent attempt to point out the Deavin Flats border, and to provide contact with his own example of wood. Now he was half on top of her, his cock against her thigh, hand so recently tracing lines between her legs pointing out a nearly non-existent border. “You won’t make it that far into Orlais. Several rivers run through the Dales, for one, and crossing them could prove difficult.”

Asta could barely breathe. What had gotten into him? Was this man trying to seduce her over a map?  He shifted back suddenly, as if reading her thoughts, hand pressed on the featherbed between her thighs, close enough… but not close _enough._

“Care to send a team with me to build a bridge?” As if in reward, Cullen ran his hand back up her thigh - only to dart away like a minnow. Asta clenched her teeth. What was he up to? She was throbbing now in frustration with the silly teasing.

Almost randomly he stroked the curve of her ass. “Perhaps. I’ll keep an appropriate team near or in Skyhold. Just send a raven and I’ll deploy them.”

The way he said ‘deploy’ made her want to flip over, inkwell and quill be damned, and kiss him senseless. But she didn’t. “That would be wise. They can be there soon enough, and I’d hate to lose Inquisition forces to these Freemen and the possibly unrelated undead. Not to mention the ever-present demons, of course.”

Cullen’s hand drifted lower, stroking over the center of the cloth still between them. “Such care for the troops, Asta. I’m sure they are… grateful.”

“Oh? How grateful are they?” Asta moaned as he cupped her gently, slipping a finger underneath, and simultaneously plucking the quill from her long motionless hand. He set it and the open inkwell on the bedside table, briskly efficient. She was so wet… she could feel the slipperiness coating them both.

“Quite grateful,” Cullen leaned over, allowing himself to brush against her bare thigh again. “I’ll have the Commander write you a thank you note. In great detail.” He bent down and ran his tongue along the back of her neck, tasting the saltiness on her skin, and stopping to kiss the top of her spine.

Shivers ran down Asta’s back at the contact. “That would be… sufficient.”

“No, I don’t think it is…” Cullen mused, kissing down the line of her spine until he reached her breastband, pulling and freeing her breasts from their unfortunate confinement. They fell out, brushing the bedcovers, overly sensitive, and Asta’s gasp made him grin wickedly. “I think the Commander can do more,” he murmured against her skin, tracing the freckles on her shoulders with his tongue in random circles. She was all too aware that he was close enough to her to keep her from flipping over now, but Maker…

“Oh? Do you have any suggestions?” Asta’s voice was tinny now and she cleared her throat in vain.

“One or two…” Cullen cupped her breasts in both hands, thumbing her nipples, but then dropped them, running his hand in retreat to nestle back between her thighs. “But will you… entertain them?”

“I don’t know,” Asta squeaked, “I’m feeling rather favorable towards Commanders right now.” She tried to wiggle back to increase the pressure, but failed. He chuckled softly. He had her right where he wanted her.

“Then stay still,” his clever fingers left a void between her legs, only to reappear at her waist to pull her smallclothes off to meet his on the floor. The air was warm around her - she didn’t even notice the lack. A single finger reentered her, deeper this time, and the angle was different, but not bad. She tried to meet it halfway, so wet without the fabric containing the moisture. He slipped a second digit inside her and she raised her hips, nearly planting her face in the map. Cullen laughed and folded it up one handed, and rather haphazardly. “Let’s put this away, shall we?” He tossed it on the floor. “Can I… can we… try something different?”

Asta turned her head sideways and smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

“Lift your hips,” he continued to stroke her, pumping gently now, in and out rhythmically. She was still so tight. “On your hands and knees?” He sounded unsure as she shifted, trying not to displace his hand. “Is that all right?”

“That’s fine, Cullen,” Asta pushed herself up. “Like this?”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen breathed, transfixed. She was open to him, and he hastened to move behind her.

“Is this what you were thinking?” She asked curiously. “I’ve read about this, but obviously…”

“Yes…” Cullen lined himself up between her legs, and then reached around to fondle her breasts. She arched them into his hands, humming again and bucked back against his hips. He choked. “Maker fucking Andraste in the Fade, Asta…”

“Cullen Rutherford!” Asta head snapped up. “Filthy mouth!” But she was laughing. “You never say anything worse than ‘Maker’s Breath’!”

“Look who is talking,” he muttered. “Asta, this is… how am I going to…”

“Cullen, I’m getting tired of your hesitation! I’m here, I want you. Just…” he entered her with a single stroke and she cried out in sudden bliss. “Cullen!”

“Is that better,” he panted, trying to regain control and failing. “I hope so, because, damn it to the Void, Asta, that feels…” Asta pulled away and slammed back into him, not quite as hard but just as eagerly. “Andraste’s Ass!”

“I suppose it is… Cullen, don’t you dare stop!” They were already sweating hard, and neither had moved much at all, but Cullen went to work, holding her around her waist with his hands and letting her play with herself while he pounded against her, their moans mingling with the squeaking of the bed frame and the floor. She bent her head down, hair falling out of it’s careful bun, sweat dripping from her forehead.

“Sweet Andraste!” Cullen moaned, “I can’t… just like that, Asta, I can’t…”

Asta moaned, “Don’t! I can’t stop it either! Just… I’m…” She vibrated like a lute string and snapped, unable to move. “Keep going!”

Cullen couldn’t help but obey, groans and praises and obscenities falling from his lips in equal measure. Asta had never heard him say half of these before, had never even heard a few of them at all. Somehow, hearing her sweet Chantry boy lose it this way was bringing her even closer to her own finale. He grasped her waist far too tightly and felt her orgasm around him. He arched his own back and lost the last of his control, hammering into her, balls deep and tight as she moaned with every movement. “Asta!” He groaned at last, finishing hard and slumping forward onto her back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Asta crumpled, head on her arms, resting, dripping sweat. “I may need a bath, however. Maker’s Mirror, Cullen, that was… different. Different good. Different great. Different… I have no words.”

Cullen shuddered a laugh. “Glad you liked it. I… it was…”

“Transcendent.” Asta laughed.

“Ah, back to normal already? I’ll have to do better next time, then,” Cullen slid off of her, and stretched out, boneless, feet on her pillow.

“Better might kill me,” Asta muttered, mouth still hidden. “The Orlesians call this the ‘small death’ you know.”

“Apparently even Orlesians get some things right,” Cullen admitted. “I could die happy right now.”

“Don’t you dare,” Asta curled up next to him. “You owe me a bath. Maker, it’s hot.”

“I didn’t even realize how much until I came up here. Let’s just stay up here for the rest of the day.”

“Now that sounds like a plan. The baths will all be full anyway until after dark. Hmm, maybe it will be cooler then.” She yawned. “I think I’ll sleep.”

“Right behind you,” Cullen wrapped his arm around her. “You might have company in that bath. Maybe. If I’m really not dead. Are you sure I‘m not dead?”

“Not dead. I look forward to it.”

***

The next day, Dorian was horribly sun burnt and grumpy. “Tevinters don’t burn. It had better fade in a day or two or…”

Asta couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s the reflected sunlight! All that sun and snow and ice… sends the rays right into your skin. You need an aloe potion. Talk to Solas or one of the healers. Did you at least recover from reading too much?”

“No!” Dorian pouted. “I was supposed to regain my equilibrium, but it didn’t help. I’m still just as twisted up as I ever was.”

Asta hesitated. “Is it Bull?”

“No!” Dorian protested too quickly. “Yes. Maybe. Did you know that the Qun is based on being who you are supposed to be? Yes, the reeducation stuff is awful, but… I can see the appeal in knowing where you belong. I’ve never had that.”

Asta shook her head, “Dorian, have you been reading the writings of Koslun? Are you considering… converting?!”

“No, absolutely not! But… the Qun seems to work for Bull. He is who he is, you know. Not ashamed, just…” Dorian gestured, “out there. Maybe too much out there. Would it kill him to wear a shirt?” He shook his head.

“And you like who he is,” Asta guessed. “And wondered if there was room for you?”

“Sort of. Maybe. Why?” Dorian grew suspicious. “Did he say something? He’s been… funny lately. Almost giddy, like he has a secret he’s not telling.”

“Well, he is a Qunari agent…” Asta pointed out.

“Not that kind of secret!” Dorian raised his voice and the librarian shushed them. “A… happy secret. Which reminds me. In one of the other books on the Qun I found this mention of a piece of jewelry. A tooth, actually.”

“What kind of a tooth?”

Dorian tried to smile winningly. “A dragon tooth. I want you to help me find one.”

“Dorian, I really don’t think we’re just going to find a dragon tooth laying around somewhere…” Asta began.

“No, hear me out! We have to take out the dragon in Crestwood. It’s been killing people and pets and all sorts of things, right? Take me along! I’ll get my tooth and…”

“Dorian, Bull has been begging me to kill dragons since we set foot in the Hinterlands! He’ll never forgive me if I take you and not him to kill one! And I assume that you don’t want him along or your little surprise would be ruined, correct?”

“Well, yes.” Dorian raised his chin. “I guess I’ll just have to tell Cullen about the smutty novels you hide in my room.”

“Oh, please, he’d probably just want me to read them to him,” Asta muttered. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Oh really? What about the one featuring the King and the Lady Warden? Don’t you think he’d want to know your secret fantasies about…”

“Oh Maker, Dorian, FINE. I’ll take you with me to Crestwood. Don’t you dare tell Cullen about… Maker, he actually met them back then! It would be a nightmare!” Asta glared at Dorian. “I’ll kill you!”

Dorian snapped up a barrier. “No Magic in the Library!” The librarian hissed. Dorian let it fall, his point made.

“You can try, my dear. You can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes on the Qun are from the Dragon Age Wiki. Too appropriate not to share directly. I think they'd appeal to Dorian about now.


	41. Not So Exalted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fun writing these letters. Again, thanks to everyone that is still reading. Part of me still can't believe that anyone is actually enjoying this silly story. This chapter starts to hint at a side story I'm working on about Loranil and a mostly original character. Hopefully it won't be as long as this one. A few chapters, probably, at most. I'm finalizing it now, so maybe next week?
> 
> Also, because this chapter is completely letters, I didn't bother with the italic formatting. If that's confusing, let me know. I'll fix it.

Cullen,

I have been informed by certain advisors of our mutual acquaintance that perhaps it would be wise for me to write you two letters, one professional and one private, just in case the former needs to be shared in council whilst I am away.

That does make sense, doesn’t it? I can imagine you standing there, blushing adorably while trying to mentally edit some of my more… personal anecdotes. I have no doubt Leliana will read them both, but that doesn’t bother me as much as it did. Let her see what you mean to me.

You, obviously, are under no such limitations, and can mix in the saucy as much as you like - or at least dare. Please dare. It would greatly improve my morale.

For Gaspard and Celene have turned most of this epically beautiful place into a graveyard. Mind you, they were only following in the footsteps of Sister Amity 700 years prior. Too much blood has been spilled on this land. “Exalted Plains”, my ass, it should still be Dirthavaren as intended and promised by Andraste’s children. Ville Montevelan lies in ruins, Amity’s markers the only structure left standing. The irony makes me ill. When we first arrived the forces of Gaspard and Celene were completely underground with very few exceptions - holed up and hiding from the Freemen and undead.

What does it say that a former Chantry sister has to liberate the Orlesian armies from their own cowardice? I’m inclined to join you in saying ‘Bloody Orlesians’. Perhaps at least I can aid the local Dalish tribe. I can’t believe they are still here, but their situation is rather desperate. I met a very friendly Dalish hunter - and he introduced me to his Keeper. I’m helping them out so that they can evacuate as much as I can. Building goodwill with the Dalish is never a mistake. One of their young men seems uncommonly eager to join the Inquisition. Odd, but we are more than willing to have him. Their scouts are uncanny. His Keeper will have to allow him to leave, though.

Most of my assistance has been basic staples. Spindleweed, hides, and the like. Their resources are depleted and their aravels (their caravans - NOT pulled by Halla! I had no idea!) in poor repair. The Keeper also asked our group to clear their local sacred burial site from demons. I admit, I was tempted - graves are a fabulous source of knowledge about the past and a whole graveyard full… but I resisted. Too much wrong has already been done. At least their dead should rest in peace.

Loranil, the young elf that wants to join the Inquisition, asked me to send a letter for him. Strange, but I complied. I sense no dissemblance and didn’t tell the Keeper. It seemed to be addressed to an Orlesian lady who lived in Montevelan - probably until she was forced to evacuate. Possibly we have an unconventional love story on our hands! Don’t worry, I will keep it to myself. You and I know all too well the value of privacy. And such a relationship could only cause stress on both sides. A Dalish elf and a young noblewoman… his Keeper and her parents would both disapprove, I’m sure.

My tent is very cold, even though we had to double up. At least as Inquisitor I can choose my bunkmate. I took a little glee in choosing Cassandra, thus making Vivienne and Sera stay together. Vivienne absolutely refuses to bunk with any of the men. Says her reputation is at stake. She’s the known mistress of the Duke of Ghislain, and she worries about her reputation? Orlesians. But I miss you to warm me up. The nights are getting chillier, and we are extremely grateful for the firewood caches. Can we arrange a bonus of some sort for the scouts that took care of that? And make it a regular procedure?  At least until winter ends?

I will write more soon. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, even though I want to tell you about the rivers and the ruins (so many ruins!) and making Sera and Cole chase a Golden Halla… I haven’t laughed like that since before Adamant. I bet you didn’t realize we were going to be herding Halla. Well, just the one. Sera was livid!

I love you. Consider yourself kissed thoroughly.

Your Asta

***

My dear Asta,

I hardly know where to begin. Should I tell you how your pillow still smells of your hair? I wrap myself around it at night, but it almost makes my sleep worse, not better. A pillow is a lacking substitute. I am in a bad way. I blush to admit it, but I’ve started carrying around your smallclothes in my pocket - the ones you gave me for ‘luck’ at the lake. An odd favor for a Knight, to be sure, and one I cannot display.

If this Loranil wishes to join us, by all means, try to curry favor with his Keeper. I can only imagine the lack of privacy he has to endure. Josephine and Leliana are tracking down his lady, and Josie seems confident of success.

I should tell you that your brother and Iron Bull are hatching some sort of plot. Your brother seems to be drinking with him a lot lately… and they keep borrowing my maps of the Hinterlands and talking to that Serault fellow. The expert on dragons. I suspect, but have no proof. Perhaps you should write to him?

Leliana informs me that he has officially cut ties with your parents. The bastard - no offense - is staying with the Inquisition, it seems. She seemed to be testing the waters with me about dwarves as well… but it’s probably unrelated. Perhaps she is forming closer ties with the Carta or the Merchant’s Guild. Varric would rather die.

I hope your brother doesn’t hurt himself on that Maraas-Lok. My head hurt for three days. And that was after I found myself and Bull singing a song of the Qun in the tavern. In Qunlat. I don’t speak more than a couple of words of Qunlat. Certainly not enough to be singing it. However, the Qunari mercenaries we employ seemed very warm to me the next day. Bull said I performed admirably. Maker’s Breath, apparently I need you here to keep me out of these situations.

I know it will be months before I can expect to see you. Your face haunts my dreams - the good and bad. I have no flower for this letter - if it is autumn there, here everything is thoroughly frozen, except for the hothouses Elan maintains. And she glowers when I try to enter. Very scary. I think she puts protective runes on them.

Enjoy the ruins. I have no doubt you will astound us all with what you learn. Let Blackwall and Cassandra take point, please?

I remain your shield, even here.

Cullen

***

Commander,

It appears I will require that group of builders you put aside for my use. The bridge at Pont Agur has been destroyed. We have stopped the undead on this side of the river, liberated the ramparts, Fort Revasan and the Riverside Garrison.

Loranil is on his way to join you. I believe he is expecting another recruit… time will tell.

As discussed, I will move directly onto the Emerald Graves from here.

Also, let me know if your builders would also be capable of moving a great deal of stone. There appears to have been a cave in. While I don’t expect to need access to Ghilan’nain’s Grove on this trip, the very name speaks of elven lore. I cannot resist.

Solas is returning to Skyhold, I think, on his own. Don’t worry, Dorian and Vivienne remain with me. He has had an… unexpected loss, and needs some recovery time. Consider him on bereavement leave for a time.

Expect a more personal letter shortly.

Sincerely,

Inquisitor Trevelyan

P.S. See, I can write a professional letter, Leliana!

***

Inquisitor,

I am sending a crew that will more than suffice for both bridge building and rock removal. Dorian should be most appreciative. Also, a large amount of ale, at their request. I have my doubts.

I tried to get permission, like a guilty child, to accompany them. Leliana shot me down. Apparently my desire to move large rocks in your presence and impress you with my engineering prowess is less important than, say, investigating Emprise du Lion’s silence, troop rotations in Val Chevin, or Inquisition assistance in rebuilding Kirkwall. Imagine that.

Unfortunately, the dwarven builder that was supposed to lead the bridge construction had an unfortunate accident. He’s currently recovering from a bad fall from a scaffold - a broken leg. I fear that the ultimate appearance of the bridge will suffer, but we really have no option since I cannot come myself. It will at least be serviceable. I hope.

Perhaps I should not have approved the requisition for so much ale.

I am yours to command, my lady.

Cullen

***

Dear Cullen,

I like the sound of that. Mine to command? With Solas gone, Sera has moved to Blackwall’s tent and Cassandra to Vivienne’s. Apparently I’m allergic to something in the air here, and I’m snoring horribly. How embarrassing. So here I am, all alone in my tent, thinking of you being mine to command… pictures of you, hot and sweaty with moving rocks, said sweat dripping off you, your hair running riot in curls… probably naked from the waist up. Mmm. We’ve been having a run of hot days here. I haven’t been wearing much beyond my trousers and a thin chemise. Even gone without a breastband for a few days… my nipples are probably visible, but it’s so hot…

I’d run my hand down your chest, unable to help myself. I’d pull your lips down to mine, fisting my hand in those impossible curls. (Naturally, we would be alone. A fantasy is the ideal situation, after all.) You’d clench me to you, slanting your mouth across mine, pulling me down with you to a clear spot amongst the boulders and…

I’ll write more to you later. Andraste's Flaming Knickers, I miss you.

(resumed sometime later) I feel a little better now. Talk about poor substitutes. I really do miss you - not just physically. I had to deliver a bunch of letters we recovered from fallen soldiers on both sides to their commanding officer. I wanted to cry. I wanted you to hold me. You are a great comfort to me, Cullen. I’m fairly sure that without you, Cole and Dorian I would have fallen apart by now. You aren’t just my shield, you are my sword and my strength.

I feel silly sending you flowers, but I found a patch of Lady’s Seal (Be my support) today, and it was just too hard to resist. Much like yourself.

This trip is already too long and will be much longer. Trust that I remain,

Your Asta

***

Asta,

Maker’s Breath, woman, if that’s what your personal letters are going to consist of… exactly how much were you holding back before… never mind. The truth is that I enjoyed reading that and… had some alone time myself that evening.

‘Alone time’. There has to be a better euphemism for… Just forget I said that, actually. Besides, when you aren’t here most of my evenings are alone. I’m turned off of drinking with the Iron Bull. Varric wants to play Wicked Grace with me, ‘to give me a break from polishing my armor, amongst other things’. I know what he is eluding to. He isn’t wrong. If I give in, know that I couldn’t be alone with my thoughts for another moment. An absolute last resort.

By now the construction team should be there and starting work. I hope they build the bridge first. I’m having serious doubts about the amount of ale they requisitioned.

Hopefully the Emerald Graves will be more straightforward. At least there are no reports of Halla there. Something called an August Ram that apparently is blue… but it isn’t domesticated. You will have to tell me the whole story of Sera and the Golden Halla when you return. I want to see your facial expressions, so that I don’t have to use my imagination. My imagination is getting quite enough exercise lately.

If you have need of my sword, know it is yours. But I’d rather stand between you and the darkness so that it never threatens you at all. I guess that’s why I’m here and you are there, really.

But regardless of how or when you need me, I am yours.

Cullen

P.S. If I am your strength, you are my words. I love you. C.R.

***

Cullen,

Merciful Maker. You don’t need me to be your words. Have you really been… do I have to keep going? Just thinking about it… I’m not normally speechless. But I have a very clear picture of you right now, laying back on your bed with your hand…

I’m going to finish this in my tent. Dorian is trying to look over my shoulder while I write. I suspect he’s been going through my saddlebags. I also suspect we are going to be leaving here in about two days. The bridge is built. It’s awful. Tell your injured builder to get well soon. It didn’t fall apart, however. It took a long time, but we found survivors across the river, they locked themselves in using old elven defense mechanisms when the undead attacked. Stupid fools using technology they didn‘t understand. That said, it probably saved their lives. Although my small group made short work of them, with some minor injuries. There were so many… even Crestwood wasn’t this bad.

In my tent now, I can feel Dorian scowling at me through the canvas. Tell Bull to write to him, please. I know it’s a lot to ask, but he keeps reading Koslun. I’m getting a little worried. He says he’s not considering converting, but… I’m not particularly Andrastean, you know that, but Dorian and the Qun? He says it makes sense. Not for him. He told me this story about his birthright, how he doesn’t truly have a place in Tevinter as his father’s son any longer. I think it hurts him more than he shows.

That said, you aren’t the only one whose hands have been busy. Completely insufficient. I should have requisitioned you when I had the chance. Is there anything we could bribe Leliana with? A new pair of shoes? I swear, when I get back to Skyhold we aren’t leaving our bed for three days. At least. Maybe a week. We’ll have our meals delivered, and baths sent to your office, keep the doors locked otherwise. I’m going to have my way with you everywhere. Including your desk, the ladder, against that ridiculous tree - has your ceiling been repaired yet? - on the bear rug, the bookshelves… I may need a demonstration of the sort of ‘polishing’ you’ve been doing.

I want to hear more about this imagination of yours. What has it been thinking of?

I long to be with you. The Emerald Graves are supposed to be beautiful, and rich in lost knowledge. I even have a good enough relationship with the elves here that they told me about some ruins there, and a branch of their tribe that was trying to recover some. But even the pull of that cannot compete with my desire to see you again, to touch you again, to speak to you, to hear you laugh, to see you smirk when you leave me legless on the battlements after a ‘break’.

I love you. That is beginning to seem totally inadequate.

Asta

***

Hey Dorian,

Cullen told me you were reading Koslun. What the Void for? You don’t need that crap. The Qun is a good life for a lot of people, but you would be crushed under its weight. You don’t need to change or be changed. You fighting who they wanted you to be in Tevinter has made you a stronger man.  The Qun would be that in spades.  You'd come out stronger in the way they wanted you to be stronger, but broken in the worst way.  They'd sew your mouth shut, and they wouldn't even buy you dinner first.

Quit reading it. I’ll tell you anything you are curious about. Why didn’t you just ask?

Is that why you didn’t even say good-bye? Is that why you decided to go with the Boss? She told me that she gave you the option of staying - though with Solas abandoning her halfway through the mission I’m glad you went. You’re a good man, Dorian, nothing like that piece of shit that spawned you. I’m proud to know you.

We are talking when you get back, whether you want to or not. Koslun, of all things. I’m going to go hit something now. Maybe Krem has improved his shield bash.

Bull

***

Bull,

What I read has no impact on you whatsoever. If I want to read Koslun, I will. I do have a few questions, however, so will take you up on your offer.

I have missed you. Don’t read into that any more than what it says. If you write to me again, I may write back. If I have time. This mission has been very eventful, so I may not.

We reached the Emerald Graves yesterday, and have set up camp. It is lovely here. Asta is considering rotating out Blackwall and sending for you. Don’t feel like you have to come. It would probably only take you a few days, riding hard, though.

Sincerely,

Dorian Pavus

***

Dear Bull,

Sending Blackwall home for a break - an Arcane Horror got him pretty bad, cracked a rib and fractured his tibia. He definitely needs a break. Care to join us? There are giants here. More than just one. Dozens.

Someone misses you, but you know how he is. If you could get him to quit reading Koslun I’d happily put up with the noises from your tent. Oh, bring a few extra tents. We could all use a bit of a break from each other. If Solas were available, I’d send Vivienne home too.

Come on out, if you like. I could use a bodyguard. Cullen will kill me if I get too close to these giants. And it’s not how I want to go, honestly. They pick up rocks and drop them on you. And slam their fists into your head. It’s amazing to watch them do it to Red Templars, but… well, you’ll love it.

Fair warning, lots of Red Templars. I’m writing to the Commander about it, though. Just get your grey ass out here.

Asta

***

Dorian,

“Don’t feel like you have to come?” Never been a problem for me. But you know that.

I’ll ride hard. See if I don’t. Might even make it before this letter. Tell the Boss to send Blackwall home.

Bull

 


	42. The Graves

Dear Commander,

The Red Templar presence in the Emerald Graves goes far beyond anything we have seen before. They are here in droves. Fairbanks is a reasonable sort - one of the women here seems determined to prove that he’s a noble, although possibly born on the wrong side of the blanket. Does it really matter? Apparently it would set him up financially, but otherwise, he doesn’t seem interested. Not sure what to do about it - would appreciate some advice from my advisors.

Bull has arrived, safe and sound, and is positively reveling in the giants. He woke up this morning, ate his breakfast and went out to find a giant. He killed it, came back, took a bath in the river, singing at the top of his lungs - Dorian was beet red with embarrassment but didn’t look away either - and then we took off for this Din’an Hanin that Keeper Hawen had told us about. Has there been any luck with finding Loranil’s young lady? I’m curious and nosy.

And yes, Leliana, that belongs in the ‘professional’ letter. I’m the Inquisitor, caring about my troop’s morale is a part of the profession. And by your and the Commander’s letters, Loranil has been extremely helpful to the cause. That kind of service should be rewarded.

I’ve found quite a bit of evidence about the lyrium smuggling that you were looking for. I think I’m onto something. Mines and quarries, Commander. There is a theme here - the quarry in Crestwood, the veridium mine here. Mines in the Western Approach. Have they found a way to grow and harvest it? I keep being haunted by my memory of Fiona in that blighted future at Redcliffe - red lyrium growing from her body. Surely not…

And now I have probably triggered your symptoms again. But I’m afraid this is crucial information I’m passing on. If you start having symptoms or other difficulties, please see a healer. That’s an order.

My group is working together famously, I’m happy to say. We have taken the Freeman stronghold and allowed Fairbanks’ group of refugees resettle there. It’s far more defensible than the cave they were sheltering in before. I think they will be all right.

This place is filled with creepy (yes, that is a technical word, Commander) abandoned manors, some of which are being used by the Red Templars as bases. Needless to say I have to clear every single one of them before I return.

Expect a personal letter shortly.

Sincerely,

A.T.

***

Inquisitor,

Contrary to both you and the Commander’s belief, I do not read your personal mail. I cannot vouch for all my scouts, however. And if the letter isn’t marked ‘personal’, I do read it. I too am nosy and curious. It is what makes me so good at my job. If I catch my scouts reading a letter marked ‘personal’ between you and the Commander, rest assured I will scold them… and then find out exactly what was in it that kept them reading after it was evident that it wasn‘t meant for their eyes.

I’m only human, Inquisitor.

Josie and I agree that proving Fairbanks’ noble birth could be useful to the Inquisition - and also to the refugees. The Commander begs to differ. He thinks we should leave the man alone. I don’t think any of us are surprised by that. In the end, it will depend on you. Perhaps you should ask the man himself? What kind of evidence have you found? It must be something rather compelling, for the Council of Heralds to admit him.

No word yet on Scout Loranil’s young lady. Apparently she was staying with an aunt in Val Royeaux? Josie’s contacts have a couple of leads on young ladies from the Dales that were evacuated. Unfortunately, it seems that several of them did not survive the trip to the city. All we can do is hope that his young lady was more fortunate - and from his description of her, she sounds able to defend herself at least.

Unlike someone else we know. Truly, Asta, why didn’t you continue the Tempest training? Or the Assassin, for that matter? Your skills are improving, but not quickly enough. One of these days you won’t be fast enough and the Inquisition will find itself without a leader.

Think about it.

S. N.

***

Leliana,

It turns out I am allergic to the Tempest alchemy. I tried it again in the Exalted Plains, and whatever Sera puts in those flasks makes me break out into hives. Thank heaven Solas and Vivienne were there so that they could treat me or I would probably be dead.

And I can’t bring myself to train as an assassin. I know it’s a valid field, and that the Inquisition has many such, but… it seems contrary to my ideals. We’ve spoken of how ideals are crucial right now, and I know we disagreed, but I cannot sacrifice this. Varric has agreed to help me learn how to be an artificer, however, so we’ll try that. Hopefully I am better with my hands than at the alchemy table.

I know this disappoints you, but well, I will not change my mind. That is not who I am, or who I want to be. If I could remain a librarian and still serve the Inquisition, I would. Unfortunately, I am needed in the field, so I serve there instead. I go where I am needed, but because of that, I also have limits for how far I will take my service. Don’t try to push me past them.

Thank you, and thank Josie for her assistance with Loranil’s young lady. Tell Josie that on our way back, we will stop in Val Royeaux about that contract we spoke of . It’s a little out of the way, but would be silly to return to Skyhold just to leave again. I will send her word when I head that way.

Sincerely,

A.T.

***

Cullen,

I found a waterfall today. I was a mess, so I sent everyone but Cassandra back to camp and let her stand guard so I could bathe. It was a lovely place, all silvery and the greenery here - it is like living inside a jewel. The water was cold, and I got all nipply, so I checked that Cassandra was far enough away and… well, thought of you a bit. Still completely insufficient, but it shouldn’t be much longer than a month now. More than halfway through this long, long mission. I imagined you there, with me, your body hot against the cold water, using your mouth the way you do - it’s better when I think about you touching me, rather than about how I am forced to touch myself. I suppose that’s not strange, when I think about it.

I am doing good work here. I know, but it’s so hard to be away from you. Do you miss me at all? I miss you more than words. (And you know how much that means, coming from me.)

Dorian and Bull are arguing over the Qun, again. It’s bizarre. You’d expect Bull to be arguing in favor, but instead, he is listing all the points against it, and Dorian is defending it. Last night, Bull actually said something positive about Tevinter and I nearly fell off my log. You’d probably enjoy the debate, but I can’t help but wonder if there is something else going on behind it… maybe they aren’t really debating the validity of the Qun at all, but something much deeper. They argue into the night, and then retire to separate tents, only to start it all over again in the morning after Bull kills his obligatory giant. But they are working something out. I caught Bull giving Dorian a shoulder rub last night, and Dorian let him - in front of everyone. I don’t think Dorian has ever let Bull touch him in public before. It ended quickly enough when Sera hooted.

If I didn’t need her out here, I’d send her home. Likewise Vivienne. We are all a little tired of hearing about Cassandra and myself could improve our demeanor and appearance. Her opinions grow tiresome. But everyone here is probably sick of me raving about elven glory - they got enough of that from Solas in the Plains - and picking up every weed we come across, even the rashvine - which by the way, it turns out I am violently allergic to. Another reason I cannot send Vivienne home. She’s the only one who knows how to make the skin cream I need. Prophet’s Laurel and aloe, I think… but I don’t know the ratio.

I continue to have a tent to myself, however, so at least they get a break from me. And no one has attempted murder yet.

When I get home, I am definitely going to have you on the bear rug. I killed a Great Bear today. No, really, it was me, not Cassandra or Bull. I did it. I think I really am improving. I felt a little bad afterward, even though I know that the rifts drive them crazy, and they aren’t acting like they should. Helisma’s report was very interesting on that front, and did make me feel better about all the wildlife we decimate as we cross this country.

Leliana, however, has thoroughly scolded me for not becoming an assassin. I can’t do it, Cullen. I just can’t. I hope at least you understand why. Cole says he does. I think he said, ‘Heart bleeds with every death. The Rose withers. She doesn’t sing anymore.” Not sure if that was more about Leliana or me, come to think of it. I hope she’s okay - nothing happened while I’ve been gone, right? She all but admitted she encourages her scouts to read our private letters while maintaining she doesn’t do it herself.

Leliana, if you are reading this, I worry about you.

I’d better try to get some sleep, despite missing you so desperately. I don’t suppose… but no, there isn’t even a convenient bridge that needs building, or rocks to remove out here. Nothing but trees, ruins, red Templars, refugees, rifts, demons and a fuck-ton of wildlife.

Still, I wish you were here with me.

I love you,

Asta

***

My Asta,

How can you even ask if I miss you? Never doubt that. It won’t be long now - just a few weeks, with luck. Someday, the two of us will travel to that waterfall, and I will fulfill every fantasy you had. It sounds rather… cold and wet. In the meantime, perhaps I will keep your bear rug warm for you. That sounds rather diverting and much more weather appropriate.

Seriously, woman, I don’t think I’ve ever needed this much… alone time. Maker’s Breath, I hate that euphemism. I’m not going to tell you to stop writing these things, though. I enjoy them too much. Perhaps this is a good point to confess that I’ve read the second chapter of Swords and Shields? I have to fill the time when I can’t sleep with something, after all.

Thank you for the letters. I think that we will have the location of the red lyrium mine ready upon your return. And perhaps, even Samson. That said, I have knowledge of Samson’s lieutenant - a Templar Knight-Captain named Carroll. Before you come home, we have knowledge that Carroll is trying to reestablish contact with the Freemen. He is going to have to be - removed. I would appreciate it if you could make it quick. I knew him once, a long time ago.

It hurts, what men I once considered brothers have become. There is likely nothing left of the young man that would accept cookies as bribes and share them with us later. There weren’t many cookies in the Circle. Of course, sometimes people would give him gold and he’d head to the Spoiled Princess to meet this girl, instead… but he was human, then.

Come home soon,

Cullen

***

Cullen Rutherford, I swear it upon my stupid gilded throne that I will make you cookies as soon as I get back to Skyhold. And then sit on you until you eat every last one. I’m writing to Josie right now and telling her to add cookies to the menu for the soldiers until this is over. Even we kids that were raised in the chantry had cookies! They weren’t very good cookies, they had raisins - yuck - but still, cookies.

Now I am ordering you to tell me your favorite cookie right this second or I will write to your sister and find out.

Wouldn’t it be great if it all it took to cure Thedas of its messes were to bake cookies for everyone?

I’m having a hard time with this situation. But Carroll is gone. May the Maker guide him to his side. Cole helped. It was as quick as we could make it, and as painless.

My thoughts are with you, my love,

Asta

***

Asta,

Thank you. I know that you don’t credit Andraste with divinity, but… I appreciate the thought for Carroll, and for me.

Actually, my favorite cookies are very simple. Nothing but flour, butter and sugar, and a little vanilla, if it’s available. Fereldan shortbread. Sometimes Mother would add almonds, if she had them. Vanilla and almonds were hard to find in Honnleath, they had to be imported.

Have you ever had shortbread? Do they make it in the Free Marches? I never saw any place in Kirkwall sell it.

Mia wrote me back. I get the impression that she is overwhelmed by our relationship. At least enough that she probably isn’t going to visit Skyhold and bust in on us and demand exactly how I managed to land the Inquisitor, the best hope of all Thedas, as my fiancée.

Fiancée. The Orlesians do have some nice words, don’t they? Much better than betrothed, or wife-to-be, or future ball and chain.

Loranil and I have been studying Orlesian together. I’m tempted to replace Guy, but he’s so damn efficient. I still can’t tell what he mutters under his breath, however. What does ‘vache’ mean? Leliana only laughed at me when I asked.

After all, though, I think I’d still rather just be able to call you mine.

And I am yours,

Cullen

***

Cullen,

I am going to make this an informal letter, damn it. Quibble over the difference with Leliana later.

I am on my home from Val Royeaux, with a book on Fereldan cookery that I found severely marked down, as well as a certain young lady that an equally young elf has been pining for. Josie’s unfortunate situation has been fortuitous in one respect, at least. I will fill you in upon my return.

I wish that we could have been young together. Mademoiselle Girent is positively exuberant about her Loranil. They’ve been apart for over a _year_ , Cullen. I shudder at the thought. Months are bad enough. And before that she had one night before her father whisked her away from the war and her love.

Maker, Varric is going to eat this up, isn’t he? Forbidden romance, love on a battlefield, a single night of passion before the inevitable occurs - it’s got him written all over it.

Actually, I’d read it. Never claimed to be a literary snob, after all.

I wish I had all the years to spend with you that I wasted in the Chantry. The more I think about what is to come, I know our time is so precious, so likely to be cut short. I want to spend it all with you. And yet I cannot. I cannot even bring myself to hope lately… everything I do seems inadequate for the monumental task set before me.

Perhaps someday we will no longer be at war, perhaps then, I will be able to be with you, and you with me. I could almost bring myself to pray to Andraste for such a day to come. I wish I could believe in her. Perhaps then there would be comfort. Cole has been muttering around me again, but I can’t remember what he says.

The young lady’s aunt is quite a character. I can’t wait to show you what else I bought. You will be scandalized. I greatly look forward to it.

I will see you in a week or less, if I can manage it. My equestrian skills are improving slightly as well. Who knows, maybe by the end of all of this I will be able to make it to Skyhold from Val Royeaux in three days, like the chevaliers brag about being able to do, and take on a giant on my own!

That’s supposed to be funny, I have no intention of doing either. I wouldn’t be able to sit for weeks, and I am all too aware of the damage giants can do to me.

I love you,

Asta

***

Asta Trevelyan,

You only bought one book? ONE? Guy is commenting on how surprised I look. Nosy Orlesian.

I could write to Mia for her recipes, you know.

I am unsure whether to be excited or dread what you could have purchased that would scandalize me. You went shopping with an Orlesian noblewoman? Tell me it doesn’t have Vivienne’s shoulder pads, at least.

Please do not fight any giants that you don’t have to fight. And rest properly on your way back to me.

I await your return.

Cullen

***

My dear Commander,

Do not eat anything that Asta makes. I beg you. The last time we let her cook camp food we were sick for days afterward. She made us promise not to tell. She is incapable of following a recipe - whether in alchemy or basic cooking.

Don’t eat anything Sera makes, either. She mixes up ingredients and adds ‘surprises’.

You will thank me when you realize how bad it can be. Trust me, even Fereldan dishes can be ruined.

Dorian

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there are probably more mistakes than usual. My router decided to quit working this weekend, so I have to make my usual final alterations plugged in and standing up, because I do not prefer to write seated at my desktop. And all my stuff is on my laptop. And it's a pain to move it. Hopefully I'll have a new router Wednesday.
> 
> Yes, in my laziness I am inconveniencing myself. If anyone points out mistakes, I will fix them.


	43. When the Shit Hits the Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up the angst a bit. Some of you might be unhappy with me for a little while, but I will try to intersperse some of the misery with the fluffy. But I can't ignore the misery entirely. Right now I actually have two full versions of the rest of this going - one REALLY unhappy and one happi(er). I haven't decided which to use, but I prefer happy endings myself. I might just break it off and post it separately at some point for those of you that might want to read the really miserable version. In the meantime, hang in there. Of course, with the new DLC coming out (yay!) any and all of this is subject to change. Until I post it, nothing is set in stone. Not even sure why I'm posting this warning, except that Asta still isn't in a good place, and might do something she regrets. Try to have patience with her.

Bull glared at Krem. “Come on, put your back into it! I’m working my ass off over here!”

“There’s still plenty of ass left, Chief!” Krem pointed out as Asta approached warily. She recognized this mood of Bull’s - he’d been in it since had met them in the Graves and started killing a giant every morning and then arguing with Dorian again until bedtime. Apparently all the giant killing wasn’t enough to shake whatever was eating him loose.

When they had finally gotten back from Val Royeaux, the entire party had split apart like a banana - more than ready for some downtime on their own terms. Even Cassandra was avoiding the training dummies now - Bull had not exactly made himself popular. It had been four days since their return, and no one knew where Cassandra was drilling. Asta sighed. She had been too caught up in the happy return with Loranil’s young lady, and then the quick wedding… she had been remiss. But it had been so nice to deal with something happy and non-violent for once that she had let herself been pulled into it. Even on the day of the wedding itself, her and Cullen had done nothing but talk shop after leaving the party - it had just been too long since they had been able to discuss anything in depth. It had been productive - and frustrating.

She would find Cassandra soon, talk to her. And it looked as well like Varric had a guest - and the war meetings about the Arbor Wilds were lasting forever, and now there was the Emprise du Lion… Cullen was right, there was always something else.

“Get some water!” Bull ordered Krem, who looked at him askance and departed for the well, more than willing to get away from the mighty Qunari that was trying to pummel him into the ground. “Hey, Boss. I’ve got to talk to you about something.”

“Is it about Dorian?” Asta asked bluntly, “because I swear, you two just need to move in together, or buy a ring or whatever Qunari - Tevinter couples do when they are courting. I have had it with the arguing and the sexual tension. Or is that a Qunari thing?”

“What?” Bull actually stepped back. “No, it’s not about that. No, I got a message from the Qun. They want a full alliance. Want to meet you on the Storm Coast, have a joint operation, a small team of my Chargers and Qunari and Inquisition forces, take out the latest flood of Venatori into the area and make a deal.”

“What?” Asta blinked. “They don’t do that, do they?”

“Not until now, but they wouldn’t have offered if they didn’t mean it,” Bull shook his horns irritably. “It would be good for the Inquisition, more sea power, more influence.”

“You don’t seem happy about it,” Asta observed.

“I’m just used to them being… over there,” Bull confessed. “It’s a little too close to home, you know what I mean?”

“Well, I’ll meet with them,” Asta said, “and I can’t let the Venatori gain a hold on the coast. But… I have reservations, Bull. Huge ones. No offense, but I don’t trust your country’s leadership. Hell, I don’t trust any country’s leadership, lately. All they do is make messes that I have to clean up!” She thought for a minute, “Well, except for King Alistair. He seems to be doing a decent job. Good for him.”

Bull barked a laugh, “I hear ya, Boss. So, we going?”

“In a few days? I have to repack, and see if Dagna has come out with anything more waterproof than the last time we were at the Storm Coast. Dorian wasn’t the only one who felt like a drowned rat.” Asta uncrossed her arms. “Okay, well, I’m going to go figure out where Cassandra is hiding. I know this last trip preyed upon all our nerves, but she’s been missing for days. Surely she isn’t still holed up in the forge brooding. And Varric has a guest I have to meet with, apparently. All secretive about that.”

“You bake those cookies for Cullen yet?” Bull asked.

“How did… never mind. Bull, you’ve been reading my mail, too?”

“Yeah, old habits die hard. I like the bear rug idea, by the way. How’d it go?”

“I‘ll let you know,” Asta smirked. “But Fereldans like their fur.”

“See ya, Boss,” Bull laughed.

“See ya, Bull.”

Asta crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs back to the main keep, figuring that she would deal with Varric’s guest before Cassandra. Just in case Cassandra started throwing and stabbing things. It had happened before. Only to find herself in front of Varric’s fire, blinking in shock. “Bianca?” She looked narrowly at Varric. “Like the crossbow?”

“Half the girls in the Smith caste are named Bianca,” the woman deflected, “I could have been Helga. I got lucky.”

“Right…” Asta didn’t believe a word of it. She had never met a dwarf named Helga, for one. “So you have a lead on red lyrium?”

“Valamaar,” Varric said.

“Wait, that rings a bell - it was like a year ago - we cleaned that place out of Carta, right?” Asta groaned, “Tell me I don’t have to go back to the Hinterlands. Please, Varric. What have I ever done to you?”

“Sorry, your Inquisitorialness,” Varric looked genuinely chagrined. “I’ll make it up to you? You and Curly, Wicked Grace tonight?”

“Oh no,” Asta said, “Cullen told me you were trying to get him to play. He said if he agreed it was a last resort. That he‘d rather be alone with his thoughts and armor.”

“No,” Varric grinned, “I’m trying to get him to lose. Everything. It’s a win-win, Asta.”

The thought was intriguing. “Oh,” Asta shook her head. “Raincheck on that, Varric. I’ve got a million things to do. I have to plan a trip to the Storm Coast with Bull, and now this Valamaar thing, and Cassandra’s sulking…”

“The Seeker?” Varric looked… guilty.

“Varric, what did you do?” Asta crossed her arms and stuck out her hip. “If you’ve gone and antagonized the Seeker again…”

“Nothing! I’m sure she’s fine, just a little under the weather.” But he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Whatever, Varric. But she’s coming with us to the Hinterlands, so whatever is going on, work it out. Before we leave. You have a couple weeks, I won’t take either of you to the Storm Coast.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Bianca looked at Varric, “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Varric, I have things to do, you know.” She left, ostensibly to get her things, and Varric rubbed the back of his neck, unintentionally looking a bit like Cullen for a moment.

“Right, that’s not going to be a problem,” he muttered. “Not at all.”

Asta gave him a dirty eyeball, but let it go. She’d get the whole story soon enough.

Cassandra was nowhere to be found. Asta thought she knew all of Skyhold’s nooks and crannies, but she couldn’t find her anywhere. She finally gave up, and returned to her rooms, grabbing lunch on the way. Maybe she could distract Cullen and get him to take a break.

She found him pacing. “We have to get you to the Emprise du Lion, Inquisitor.” Asta sighed, and put the food down on his desk.

“We were going to do that anyway, weren’t we? Silence, quarries, frozen rivers, refugees, reports of rifts spawning demons, dragons… Bull was thrilled.”

“Yes, but now it’s critical.”

“Everything is critical, Commander. I have a possible alliance with the Qunari to approach, red lyrium - again - in the Hinterlands, an ‘arcane advisor’ who tells me that Corypheus wants to enter the fade physically again using an eluvian, of all things, and that there is one in the Arbor Wilds and that’s why it’s swarming with Red Templars…, and now I have to visit the Emprise du Lion in what is the coldest spring there in forever…”

Cullen slammed his hands down on his desk, “Do you think I’m happy about it?” he shouted. “You just got back, we’ve had four days, in which we’ve been too busy to do more than exchange a quick kiss in passing. By the time I fall into bed at night, you’re fast asleep and I won’t wake you. I’ve spent months thinking about you, about how I would touch you, spend time with you, show you how much you’ve been missed, only to have to send you away as soon as you get back!” He stopped, seeing the despondent look on her face, and slumped forward, head down. “And yet I have no choice. Asta, I…”

“Right,” Asta crossed over and rammed the bolt shut on the battlement door, crossed over and drove the one home on the bridge to the tower, and the last, just as emphatically. “You need a break, and we’re taking it together.”

“Asta, it’s the middle of the day,” Cullen warned.

“And if I know you, you haven’t eaten, and you are obviously trying to drive yourself into an early grave.” She crossed her arms for what seemed like the millionth time that day and looked at him. “Is it the lyrium?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel like withdrawals. But…”

“But it has been weeks since you’ve rested properly. I know we’re busy, Cullen, but if you don’t take care of yourself,” she started.

“I don’t want to take care of myself! I want to take care of _you._ ” He slammed his hands down again. “How can I be your shield when I’m stuck here like this?”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m officially declaring that the Arbor Wilds will have to wait,” Asta stood straighter. “We are not prepared for our forces to engage the enemy there. I’ll call a war meeting tomorrow and announce my decision. For now, we are going to investigate the possibility of a Qunari alliance…”

“You keep talking about that - what’s going on? This is the first I’ve heard…”

“Bull just told me. Why do you think I’m here with lunch? I was going to discuss it with you.” Asta shrugged, “I knew you’d have valuable input into the decision. And as someone who lived through a Qunari invasion…”

Cullen relaxed a little, “So you weren’t going over my head because I can’t handle it without the lyrium?”

Asta tilted her head. “Is that what you thought? That I was making decisions for you to protect you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Maybe.”

“Sit,” Asta ordered. “Eat. Let me tell you about the shit that has been my day so far.” He obeyed and picked up a sandwich. “Cassandra is missing. I’ve never known her to miss so many days without training. Not even when she’s sick. I’m beginning to think she’s fallen down the well. Or that rickety staircase to my old room. On top of that, Bull pulls me aside to tell me that his people want to ally with us. The Qunari don’t ally, they invade. I have major problems with that. The whole thing stinks, Cullen. And I suspect he’s known about this for longer than he’s shared, judging by the arguments with Dorian about the Qun in the Graves. Maker’s hairy balls, I’m so sick of the Qun!”

Cullen finished his sandwich and started on another and Asta started pacing. “And then Varric introduces me to _Bianca_. The dwarf, not the crossbow. She tells me that she knows where the red lyrium is being mined from in the Hinterlands. Andraste’s Knicker Weasels, Cullen, she just _knows?_ We’ve been looking for the connection for months! I’d suspect Varric of holding out on me, but…” Asta stopped pacing. “Oh, shit. He’s been… Shit, Varric. You didn’t…”

Cullen reached out and held her hand. “What’s done is done, Asta.”

“Except now I have to clean up his mess.” She laughed hoarsely. “Damn it, Cullen, I’m sick of this. If I can’t trust my inner circle to keep their fucking mouths shut, who can I trust?”

There was an emphatic knock at the door. “Go away!” Cullen yelled.

“I’m sorry, Commander, but Leliana has urgent news. I’ve been told not to leave until I report to you.” Cullen strode across to the door and slammed back the bolt.

“Report,” he growled out. The runner looked at him wide-eyed.

“Blackwall is missing, sir. Leliana found this in his quarters,” he handed off a broadsheet. “She wants to meet with you and the Inquisitor immediately.

Asta stood and took the sheet of parchment from Cullen. “What now?” She sighed. “Val Royeaux. Fucking Val Royeaux. I was just there. Blackwall, what the Void are you up to?” She faced the runner, “Tell Leliana to meet us in the War Room.”

***

Asta braced herself into the desk. “Leliana, I’m leaving for Val Royeaux immediately. If you can keep it quiet, do. When I return, I’ll be leaving for the Storm Coast with Bull, Dorian and Vivienne to discuss a possible Qunari alliance. Get the details from Bull, please. When I get back from that, I’ll be heading to Valamaar with Varric. I’m officially pushing back our involvement in the Arbor Wilds until after the Emprise du Lion. We have to get some of this - mess - taken care of. My inner circle is splintering.” Asta looked up at her, “I don’t suppose you know where Cassandra is hiding.”

Leliana nodded. “I do. She told me to tell you that if you needed her, she would come, but she doesn’t want to talk right now.”

Asta sighed, “I don’t blame her. The Seeker situation and Daniel’s death hit her hard. Tell her that I’ll want her along for the trip to the Hinterlands, but until then she should consider herself on leave.”

Leliana hesitated, “She will not want to travel with Varric, Inquisitor.”

“She has no choice. She is coming with me, whether she fucking likes it or not. She knows what red lyrium is capable of and I need her. Whatever is going on, tell her to work it out. Especially since Blackwall has gone AWOL. I would take him to Valamaar as well, but if he doesn‘t return, I have to be able to depend on her.”

Leliana frowned, “Yes, Inquisitor.”

“I’m going with her to Val Royeaux,” Cullen stated.

“Commander, now is not the time,” Asta started.

“It’s exactly the time. You aren’t going to head into a situation in that… viper’s nest, with no backup and no plan. We don’t know why Blackwall is there, or if he’s even there at all!”

Leliana was nodding along in agreement. “I have to agree with the Commander on this one, Inquisitor. I’ve known for some time that Blackwall was… suspicious. I think we all did, but he’s good at his job,” she shook her head. “Whatever you find out, you need support. The Commander is the best person to provide that for now, with Cassandra indisposed and Bull occupied with his superiors. I will find out what I can here, and let you know.”

Asta shoved herself upright. “Fine. We leave for Val Royeaux within the hour, Commander. Let’s go pack.”

Leliana and Cullen exchanged concerned glances behind her back as she left the room, and Cullen nodded to Leliana, confirming. “I’ll take care of her.”

“See that you do.” Leliana turned away and gathered her papers, praying silently that Blackwall’s defection wasn’t what she thought.

***

Max caught her on the way out of the gate. “Asta! Wait up!”

“What NOW?!” Asta snarled at him, and then checked herself. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m in a bit of a hurry though. Can I,” she hesitated, “help you with something?”

“I just wanted to introduce you to someone!” He beamed. “Asta, this is Bernadette. Bernie, this is my sister, the Inquisitor. I wanted you to meet each other.” Bernie was dark-haired, with an entire side of her face covered with a tattoo, but she also looked shy and somewhat intimidated.

Asta looked at Cullen, who shrugged, eyes wide. “I had no idea,” and when Asta looked skeptical, he protested, “really!”

Asta climbed off her horse, and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Bernadette. I hope my brother hasn’t been an ass.”

Bernadette coughed, “No more than usual, I understand. I was warned thoroughly by Scout Harding, Inquisitor.” Max just beamed at the insult, and rocked back on his heels.

“Please, call me Asta,” She looked at her brother. “Is this just an introduction or do you have news? Because I should be halfway to Val Royeaux by now. It’s a long story and one that I really shouldn’t share yet.” She sighed, “I shouldn’t have said that. Please forget that you know where I’m headed.”

“I just wanted you to meet each other,” Max was smiling hugely, and grabbed the woman’s hand. “We’re seeing each other, and I wanted you to know.”

Asta blinked once, twice and then threw her arms around her brother, “Max, you had no idea how much I needed to hear something like that today. Thank you.” She drew back and looked at Bernadette. “I’d hug you, too, but you already look like you are scared of me. Please, don’t let this asshole get you down. Thank you for putting up with him.” She smiled, “We’ll have drinks when I get back, all right? I’m sorry I have to ride out of here like this. It’s urgent. I want the whole story then.” She climbed back into her saddle, a little happier.

They rode for the gate, and Asta said, “You really didn’t know? How do you miss that my brother is dating a dwarf? You said he was acting like he was your best friend!”

“Leliana knew,” Cullen realized, “She asked me how I felt about dwarves in the Inquisition months ago. But I thought she was talking about the Merchant’s Guild. I wrote to you about it, remember?” He shook his head, “Maker, I’m dense. It was the same conversation when we were talking about how odd your brother has been acting. If I had suspected, I would have told you, I swear.”

“It’s all right, Cullen,” Asta managed a smile, the first time that day, “I’m happy for them. I hope it works out and I have a new sister. She looks nice, if incredibly scared of me.”

“I know her,” Cullen said. “She’s formidable. She has this war cry… and an axe. And she’s shy and scared of you.” He laughed, and stopped, “No offense. I’m shocked that your brother… Well, to each his own.” He eyed Asta’s butt on her horse, “After all, just because I prefer the taller academic type with a far better rack and ass doesn’t mean…”

“Commander,” Asta spun to face him, “Are you ogling me?” Now she really was smiling.

“Maybe,” he admitted, smirking. “We are alone on the road. We’ll have to stop to sleep sometime.” He leaned over his horse. “Maybe even in an inn, if there is one handy. If not… there is always the tent. I like tents. I have good memories involving a tent.”

“Rein it in, Commander,” but Asta laughed. “We’ve got miles to go before we sleep. Or not, as the case may be. Keep up with me and we’ll see about that inn.” She spun back around and let her horse take the lead.

Cullen grinned and did likewise. Maybe the day wasn’t a total loss after all. He swallowed his reservations about Blackwall. They would know soon enough, no point borrowing trouble. Trouble always seemed to find them anyway.

And at least this time, he could be her shield.


	44. Transfigurations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. You know, because of the Chant. Right. That.
> 
> Still not worth getting fired over.

They found an inn, a little later than Asta would have stopped on a normal day, but this day was anything but normal. Asta started to take off her boots, groaning at the ache in the small of her back. “Maker, how any one could do this in full plate armor in three days - that’s just impossible,” she arched her back and groaned again. “I hope the bed is comfortable. We probably should be camping - the expense -”

“The expense is minimal, we will both sleep better in a real bed instead of a bedroll, and you will need your rest for the decisions to come,” Cullen said practically, dropping the bags and coming over to rub her back. “Besides, perhaps we can pretend this is a break instead of…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finish. She leaned willingly into his hands, though, groaning again.

“Instead of a betrayal by someone I considered a friend? Someone we both trusted to stand in front of me, someone who took arrows and deflected swords?” Asta pulled no punches. “Cullen, I’m furious. It would be one thing if he had told me, or if he had to return to the Wardens, but…” she bit her lip and noticed they were chapped. “But he’s no Warden. I’m almost sure of it. I let it go, I trusted him otherwise…”

“Don’t, Asta,” Cullen advised gently, “You can’t blame yourself when you don’t even know. Maybe he is a Warden, maybe he’s going to recruit this… felon.” She walked away and sat on the bed. “They do that.”

“And he hasn’t been doing anything of the sort since he joined the Inquisition.”

“Because Corypheus was controlling the Wardens, so bringing more into the fold would have been a disaster waiting to happen,” Cullen pointed out. “Give him the benefit of the doubt until you know for sure.” He came and sat next to her. “It’s not like you to be this pessimistic.”

She leaned into him heavily, and then put her head into his lap. “It’s just all too much, and not enough, at the same time. I don’t want to be Divine, but I have to admit, I don’t see any changes I make lasting long enough to help unless I am. And yet I refuse to sacrifice myself like that. Or you, for that matter. I even hesitate to consider Cassandra, because she is so… ambivalent about it. But Leliana is so ruthless. Vivienne has been hinting, but she’ll bring back the Circles and continue the Templars. So the good that could be done have a mage Divine will be limited. I’m sorry, Cullen, so many Templars are good people, but lyrium is dangerous. No one should be addicted like that. It’s not healthy. There’s no good answer. And I just want someone to stop the Inquisition so that I can get off. And now Varric is lying to me, and Cassandra is hiding, and Bull is going back to the Qun, and Dorian will be miserable, and Cole is scared of being bound, and… Blackwall has run away. What has happened to us?”

Cullen stroked her hair. “It’s just temporary, Asta. We’ll get home and you and Bull will go meet the Qunari. You are borrowing trouble. Perhaps a better answer will show itself. In the meantime, take one day at a time.” She took a shuddering breath, and he realized she was crying. “You care so much about all of us, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I never had a family before. They aren’t people I just work with, or even just friends. They are my sisters and brothers, more than any I’ve had before. After the Inquisition disbands, we will all drift apart and I will be alone again.”

“No you won’t,” Cullen said, angry. “You won’t be alone.” He pulled her up from his lap, and held her by the shoulders. “Stop this, Asta. You won’t be alone. I will be with you, whether I have to let the world fall apart to make it happen. You will never be alone again.” She stared at him, eyes wide and hair falling down. “Tell me you know that.”

“Really? Even if the world has to fall apart?” She asked, and a simple idea blossomed in her brain. “Cullen, you are brilliant. Seriously, you have the best tactical mind an Inquisitor could ask for.” She lunged forward and kissed him. And then pulled back, looked deeper in his eyes, smiled and kissed him again, slower and deeper this time. “And if they call me insane? And corrupt?”

“Then I will know the truth,” Cullen answered simply. “And since if that is the case I seriously doubt either of us will be around to answer the question, well… I follow you, Asta. I chose that the day I voted to make you Inquisitor. Our fortunes rise and fall with you, mine more than most.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Asta leaned back. “I’ll explain what I have in mind, will you listen?”

“Of course.”

“All right, get comfortable. Where is my paper and ink? This is going to get messy.”

***

Sometime later, Cullen was laying back against the headboard, eyes glassy, watching Asta pace back and forth over the floor, energized for the first time in weeks. “It’s not perfect, so much depends on what happens over the next few weeks, but… Cullen, this could work.” She looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Asta, this is really… involved. Are you sure? Perhaps it would just be better to support Cassandra as Divine. The Seekers are a good organization that has had some spectacularly bad leadership in recent years. And letting the Templars go entirely…” Cullen looked up. “You know I’m going to ask about possession, don’t you? Without lyrium… my own abilities are nearly gone.”

“I figured as much,” Asta smiled. “But don’t you see, without the Templars or Chantry to blame, the mages will either have to take accountability for themselves and their own choices or destroy themselves forever. The minority are like Vivienne in either case, comfortable with their cages and fearing their own power. The rest are either just wanting to live normal lives, or they are the worst kind of megalomaniacs, thankfully the latter are a small minority. Most of those will leave for Tevinter, where they will be the bottom of the heap. Only one step above Soporati. Believe it or not, Dorian says that in Tevinter mages are paper-pushers at the Hundred Pillars! Ordinary! In failing them, we will save them!” She climbed up next to him on the bed. “Seriously, Cullen, if you don’t believe me that it can work, it’s already doomed. Because the minute I bring it up to the rest only to have you poke holes in it, they’ll follow you, not me. But if you are with me… Cullen, we could rebuild Thedas. If Leliana is Divine, and implements what she wishes, and Cassandra rebuilds the Seekers, and has the remaining Templars under her wing - to either be set free or serve, as they choose. Then, I can… fade away. Like Ameridan, hardly to be remembered except as a footnote in a history book. They can say whatever they like - I don’t believe he was as ruthless as the books claim, either. Maybe he even tried what I want to try, only to have it fail, with Drakon in charge.” Asta shrugged, “We don’t serve an Emperor, and I don’t want to rule the world. So maybe it will work this time?”

“But how does any of this solve your current issues?” Cullen asked.

“It doesn’t, except to help me know that I have a plan, my love. I will still have to deal with Blackwall first. And then the Qun. I don’t suppose you could come with me for that little side trip? You are the Commander of my Forces, after all. It would be wise for you to be there.”

“With Leliana and Josie’s permission, I will.” He nodded. “I’ll write to them after we see Blackwall.”

“And then I’ll deal with the red lyrium and Varric. And Bianca. And hopefully whatever has crawled up Cassandra’s ass. This is so unlike her. When was the last time anyone saw her, anyway?”

“No idea, after the wedding I was with you, remember? Going over the War Table and trying to tie up loose ends in the Graves.” Cullen thought. “I haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh yes, a terrible waste of an opportunity, that.” Asta eyed him closely, “We’re wasting yet another, actually. What is wrong with us that the minute we get alone we start… talking?! About politics!” She shuddered. “It’s dreadful. I’ve missed you so badly, and yet all I can take advantage of lately is your brain!”

Cullen shook his head and smiled. “On the contrary, once again I assure you I am at your complete disposal.” He leaned over his own legs towards her, as she kneeled in front of him. “I could think of a few ways to take advantage of this opportunity.”

Asta grinned. “This I want to hear. Do you think you can tell me without blushing, Chantry boy?”

“I can if I whisper,” Cullen answered seriously. “Otherwise, probably not.”

“Good thing I like your blushes then,” Asta said. “Talk to me, Cullen.” She raised an eyebrow. “This is the perfect time to tell me what you’ve thinking about while I’ve been gone.”

“What I’ve been thinking of?” Cullen smiled. “You.”

“What about me?” Asta fished, leaning further over and unfastening her armor so that it gapped in the front.

“Your body,” Cullen said lowly. “And how it feels against mine.” Asta slid off the bed and started removing her sash and coat.

“Keep going,” she encouraged, “I want to hear this, Cullen.” He hesitated, and she continued, “Look, you liked reading what I was thinking about, right? And it led to… alone time? What makes you think that I’m any different?”

“I hate that euphemism,” Cullen muttered, “the first time I used it I hated it.” He watched her remove her braces and guards with interest. “That said, this is one of the things I thought about,” he confessed. “How you look when you are removing your clothing, piece by piece, in my presence but focused upon the clothes. You get this look in your eyes, and then they meet mine, and I know that you are thinking about what you look like, and you are trying not to be self-conscious, but you still want me to look, all the same.”

Asta blushed, “You read me too well.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

“You don’t realize that I think you’re… sexy,” he stumbled, “That the simple act of you disrobing - without any ulterior motive - in my presence makes me think of… other things.”

“What other things?” Asta asked, quietly, slipping off her leather pants, her longer tunic grazing the top of her thighs.

“About what you look like… underneath,” he muttered, “where I know only I have seen. How you bend over, and I can see how easy it would be to just slip inside you.” His face was beet red now. “It’s kind of warm in here.” He cleared his throat.

“Then take off your armor,” Asta suggested airily. “You have me at a disadvantage, after all.” She pulled her breastband off from underneath her silk top and wound it up. “What else? From the sound of your letters there was more…”

Cullen stood and shrugged out of his coat, and took off his breastplate awkwardly, setting them on a chair nearby. He stood there and rolled his shoulders. “Yes, well, it’s harder to admit it in person,” he said. “Wouldn’t you have a hard time telling me about your… fantasies, without being able to write them down?”

“Perhaps,” Asta said, stretching back out on the bed, still in her tunic and smallclothes. “But often mine are built upon a single moment in time. You moving rocks, for example. When you mentioned that, I imagined a whole scenario. Or the bear rug, which I am completely determined upon, by the way. That will happen.”

“Far be it from me to gainsay you,” Cullen grinned, more at ease. “I liked that idea, too.”

“I knew you would, you… Fereldan,” she flirted. “So yours are more memory based? Things that you miss specifically?”

“I have a few others,” he admitted, blushing again, “a few… wishes.”

“Do tell,” She leaned in, “I can’t wait to hear.”

“Well, they don’t involve freezing cold waterfalls,” he laughed. “What was that, anyway?”

“Eh, it was a moment, and I really missed you. I was lonely, and it just sort of happened,” Asta sighed, “You are deflecting. Is it that bad? I won’t laugh, or get scared, unless you want to do something like what Bull was trying to describe to me. And that involved rope and a ball gag.”

“What? How would you…” Cullen shook his head, “No, I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t. But it serves as an example that I doubt that I’m going to freak out about what you think about when you are alone. I didn’t freak out on Bull, either, but he wasn’t suggesting it to me. I asked what he and Dorian got up to and he… shared. I now know way more than I ever care to.” She laughed. “So while I’m not interested in you gagging me, I would be interested in, say, other things in my mouth?”

Cullen swallowed. “Really?”

“Mmm, most definitely,” Asta purred. “Have you thought about that?”

He met her eyes. “Yes, but I didn’t think…”

Asta smiled, “Cullen, I’m sure some women don’t like it. I’ve never tried, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot, if you want. It’s not in you to belittle me, or force me to do something I don’t want to do. We haven’t run into anything yet, except for the things I just mentioned.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t mind you becoming a little more… forward, though. You hesitate, and I love that you don’t want to hurt me, but you won’t hurt me. I don‘t think it‘s in your nature.”

Cullen blinked, taken aback. “I thought I was being forward.”

“Yes, of course you did,” Asta laughed. “Remember Haven? And you bossing around the recruits while Dorian and I watched?” She hummed, “That’s a good memory. The first one after the mess that was Redcliffe.” Cullen blushed. “Don’t get alarmed. But I do enough bossing people around. I think I’d rather be the recruit once in a while.” She sighed, “It’s hard, because I don’t want to cross the lines I can’t see. I don’t want to run into something the demons tried to do to you, or showed you that you didn’t want to see. But if you take control, that won’t happen, right?”

“I would say that was extremely unlikely,” Cullen stated matter-of-factly. “Unless you are going to turn into a blood mage. By the time they were… getting that far, it was pain. The innocent desires the single demon was trying to tempt me with were long over. After that, it was…” he shook his head, “it was nonsense, really. The stuff of nightmares, that scare you senseless when you are sleeping and then you wake up and you’re still frightened, even though you know it’s ridiculous. That houses aren’t made of paper, and blood can’t run uphill, that there is no maze underneath Skyhold full of demons and abominations, and that you aren’t going to leave me for Dorian and move to Seheron. Yes, my experiences scarred me, probably will haunt me forever, but the dreams aren’t real. From what you tell me, I’m guessing I wouldn’t want to get involved with Bull, though,” his eyes twinkled. “It doesn’t sound safe.”

“Cullen, did you just make a joke about…”

“Yes, I think I did.” Cullen smiled, “I’ve been talking to Cole a bit. You are right, he’s special. He’s one of the reasons I think I could write you as much as I did. He kept talking to me before you left about how the ink makes the hurt bleed away with the words? About imaginary wounds that won’t close?” He shook his head, “I’m not remembering it right. He’s hard to remember at the best of times.” He approached the bed, and took off his shirt. “But I know this, you don’t have to be scared. And neither do I.” He unfastened his breeches and stepped out of them entirely, and then his smallclothes. Asta sat, shocked wordless. “Say something,” he said, awkward, but not frightened. “Or I’ll put back on my pants.”

Asta burst out laughing. “Maker forbid. You in pants should be against the law. I’ll speak to Leliana about it. Maybe she can abridge the Chant or something.”

“Heretic,” Cullen bent over the bed, a kiss away from her. “What would that be, The Chant of Disrobing? The Verse of the Shed Smallclothes?”

“The Canto of Cullen,” Asta said, “Shartan has one. Well, it’s in the Dissonant Verses, but you know… they can hardly call your voice dissonant. And if they are going to add a chapter about me - again, Maker Forbid - you would have to be in it.” She sighed, “I can hear it now, ‘Sing only what Asta has approved, Wear nothing but what she would remove…'”

“Make me to rest in her warmest places,” Cullen smirked, "Let me kneel before her,” and he did so, by the edge of the bed, fist over his heart.

“Well, I’d take from you a life of sorrow, lift you from a world of pain, and I…” She swung her legs to the edge of the bed, and rested her hands on his shoulder, and in his hair. “I’d judge you worthy, Cullen. I’d judge you whole, and full of grace.” She closed her eyes, and leaned against his forehead, a breath away now, a silent request for a kiss and more.

“May I touch you with fire that I be cleansed?” Cullen murmured, passion behind his voice. “Or shall I sing for your approval?” He drew closer to her, pulling her hips towards his body where he knelt. He raised his head to touch her mouth with his.

“Cullen, make me cry out, and seat me by your side in death,” Asta said against his lips. “Make me one with your… glory.” She giggled, but he ignored her.

“Let me see your favor,” He leaned in yet closer, and ran his hand over her neck to pull out the chain holding his coin. “You are the fire at the heart of my world.”

“Comfort is only yours to give,” they finished together, and their lips met. They moved against each other gently, and then with more force, drawn together with the yearning of a hundred days, and the frustration of too many more of action and words. He pulled her tunic from her at once, and lifted her against him, no fear, no remembered pain, real or imagined, this time. His fingers followed the line of the chain down to where her breasts pressed against him insistently, and he drew back, only to hook his thumbs into her smallclothes to drop them to the floor. The last barrier between them removed, he pulled her back against him yet harder. He lifted her to the bed, lying her down again, her knees around him and stroked her hair away from her face.

His own knees on the bed now, he bent, and kissed her, his tongue touching her with the fire of the ancient words as she rose up against his hands at her breast and twined in her hair. Their talking done, he dropped his hand down and stroked her, her warmest place welcoming him with yet more heat.

She reached down and wrapped around him, boldly, taking him at his word that he was hers to touch and use. He groaned against her, and thrust, unable to control himself. They pushed against each other until Asta rolled him over, startling him with her strength, but he reveled in it, thrusting against her hand and body all the harder. She drew him down against her, wet heat coating him, eyes locked with his, and he slid inside, still wordless. She arched against him, desperately seeking release and pressure, and he growled in impatience, wanting to be deeper yet.

He flipped her this time and grabbed her thigh up over his waist, and drove down, fulfilling her desire to cry out. She raised her other leg, and he pushed it back down, but traced his hand to her center instead, gliding and snapping into her ever harder, ever more insistent. She was crying out with every breath now, faster and faster as he took her, took all of her, right up to the gates of the Golden City itself.

And then she died, she was certain, floating loose from her body for precious moments as he continued to press into her. She was on fire, every nerve ending a flame, as he mouthed her neck and kissed the breasts she arched against him. She could only feel him there, at her center, the center of everything, she was certain now. And then he snapped against her once more and they reached that comfort together, together, even in the small death.

Cullen was unresponsive, and Asta rolled him again, with a little more difficulty, to the side, to brush the sweaty curls from his face. He cracked an eye and smiled. “Are we going to be struck with lightening for doing that to the Chant?”

“Haven’t yet,” she smiled. “Besides, if Andraste could write those lines, I think she would understand, don’t you?”

“It may have been an unintentional metaphor,” Cullen observed. “Many people write things that seem sexual that were never meant that way to begin with.” Asta snorted, and Cullen laughed. “Okay, I admit, having… had you, that way, I find it difficult to believe as well. You’ll turn me into a heretic, yet, Asta.” He thought for a moment. “Though if I were with you, it wouldn’t matter.”

Asta smiled sadly, “I truly have corrupted you, Chantry boy, haven’t I?”

“On the contrary,” Cullen said, “I think you’ve led me to the warmest places.” And he kissed her again and again in their warm room at the inn, troubles forgotten momentarily in the little place of peace they had made for each other.

***

Four days later the two of them faced Blackwall’s cell, having heard his confession at the gallows, and the details of his crime in the cell later.

Asta was stony-faced and all professional. “I’m tempted to leave you here, Rainier, I admit. You are not the person I thought you were. You killed _children,_ or had them killed by your order. In a time of peace, not war. Who are you? I’m not sure I know anymore. Get him released,” Asta ordered Cullen, staring Blackwall down. “If for no other reason then that I want to find exactly how deep his bullshit goes.” She marched out of the prison without a backward glance, back towards their inn.

“She should just leave me here,” Blackwall muttered. “But she won’t, will she.” It wasn’t a question, so Cullen nodded to Blackwall, confused and disgusted, and followed, to write a letter to Leliana.

He held her later while she cried out her despair at her lost ideals and family, knowing that he would be the only one to ever see her this weak.

***

Leliana,

It’s as you no doubt feared. Blackwall is Thom Rainier, a murderer and no Warden at all. The Inquisitor would like to have him released, but as diplomatically as possible, so please, set Josie to the task. She would like to try to appear as if she had no bias, but knows it’s impossible.

Still, if there is a way to move forward without damaging the Inquisition’s reputation, she wants to take it. Remember the Templar we imprisoned for rape? The one she sentenced to death? Perhaps a switch can be made, with a little assistance? The Empress gets a convenient scapegoat to improve her reputation, and the Inquisition appears without blemish. It’s distasteful to me, but…

We ride for Skyhold tomorrow. The Inquisitor is troubled. We will review the possibilities when we arrive.

Have Bull, Dorian and Solas prepared for the trip to the Storm Coast. We will only stop for the night. I will remain by her side. She needs me right now, and I will stand between her and what would harm her. I’m not asking permission. She grieves deeply, and will crack if this so-called alliance turns into a trap.

Sincerely,

C. R.

 


	45. Not His Fucking Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, NSFW. Only at the end. Some rather salty language in this one. If the chapter title didn't indicate that.
> 
> At this rate it's possible that I should just say never read anything by me at work.

Asta glared at her advisors over the War Table. “Why are any of you even fighting me on this? The Templar has already been sentenced to death. The mages and others that he victimized were scared stiff to even come forward. I’m fairly certain there are other victims who we will never know about. He is going to die in any case, and the Inquisition has an opportunity to get Rainier back without looking corrupt, and Celene will execute the other guy. I don’t even have to get my blade bloody. Leliana, I would have thought you, at least, would see the value in this!”

“Because this isn’t like you,” she said. “At every opportunity you have offered mercy, a second chance. Florianne, Alexius, everyone. Even the Templar you speak of has been in the dungeon awaiting his sentence, still provided with three meals a day and health care, for Andraste’s sake. You have been above reproach until this point - you wouldn’t even let me destroy the contract on Josie rather than jump through months of hoops to preserve her life!”

“This is different,” Asta wouldn’t meet their eyes.

Cullen had a try. “Josie can negotiate with Celene. The Empress still owes us for Halamshiral, and we know her secrets - all of them. That is money in the bank in Orlais. She’ll do as we ask. For that matter, Bla… Rainier himself asked me why you were going to have him freed. He has accepted his fate. You could as well.”

“I will not!” Asta slapped the War Table, and made the little tokens dance. “I will not, because I need to know why he felt the need to lie to me. I trusted him. If he is going to die, I will put him to death. It’s my mistake! I should fix it!”

Cullen took a step forward, “Is that what this is about? You thinking it was a mistake to trust him in the first place? You couldn’t have known, Asta!”

“But I did know!” She yelled back, “I knew months ago! I knew in the Fade, when Clarel told us about the darkspawn blood! I knew when he babbled about needing a special sword to kill an archdemon! I KNEW, Cullen. I knew.” She stared at the table, a face of stone. “And it’s not just about him lying to the Inquisition about being a Warden. It’s about the children he killed, allowed to be killed. To curry favor with the man who would have been Emperor. Should I just excuse that?”

“The Wardens were willing to,” Leliana observed. Josie made a soft sound like a sob.

“The Wardens accept criminals in their midst,” Asta pointed out. “The Inquisition should be above that.”

“Oh really?” Cullen leaned over the table. “How much blood do I have on my hands? I wasn’t innocent in Kirkwall. I killed my own Knight-Commander, and that doesn’t count how much mage blood I spilt that horrible day. What about Leliana? Even Josephine was a bard once. The Iron Bull? Dorian? Cassandra?” With every name Asta flinched. “Varric is the best friend of the Champion. Do you know how many people they killed together? Has Varric told you the story of the young mages they were trying to rescue after they escaped the Gallows and how they had to strike them down?”

“Commander,” Leliana murmured, seeing Asta’s tears, single drops falling against the war map.

“The Inquisition is a group of people trying to atone for mistakes, Asta,” he continued more gently. “None of us are innocent. We are trying to make different choices now, trying to fix the mess we’ve made of our world. Was Blackwall any different?”

“So you all think I should be merciful,” Asta began.

“What he did was despicable, and I hate him for it,” Cullen stated simply. “I will never look at him the same. But I will not let you sacrifice your own ideals in order to hide an Inquisition error. You have insisted all along on us being forthright and honest about our dealings.”

“Well, with a few minor exceptions, like Halamshiral,” Asta murmured.

“Yes, well, when in Orlais,” Cullen waved his hand, “You are distracting me from my point. We are your advisors, Asta, and I think we are all advising you - correct me if I’m wrong, Leliana - to allow Josie to handle Rainier’s release. It’s the right thing to do. I don’t want to go storming in with sabers drawn to rescue him. He doesn’t deserve that, even if it was a truly viable option.”

“And I don’t want you to have to sacrifice the ideals you hold dear to use subterfuge. You’d regret it later,” Leliana observed. “Josie is the one for this job.”

“It will leave the Inquisition with a black mark on it’s reputation,” Josie said quietly. “One that we will have to work to rebuild. But I can do it. I can make the Empress listen.”

“As far as how to judge him for his crimes, only you can decide that,” Cullen said. “And as I said, he’s already accepted his own fate. Only a pardon would surprise him at this point.”

Asta shoved herself back from the table. “Very well, I will accept the advice of my advisors this time. Thank you for your honesty.” She pushed Josie’s marker towards Val Royeaux. “Let’s get him back to Skyhold, Josie.” She looked at her for the first time. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Josie smiled, “But thank you for asking.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Asta asked, “We’ve all been through a lot in recent days, and if you need an ear…”

“That is quite all right, Inquisitor,” Josie sighed, “I’m just confused.”

“As are we all,” Asta sighed as well. “Leliana, have Varric and Cassandra talked at all?”

“No,” Leliana confirmed. “Cassandra is still holed up in the tent city. I will take you to her, if you wish. This has gone on long enough.”

“I quite agree with you,” Asta gritted out. “This is so unlike her. What happened?”

Leliana giggled. “Oh, I’d love to tell you. Really, but Cassandra would kill me.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, “Wait, so Asta has been crying herself to sleep over something that you are giggling over?” Leliana’s face fell.

“Take me there,” Asta ordered. “We are going to have this out in the open, whatever it is.”

***

Asta looked at Cassandra, who was sitting on a cot in the too small tent, looking forlorn. “Talk to me, Cass,” she ordered.

“It was at the wedding,” Cassandra confessed, “You had just told all of us that we should accept love wherever we find it, whether with elves or mages or… dwarves.”

“Right,” Asta smiled, “It was a good speech. Possibly the best I’ve ever given. But… dwarves?”

“I caught Varric’s eye,” Cassandra continued, “and I thought… well, why not?” She huddled down, and clasped her knees to her chest. “I had too much to drink at the party afterward and I…”

“Wait, did you…” Asta eyes got wide, “Did you… confess to…”

“Yes,” Cassandra bit off, eyes narrowed dangerously. “I did.”

Asta sat down on the bed opposite her, “What happened after that?” she breathed, entranced.

“He did not seem… adverse to the idea,” Cassandra sighed, and unfolded herself a little. “Quite the contrary. We went back to his room and…”

“Maker’s Mercy, Cass,” Asta said, shock echoing in her voice, “I had no idea that you two were…”

“Nothing happened,” Cassandra insisted. “That - Bianca, she was waiting there. She made insinuations that I didn’t care for, Varric denied we were involved and I threw a vase at her, screamed something embarrassing at him and left.” She screwed her eyes shut. “It was a horrible mistake, and now I cannot work with that… dwarf. It’s impossible. I cannot travel with you to the Hinterlands, Inquisitor. I cannot face him. Or… her.”

“Oh, I wish I didn’t have to go,” Asta agreed, “She struck me as a first class bitch, through and through. But I need you there, Cassandra. I do. Did Leliana tell you about Blackwall?”

“Yes,” Cassandra confirmed. “And about Bull and the Qunari alliance. But can’t you take him…”

“I strongly expect that if the alliance does not go the way they please, Bull will not be returning to the Inquisition,” Asta sighed. “I need you, Cass. I know it’s uncomfortable. Varric is already squirming - or was before I left for Val Royeaux. But I need you to be able to work with him.”

“I will try, Asta,” Cassandra sighed. “I suppose I should speak with him before I go. Make an excuse about how much I had to drink, something. It might make it easier, in the long run.”

“It sounds like Varric owes you an apology as well,” Asta observed, trying not to grin. “After all, he did invite you back to his room only to promptly deny that anything was going to happen when confronted by his ex-girlfriend.”

“Ex?” Cassandra’s head popped up. “How ex?”

“Pretty much ex, from what I gather,” Asta stood up. “Perhaps that’s a conversation you should have with Varric, though?” She threw a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll be back, hopefully in less than a week from the Storm Coast. Be ready to go!”

“I’ll be ready, Inquisitor. And thank you.”

***

The trip to the Storm Coast was largely silent, Bull riding as if to his death, and not even arguing with Dorian about the value of the Qun. Solas was quiet as usual, especially after his normal mental chess match with Bull was met with grunts. Cullen was too preoccupied with Asta’s unusual misery, continuing despite the apparent success with Cassandra.

She had told him the whole story, and he had just shook his head. Varric and Cassandra? Truly, the Inquisition did breed odd couples. He was inordinately relieved that he would not be needed on that trip, and not just because the thought of the Deep Roads gave him stomach cramps.

At least he got to share a tent with her this time. So when she inevitably tried to shut down, he could hold her, stroke her back and melt a little of the ice that kept trying to build around her. She wouldn’t discuss Blackwall or the alliance or red lyrium, but he read aloud to her in the evenings. Sometimes he could make her laugh, and those were the good nights.

Asta knew that she was shutting people out, but except for Cullen, none of them were trying to break down her walls, either. Maybe, just maybe, she was the only one that was attached at all. Even Dorian was solemn, though if her boyfriend was only grunting at her, she’d probably feel the same way. So she soldiered on, and held Cullen tight at night, appreciating his presence more than she could say.

The Storm Coast itself was yet another shitstorm. Asta was furious, Cullen was delighted to see, and she was showing it instead of hiding behind an impassable wall of Inquisitor.

“They’re my men,” Bull growled at Gatt, torn to pieces with divided loyalties.

Asta made the decision for him in the end, “Sound the retreat,” she said, and Bull complied. The dreadnought blew up, and they all felt the heat on their faces from the explosion. But when Gatt started to tear into Bull for his decision, Asta flew apart.

“Who the fuck tries to make an alliance by requesting their own agent to sacrifice his bloody men?!” She screamed in his face. “This was never about an alliance at all - this was about the Qun and their fucking mind games, and bringing your Hissrad - and that is NOT his fucking name, asshole - back into the fold, safe and sound lest he decide there is a better life out there. I resent incredibly that you would attempt such a blatant overthrow of someone YOU sent to spy on ME and MY Inquisition. So don’t be surprised when I call your bluff and your willingness to sacrifice an entire boat -”

“Dreadnought,” Cullen supplied, grinning. Maker, he loved this woman. Dorian stood, mouth agape, caught in a rare moment of speechlessness, but laughter blooming slowly behind his eyes.

“-dreadnought of your own people to figure out that HE’S NOT COMING BACK. NOT EVER. I will go to war with the Qun itself rather than let him sacrifice what he has built here to become lesser under the Qun. You and your shitty ‘demands’ can go fuck yourselves. Sideways. I‘m sure Bull can give you pointers if you can‘t figure out how.” She took a deep breath and turned to her companions. “Commander, Dorian, Solas, I think we are done here. Would the three of you please see the Qunari representatives safely departed from Fereldan soil?” And then she spun back to Gatt and smiled evilly, “Also, I don’t think much of the nicknames or aptitude testing under the Qun. ‘Liar’ is so inaccurate. Bull is one of the most honest men I have ever known, Gatt. Just because he _can_ lie doesn’t mean he likes to. And just because he likes to hit things that are larger and stronger than himself doesn’t mean that he happily sacrifices those weaker than him. He saved your fucking life, after all. I would think hard about whether you want to waste it whoring yourself out to a philosophy that would happily turn you into cannon fodder over a stupid test of loyalty.” She turned back to Bull, as Dorian and Cullen took Gatt’s arms, the elf scowling, Cullen trying not to grin as he left. “I’m going to have to clean up this shit-pile, Bull, so go gather your Chargers from the rendezvous point and let‘s get to work. We can’t let the Venatori have the coast, like I said. And after that…” her smile was sharp and wicked. “I need to blow off some steam. I’m thinking it’s time to fight a fucking dragon. Wanna come along?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bull growled. “And may I say, Boss, you are hot when you are angry and cussing.” He whistled, “I could think of things I’d like to do with that filthy mouth.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dorian,” she winked. “Or the Commander.”

“Could if you want,” Bull grunted. “I’m game.”

“Not gonna happen, Bull,” Asta smiled. “Let’s clean up the Coast, shall we?”

***

Cullen was… aroused, he had to admit it. The way she had put that little… his own cuss words failed him and he laughed mentally. Maker’s Breath, he should take lessons apparently. She was all fire and heat and dirty language and he had never, ever been so happy to see a military alliance fall through.

The loss of life sobered him, however. How many people died on that dreadnought?

But the Chargers lived. Krem would be there, standing on his chair in the tavern to tell his wild stories when they got back to Skyhold. Dalish would continue to insist she wasn’t a mage, but an archer. He’d have to continue to monitor Skinner and her frequent attempts to pick fights amongst the human recruits, and keep trying to keep Rocky from doing experiments that could result in blowing up Skyhold. He shuddered and thanked the Maker that the dwarf hadn’t been introduced to Dagna. They would all be there, fighting in the Arbor Wilds, backing up the Inquisitor in the field, keeping her safe.

And in the meantime, he approached his own tent with a clear purpose in mind. He didn’t care that it was only four in the afternoon, that they had spent the entire day hunting Venatori mages only after they had shipped the remaining representatives off with an armed escort to the nearest port. He didn’t care that his once lyrium fueled abilities were now almost non-existent, proven by his contact with the Tevinter mages today. He had to have her. Now.

He opened the flap to see her sitting in their tent, a book on the Qun open in her lap, her hair free from the confines of her bun for once, in nothing but her breeches and tunic. He swept in, and gathered her up all at once, her stunned fingers dropping the book, and the spine cracking in a way that normally would have resulted in a fierce scolding. For now, though, it was left forgotten in the way he held her against him, lust fuelling his kisses and his hands roaming over her ass, stripping off her tunic and pulling off her trousers, her meeting him just as willingly, unbuckling armor and pulling him loose from the all too constraining clothing he was wearing.

“Not just Bull, then,” she was laughing as he left marks on her chest and neck. “Apparently I should tell off government representatives more often?”

Cullen growled his agreement wordlessly and dropped to his knees, wrapping her legs around him and bringing him in contact with her already wet core. He slid inside her fast and a little fiercely, enough to make her gasp against him, and started thrusting immediately, pulling her hips up only to snap them back against his thighs.

“Maker, Cullen!” She arched back, arms around his neck and he dropped his mouth to her breasts, sucking hard against them. There was nothing gentle about this, and she didn’t care, from the noises she was making. “Harder!” She gasped, and he laid her down on the bedroll and pushed her legs back towards her chest. She bucked up against him and cried out with the next glide, uncaring about who heard them. “Cullen!”

“Say. It. Again.” He growled. “Scream it, Asta.” He pushed into her more insistently and moved his hand from her leg to her bundle of nerves, pressing harder with his thumb than he would have, had he not been thinking about her all fucking day long, telling the entire Qun to go fuck themselves. “Asta, I…” He was close now, and she hadn’t finished, but he wasn’t sure he could wait. He tried to stop moving and she wouldn’t let him, driving herself up against him, using her legs as leverage. He circled her clit tighter, hoping she was close, and unable to stop himself now.

In the end, it was him yelling her name, hearing the echo off the hills surrounding their camp, as he spent himself hard into her as she clamped around him in her own release. They laid there together, shaking with the aftershocks as he slowly came back to himself and felt foolish, hiding himself against her neck. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you were so…”

“I quite understand and approve,” she laughed, breathlessly. “Maker, Cullen, I didn’t know… but I told you about how your ‘Commander’ voice affects me. Apparently my ‘pissed off Inquisitor’ voice gets to you, hmm?”

“You might say that,” he said sheepishly. “Andraste’s ass, Asta, you were amazing. You are amazing.” He reached across her and picked up the book. “But why are you reading about the Qun?”

“It won’t end here,” she explained. “I’ve pissed off an entire country’s worth of people today, Cullen. I’m trying to figure out how they’ll counter. It looks like they will send a messenger, who will remain polite and formal while threatening subtly, and then they will send assassins for their ‘failed’ agent, probably involving poison - that vitaar of theirs is deadly stuff - and possible military retaliation in the long run.” She sighed, and brushed his sweaty curls from his face. “We’re going to have to increase security at Skyhold. Bull can take of himself, but… they might send them after me, now. I was not… polite.”

“Let them come, I’ll tear them to pieces,” Cullen growled. “One hair on your head gets damaged and I’ll destroy the country.”

Asta was amused, “Hopefully that will not be necessary. But I did kind of blow it today. I actually thought you might be angry with me - the alliance would have been a strong one, after all.”

“I’d rather have the Chargers,” Cullen buried his face back in her neck. “It makes me less of a Commander, I suppose, but the Qunari forces were an unknown quantity in any case.”

“Well, at any rate, the damage is done,” Asta sighed. “Now we deal with the consequences. We’ve lost the Qun information pipeline, and Bull is Tal-Vashoth. We’re now at war, however unofficially, with both Tevinter and the Qun. Hopefully Bull will be okay.” She hesitated. “I promised to fight a dragon with him,” she confessed.

“Asta…” Cullen lifted his head, “Why did you do such a thing?”

“He needs a distraction,” she explained, “And Bull and dragons - you’ve never seen him when he sees one, have you? He looks at them like I look at you, Commander,” she laughed. “I’m taking him to Crestwood. We still haven’t found the one that nests here, and that one needs killing. It’s taking out livestock and people.” She shrugged, “I don’t want to upset the balance of the local ecology, but any creature that is preying upon the human population needs to be taken care of. It’s not like the people of Crestwood can be relocated, and neither can the dragon.”

“I’m coming,” Cullen started to insist.

“Of course you are, love,” Asta smiled. “Why do you think I told you about it? I knew that if I tried without having you along you’d be furious. This way, you get to see me in action, as it were, and maybe the next time I have to kill a dragon, you’ll feel a little better if you can’t make it.”

“I think I’ve seen you in action enough. I‘m not sure that my stamina can take much more of your action.” Cullen squeezed her and then paused, “The next time? Asta, how many dragons do you think you’re going to need to fight?” But Asta kissed him, and for a while neither thought about dragons or anything else except each other.

 


	46. A Very Good Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff. Perfectly safe for work, for once.

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!” Bull roared, as he hacked into the dragon’s hind foot. He had been yelling that intermittently for ages, Dorian noted, and none of them knew what it meant, he thought, except perhaps for Solas, whose mouth kept twitching at the repetitions. Odd, he hadn’t thought that the elf had a sense of humor.

The dragon was so much bigger close up. And unfortunately it did this _thing_ with it’s wings that pulled even him into close quarters, where it kept trying to stomp all over him. Absolutely infuriating. And his magic was next to useless, there not being any dead to revitalize. “Why the Void didn’t you bring Vivienne?!” He yelled at Asta. “She would have been fucking useful right about now!” He slammed the creature with Winter’s Grasp in an attempt to slow it down. “Necromancy isn’t going to help until it’s already DEAD!”

“Sorry!” Asta sounded a bit too cheerful, Dorian thought, “She had a disturbing letter before we left, and I couldn’t bring myself with all the other crap I was dealing with to handle her problems too! So sorry, you fucking ‘Vint, for bringing you on an expedition that you wanted to be included in!” She dropped into stealth and fenced around to the back of the beast, only to reappear and stab its butt with her daggers overhand, laughing.

“Wanted? I wanted this?” Dorian asked. “Fasta Vass, Asta, I…” And Bull was in front of him in time to take a blow intended for him.

“I got this, Dorian,” he grunted at the impact. “Shit, this is AWESOME!” And he ran back into the fray, dodging claws and lightening while arranging himself between the mages and the dragon. Dorian found himself refocused again, this time by the muscles and sweat playing themselves across the Qunari’s back, streaking his vitaar and making him curse for an entirely different reason. “Quit distracting me, Bull! You could at least wear a shirt!”

“Speak for yourself, ‘Vint!” He yelled. “Two sleeves might be nice! But then I wouldn’t get to see those muscles, would I? You don‘t find me complaining!” He found a moment to flex his chest in Dorian’s general direction, making him groan in embarrassment and, okay, maybe a little bit of lust, and then he was back in the midst of it. Dorian attempted another elemental spell, irritated by his lack of effect on the creature.

Cullen was enjoying himself. _Maker, it‘s good to get out from behind the desk_ , he thought while trying to shield Asta from her own foolhardy fighting style. He couldn’t see any rhyme or reason behind it - she just seemed to aim at whatever happened to be in front of her, though she at least had the presence of mind to stay out of the way of the dragon’s mouth. He went down on one knee to shield himself against its electric breath. “I thought that dragons only breathe fire?!” He yelled. “What is this?”

“Different type of dragon!” Asta shouted gleefully. “You should talk to Frederic of Serault! I have his book, it’s amazing!” She flipped back out of the path of the dragon’s hind claws, laughing. “I’ll lend it to you!”

_Maker’s Breath, my fiancée is insane_ , he realized as she inexpertly threw knives at the scaly beast. “Asta, it has scales for armor. Those knives aren’t even making a dent!”

“I know, but it makes me feel useful!” She shouted. “Would you rather I stayed in the background and cheered you on? Because I could do that!”

He laughed out loud, and threw himself and his shield into the creature’s leg. “Maybe?!”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Commander!” She yelled back. “I think I agree with Bull!”

Bull laughed uproariously. “You don’t know how much!”

“At least quit talking about literature and pay attention?” He shouted. “Can I ask that?”  He jabbed at the thing's rear leg, pivoting to take advantage of its flank.

“It’s not literature, it’s non-fiction!” She screamed. “Educate yourself!”  She dropped back into stealth, flanking as well, only to try a handful of knockout powder.  It didn't work either, but unfazed, she threw another handful of knives.

“That’s your job!” He bantered, and slammed his shield into the thing again and again. “I’ll read the damn book if it makes you feel better!” _Maker, I love this woman_ , he realized again. Who else would be yelling that he didn’t read enough in the middle of fighting a blighted dragon? “Does it have pictures?” He laughed harder, and nearly got stepped on. “Can you summarize it using words of four letters or less?”

“Heads up!” Asta shouted, and threw a jar of bees, and a few wasps, at the dragon.

“Retreat, Commander! Don’t want you to get stung!” Solas snapped up a barrier, and threw some sort of fist out of the Fade at the dragon, causing quite a bit of damage while Cullen caught his breath.

“I hardly think a few bee stings are the most dangerous thing about this fight!” He panted. “Maker, I need to train harder.” Asta threw a regeneration potion at him along with a kiss and a smile. He drank it and felt a little better. It might have been the smile though.

Bull kept plowing along, regardless of bees or wasps, axe dripping with blood from its grooves. “This is fucking amazing!” He yelled. “I love you, Boss! You’re the best!”

“Watch your mouth, Bull! Cullen’ll get jealous!” She teased. “Over a dragon!”

“Not a dragon, this dragon!” Bull yelled. “This is one of the best moments of my life! Taarsidath-an Halsaam!” He bellowed again, and spun around and around in a whirlwind, connecting with the dragon only every so often, but that was hardly the point. After all, he looked good doing it.

Dorian rolled his eyes. _Show off,_ but his eyes followed him all the same.  He did look good, after all.

Cullen dove back in as the bees dispersed. “You fling insects during battle?!”

“Sera’s idea!” Asta replied. “Brilliant, right?” She threw another smile his way and for a moment he forgot where he was. Then the dragon tried to eat him, and he remembered.

“You are all fucking insane!” He yelled, over the dragon’s roar, and saw an opportunity. He lunged into the dragon’s neck, slicing what he hoped was its jugular. It wasn’t, but it was a good blow anyway, he thought, even as he had to retreat rapidly or end up as the dragon’s next victim.

“And you love it!” Bull yelled back. “I can tell! Former Ben-Hasserath, remember! I’ve lost my job, not the skills, Commander!” He saw what Cullen had been aiming for and took advantage of the creature’s distraction with the wound on its throat to swing two-handed at its eyes. The beast fell to its knees, and Asta flipped out of the way just in time. Bull dove back towards it, and nearly decapitated it in one blow, roaring again in victory.

They all fell down as the adrenaline pumped, staring at each other. “We did it,” Asta said in a small voice, and she threw herself at Cullen, who dropped his sword and shield to catch her, ignoring the voice in his head saying that he would have to polish and sharpen them later, kissing him through the grime, sweat and blood the dragon had thrown at them. He kissed her back, unable to help himself in the relief of the moment and thrill of the fight, ignoring Solas’ soft clearing of his throat and the subsequent footsteps as the elf walked away, shaking his head silently. They broke apart, panting at each other, and then Cullen glanced over her shoulder. He nudged her and indicated she should look.

She turned, and saw Dorian and Bull twined around each other in a pretzel, Dorian apparently trying to suck the Qunari’s lips off while the massive man held his lover’s legs around his waist. “Should we catcall or give them some privacy?” She asked, wide-eyed, very quietly.

“I could see catcalling going badly,” Cullen admitted. “But they would whistle at us, you know,” so he put two rather disgusting fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled, a loopy swirl of sound, while Asta cheered and whooped next to him, nearly falling over as the adrenaline wore off. Dorian flipped them the bird from his hand behind Bull’s back, and Cullen turned, dragging his rather fascinated fiancée away from them. “Now, we leave them alone. They have some talking to do. Let’s go to the keep, try to clean up, and go to the Rusted Horn and have a drink,” he suggested. “It’s up and running now, right?”

“I doubt they’ll be talking,” she muttered, but went along willingly enough. “What will we do with the dragon?”

“Bull wanted a tooth for something,” Cullen remembered. “The rest - well, I know you can make armor out of its bones.”

Asta stared. “That’s rather macabre, isn’t it?”

“It’s great stuff, I understand,” Cullen said. “But you don’t really want to talk about it, do you?” He asked, as they walked between two large rocks, pulling her closer.

“Hmm, maybe not,” Asta replied, attempting to shove him up against one of them. “I have to admit, killing that thing was… cathartic.” She nipped at his neck. “Do we have some time?”

“I’d rather have a bath first,” Cullen admitted, trying to hold himself back. “I’m absolutely filthy, and so are you.”

“There’s a pond over there somewhere,” she indicated a vague direction. “I could show you,” she reluctantly offered. “I know Crestwood fairly well, after all the time I spent here fighting undead and red Templars.” She nipped him again. “You know, I’m beginning to think that I like traveling with you, Commander.”

“Likewise, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, “but I really would at least like to rinse off. Who knew dragon blood was so sticky?” He held up his hand, as Asta opened her mouth, “Don’t tell me. Serault.” Asta beamed. “Damn it, Asta, I’ll read the book.”

The pond was close, and they stripped tentatively, knowing that with Caer Bronach so close there were probably agents watching and they’d never see them at all. That kept a damper on their other activities, despite Asta whispering that they should give them a show. Cullen was scandalized. “Just get clean!” He hissed, embarrassed. Asta just laughed, and made a point of grabbing his butt under the water.

They redressed with difficulty, wet bodies hampering the fabric, but still feeling better, and skirted the dragon’s nest to give Bull and Dorian some privacy while making their way back to the Keep and the Horn. The closer they got, the quieter Asta became.

“What’s on your mind, love?” Cullen asked at last, grabbing her hand.

“Do you ever just feel like running away?” She asked, looking up at the keep in the distance. “Just saying, screw it, let Thedas save itself and disappearing?”

“Occasionally,” Cullen admitted. “Especially when Guy starts calling my deceased mother various farm animals under his breath. If he weren’t so efficient…” Asta snorted.

“Is that seriously the most irritating thing about being the Commander?” She asked, disbelieving, “Mouthy Orlesians?”

“No,” Cullen grinned, “but it made you laugh.” She shoved him. He sighed, growing serious. “No, the most irritating thing is how I can’t be with you all the time. I’m needed there, and I want to be with you. That tries my patience.”

“Hmm,” she thought. “Well, that bothers me too. I’d stay with you happily, if I could, but it would be better if you could come along more often.” She bumped his shoulder. “This has been fun, in a weird way. It’s been great to have someone to talk to, or just be silent with. And you have a lovely reading voice. Not to mention you are seriously sexy when you are fighting. All thrust and jab…” she sighed. “I’m going to miss you. Three days and back at Skyhold. Three days and I’ll have to be off to the Hinterlands, again. Weeks away from you, only letters to stay connected. Maker, Cullen, I admit sometimes I’m not sure I can take this for much longer.” She looked off into the distance at the lake and the dam, eyes vacant.

“Hey, Leliana agrees that when you need me, I can go,” he reminded her. “So not the Hinterlands, because you don’t need me melting down in Valamaar, but I’ll see about Emprise du Lion, and I’ll definitely be there for the Arbor Wilds.”

“You can’t come to the Emprise,” Asta said, still staring off at the dam and the lake. “The red lyrium will set you off. It would be a serious mistake,” She turned to him, “Promise me you won’t go. I don’t want you sick, thinking that you aren’t strong enough.”

“I haven’t had anything but a simple headache in months,” Cullen protested, “I’m fine!”

“You’re an addict,” Asta said bluntly. “You can’t tell me you don’t occasionally crave it.”

“Well, no, I do,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “But I can…”

“No, promise,” Asta yanked on his hand. “Promise. I can handle a lot, Cullen, but I can’t handle you relapsing. Promise me you won’t go.”

Cullen sighed, “I promise. I’ll let someone else go.”

“Thank you,” Asta breathed gratefully. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re out of it.” She squeezed his hand. “I know that if you promise, you keep your word. I love you.” She leaned up against him. “Should we go find that drink?”

“I can think of something else I’d rather do,” Cullen confessed. “Did you want to be social?”  He pulled her a little closer.

“For a little while, maybe?” Asta said, “And if we drop in and announce we killed their dragon we won’t have to buy. Coffers are a little low, Josie said in her last letter, with fewer donations coming in from Orlais since…” her face fell. “I wish the Inquisition wasn’t dependent on their money. I’d do other things, better things.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cullen faced her. “Don’t think about it for a bit. Let’s go hang out in the pub, have a few too many, I’ll carry you back to your room and have my way with you. Sound like a plan?”

Asta laughed, “As if you would ever take advantage of me while drunk, Ser. You’d stammer and stumble your way to sleeping on the floor.”

“I don’t know…” Cullen mused, “if you were throwing yourself at me, it might be too much to resist.”

“We could just skip the drinking too much part,” Asta threw him an arch glance.

“Well, that is what I was thinking. But if you want to go,” he protested, “we should go! Bull and Dorian will probably end up there at some point. It will be fun.” He thought again, “Maybe. They won’t have Maraas-Lok here, do they?”

“Come on, buy me a drink, Commander,” she pulled him along. “We’ll have one. Then I won’t be inebriated and you won’t have to get all noble and shit.”

“I don’t get ‘noble and shit’,” Cullen huffed.  "And you've been spending too much time with Sera."

“Yeah, right. Tell me the truth then, if I hadn’t been drunk, would you have come in to my cabin that night at Haven?” Her raised eyebrow told him that she knew the answer.

“Maybe, just for a little while, to talk,” he admitted. “But you were drunk, and I knew there would be gossip, so…”

“Exactly, Commander Noble-and-Shit,” she laughed. “Come on. One drink. Don’t let me have more. They have bear rugs here, you know.”

“Maker, I love Fereldan,” Cullen laughed, and followed her through the door.

***

Four hours later, Asta stumbled out the door, waving gleefully to the crowd of her new friends inside. “Thank you! Enjoy your dragon-free existence! Support your Inquisition!” She laughed and stumbled her way across the bridge. A very resigned Commander followed her, preventing her from falling off the top of the dam.

She smushed herself up against him at the first opportunity. She had had some strawberry wine, and he could smell it on her breath. “Asta,” he said, resigning himself further to being called ‘Noble-and-shit’ every time she got drunk, “Let’s get you back to the keep.”

“I like it _here_ ,” she said emphatically. “This is a nice spot. You’re here, I’m here. It’s perfect.” She beamed as if she had said something clever. “No place in Thedas like this.” She threw her arms around his neck. “’sides, not that drunk. One bottle - small bottle.” She thought. “I think. How many bottles? Got blurry there.”

“And you drank it yourself,” Cullen pointed out. “I had an ale. One ale. In a stein.”

“See! Only had one drink!” She laughed, “It’s all good, Commander.” She grew distracted, running her hand across his stubble. “Hmm, my handsome Commander…” she reached up and bit his jaw, gently, making him catch his breath. “Maker’s Golden Balls, Cullen, I want you.”

“Asta, you are drunk,” He sighed. This was not how he had wanted the evening to go. Naturally she was going to make this hard on him, but it wasn’t her fault. She had really needed to blow off some steam. Better here than at Skyhold. Here she just made friends - Fereldans loved people just being themselves. There she started rumors that traveled the width and breadth of Thedas in a matter of days. In many ways, acting disreputable near a base of your own spies was smart - your spymaster might scold you, but that’s as far as it would go.

“No, I’m not,” Asta insisted. “It’s been hours since I started drinking. Not that drunk.”

“Prove it. Walk straight without wobbling and I’ll believe you.” He let her go and she nearly fell over.

She straightened suddenly. “Fine.” And walked perfectly straight, heel to toe, head in the air to the end of the dam, spun lightly on one foot, never wobbling and came right back. “Believe me now?” She draped herself back over him.

“How did…”

“My Great Aunt Lucille had me taught dancing,” Asta said, “You know, noble crap. Walking straight to the carriage after you’ve had too much at a ball or party is part of it. Appearances are everything. Now, _Commander,_ are you going to keep your end of the bargain? I proved it.”

“I should,” Cullen started, holding onto her waist. Mercy, he wanted her. In the moonlight her hair looked darker, and the wind on the dam had whipped it loose from her tight style. She was breathtaking, lips stained red with the wine and smelling of strawberries. He wanted to taste it on her lips.

“You should what,” Asta leaned closer. “I want to know.”

“I want,” he said leaning down to her lips. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, you _know_ I want you.”

“Then have me,” she said, and kissed him. He growled under his breath and kissed her back, hard, moving over her with all the impatience and guilt he had at taking advantage of her. He pulled back, panting, “Asta, back to the keep.”

“No,” she said, “You’ll sleep on the floor if we go back to the keep.” She looked sad.

“Damn it, Asta, I won’t sleep on the floor!” He yelled, “But I refuse to take you here on the top of the dam where everyone and their brother can come by and watch us!” Two villagers chose that moment to stroll by on their way to the tavern.

“Inquisitor,” they snickered and Asta waved regally.

Cullen buried his face in her neck. At least they were Fereldans. “Andraste’s ass,” he whispered into her hair. “Asta, will you take me back to the keep before I embarrass us even further?”

“Will you have your way with me?” She asked cheerily and all too loud. The door to the tavern slammed.

“Maker, Asta!” Cullen hissed, “Yes.”

“I can’t hear you, Cullen,” she smiled wickedly.

“Yes!” He said clearly, just as two Inquisition officers came out of the tavern.

They saluted, “Inquisitor, Commander,” and made their way back up to the keep whispering and giggling.

Cullen drew a deep shuddering breath. “For Andraste’s Sake, Inquisitor, I’m begging you,” he said clearly. “I promise that I won’t sleep on the floor. And that I will,” he clenched his teeth, “have my way with you.”

“All right then,” Asta held out her arms, expecting him to pick her up and cradle her in his arms. He smirked and lifted her around her thighs so that she hung over his back. “Cullen!”

“I said I’d carry you back,” he shifted her a little. “This is easier. And I can still open doors instead of kicking them in. Saves the Inquisition money, that.”

“Now you’re laughing at me.” She pouted, and squealed when he bounced her on his shoulder in retaliation.

“Perish the thought, Inquisitor.” He smirked. “You’ve had your fun, after all. Now it’s my turn.” And he strode back to Caer Bronach, nodding briskly at the various villagers and agents coming their direction, completely at ease. “We have to find a bear rug. Any ideas?” He asked Charter, who actually stammered and mentioned the room at the top of the keep.

“Oh, good idea!” Asta chirped from her ungainly position. “It has a locking door! As you were, Charter! Have a nice evening!” She swatted his ass and shouted, “Onward to the keep, Ser Knight!” and he just laughed, and nodded to the next group from the keep, smirking.

It had been a very good day.

 


	47. Hearts and Bear Rugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic just broke 100 kudos. I'm humbled and honored. In celebration, have the chapter tonight that I was going to post tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

Dorian and Bull recovered from their encounter slowly, pulling apart from each other in the ruins of the building where the dragon had made its nest. They didn’t meet each other’s eyes as they redressed in their filthy armor, Dorian visibly recoiling at the thought of putting those _rags_ back on himself. “I’m going to have to burn these,” he muttered. “Disgusting.”

“I don’t know,” Bull said, “I thought it was hot, myself. You smell like dragon, Dorian. That’s seriously a turn on.” He still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and made his way back to the dragon’s head and started to pry out a tooth.

“You would think so,” rejoined Dorian, nose in the air. “But we both stink to high heaven and I need a bath.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Bull grunted. “There!” The tooth came free. Dorian eyed it, suddenly suspicious.

“What did you need that for?” His mind was racing, somewhat panicking. _Andraste’s staff and Maker’s fire, not now._ He was still keyed up from the sex and the closeness of his - whatever Bull was to him - and his mind just wouldn’t allow him to contemplate what Bull was thinking about. _Not now._

Bull just grunted, “Souvenir, maybe?”

“Pull me one, then, too?” Dorian called his bluff. _Shut up, shut up, shut up…_ his brain tried to take it back, but his heart had control of his mouth.

Bull eyed him. “How much reading on the Qunari as a race did you do, Dorian?”

“Enough,” Dorian dodged. “Why do you ask?” _Shit, why do I try to match brains with a Ben-Hasserath?  I can't even beat Cullen at chess and I cheat!_

Bull charged, and slammed him back up against the ruined wall that they had been pressed against not too many minutes before in a very different embrace. “Talk to me, ‘Vint. I know why I want a tooth. But what about you?” He added, “Don’t try to lie, Dorian. I can tell when you are lying.”

“I don’t know what this is about,” he hedged, refusing to meet his eyes, heart breaking with the lie. _Liar, liar…_

“No more games, Dorian!” Bull slammed his hands against the wall. A few stones rattled loose, and he fisted his hands to restrain himself. “This isn’t the time for them. I need to know.” Dorian lifted his head to meet his eye, his own suspiciously wet.

“I’m… not good at not playing games,” Dorian admitted. “It’s hard to be honest. In Tevinter,” he started.

“We aren’t in fucking Tevinter!” Bull hit the wall again, and a few more stones came loose. “Damn it, Dorian, do you… care or not? By Koslun‘s tide, under the Qun we don‘t fucking do this at all! Friends, sure, but we don‘t sleep with them! That‘s the territory of the Tamassrans and I‘m not one of them! I‘ve never fucking done this!”

“I have…” Dorian muttered. “I thought I was in… you know. Once. But it ended when I wouldn’t pretend, wouldn’t marry the girl, wouldn’t keep it all nice and quiet and pretty on the outside while dying on the inside. It ended when my father wanted to do blood magic to change me.”

“I know all that, ‘Vint. I don’t fucking want you to change!” Bull growled. “Will you or won’t you?”

Dorian lifted his chin, stupidly determined to brazen it out, “I won’t know what you’re talking about unless you ask, buffoon.”

“Fucking Void, Dorian,” Bull grunted. “Just be up front for once, will you?” He went and sat down on the steps of the ruin, staring out at the carcass of the dragon in the setting sun and throwing rocks at the body.

“Look who is talking!” Dorian flung back a few minutes later, a good offense being the best defense, but still not ready to just let it go, “You can’t even bring yourself to say it either. We’re _enemies_ , Bull. Mage and Ben-Hasserath - I know what they do, as well as reeducation. So don’t deny it. And ‘Vint and Qunari. It’s fucking hopeless,” he sniffed. He was _not_ going to cry. Not over this… man.

“We’re not enemies,” Bull muttered. “Not unless you make us enemies. I’m not part of the Qun, I’m Tal-Vashoth. And you are a ‘Vint, but you aren’t an altus any longer. We are agents of the Inquisition, and the Boss said…”

“And what does she know, for all of her lofty ideals?” Dorian was furious. “Are you saying you are prepared to have an open relationship with me, another man? Show me off to the Chargers? Admit you love a ‘Vint and a mage?” He stopped, he had said the word. _Fasta Vass, what have I done._ He started to shake.

“Not so open, I‘m not gonna fucking share unless I have to,” growled Bull, looking a little surprised at his own admission. “And the Chargers don’t fucking care who I fuck in my spare time, and if they do they can keep their shitty opinions to themselves. And fuck, yeah, I want to love you. I don’t want to be the Arvaarad to your Saarebas, Dorian. I want to be your Kadan. You are mine, whether you take the damn tooth or not.” He slumped his shoulders, looking more defeated than Dorian had ever seen him. “Shit, Dorian, you’ve got me all messed up. And I was pretty messed up before I met you. If I don’t have you, I’ve got nothing now. I‘m Tal va-fucking-shoth. Even the Qun has rejected me.”

Dorian stood, sniffing again, ignoring the tears that kept trickling down his dusty face and went to sit next to his man, and took his hand. It was the first time he had reached out to touch him like this - in a non-sexual way. He shook a little bit with the intimacy. It was only a hand. But what it meant… “I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me, then.” He drew a shuddering breath. “And I suppose that means you’re my Kadan, too.” He blanched slightly, holding his breath without realizing it and getting light-headed before he remembered he needed air.

Bull dropped his hand and wrapped his massive arm around him. “Fucking ‘Vint,” he muttered. “Koslun’s hairy ass, I love you.”

“Greasy ox-man,” Dorian muttered, but leaned into him closer. “You’d better give me the damn tooth. I nearly died trying to get that thing for you. But I guess I… love you too.” He winced at the admission.

“For you, you mean,” Bull laughed. “Half to you, half to me, and some string to tie ‘em up.”

“Ugh, that’s barbaric,” Dorian muttered. “I have to wear this bloody thing?  Can I at least put it on a silverite chain or something prettier?”

“Yep!” Bull squeezed him. “Thanks, Kadan.” They sat in silence for a bit, watching the sunset.

“So are we… married now, or something?” Dorian finally asked. “The books I read were more about the culture, not the social implications of such a… bond.”

“Social implications,” Bull squeezed him again and snorted, “It’s whatever we want it to be. Kadan translates as ‘center of the chest’ or ‘heart’. It’s not like we have to label this precisely for some professor from Orlais to take apart in a book, or more likely, for Boss to squint at and define. But if you want to call me something besides Kadan,” he shrugged, “I’m okay with that. Call me whatever you like.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dorian grumbled. “It’s going to take getting used to.” He thought of something else, “Fasta vass, do I have to move in? Your quarters are a _sty._ I absolutely refuse to live in such squalor.”

“You ask too many questions, Kadan,” Bull couldn’t seem to say the word enough. He felt all - fluffy. “Does it really matter?”

“YES,” Dorian hissed. “If we are embarking on this… relationship, it needs boundaries, rules! I don’t want to…” he stopped, realizing what he was doing, “embarrass you. Sex is one thing, but this… intimacy, it…” he shuddered, “scares me.”

Bull laughed. “I walk around without a shirt, drink too much and openly sleep around, all of which are in defiance of your homeland’s mores, and you’re worried you’ll embarrass _me?_ Fuck, Dorian.” He leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. “Don’t worry so much.”

***

Cullen dropped Asta onto the rug and went to lock the door in the little library. The room was a mess, though at least since she had been here last the ravens had been moved, and the books shelved. Otherwise, a pack of Wicked Grace cards still lay strewn about the table, and maps and scrolls were stacked haphazardly against the walls on some low shelves. Asta looked around happily.

“I love this room,” she said. “I spent a very happy hour here when I was fixing Crestwood’s messes. There was this book about the Anderfels and their king that loved cats. It was…” Cullen dropped down next to her and kissed her, interrupting her spiel. She clung to him as he lowered her down. When he finally let her go, her back against the rug, she smiled, “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, no, do go on,” Cullen said amused, “it’s a bit of a coincidence. I knew a mage - at Kinloch and Kirkwall, actually, that had a thing for cats and was named Anders…” He stopped, and shook his head, “Just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“That Anders?” Asta tilted her head.

“That Anders,” he confirmed, “But come to think about it, I really don’t want to talk about him right now.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sure there are other things we could be doing.”

“I think you might be right,” Asta giggled. He kissed her again. She did taste like wine and strawberries, and he couldn’t get enough of her. She moved against him restlessly, and started to unlace his pants. They had dropped off their armor in their room downstairs, ignoring the various raised eyebrows they gathered as they made their way upstairs, so for once, it would be easy to get him out of his clothing, at least. He was already hard through the leather of his breeches, and she grasped him. “Maker, Cullen, you weren’t kidding, were you?” She hurried up with the unlacing, and pulled him free of his smallclothes. “That looks a little more comfortable, but let’s get these off of you.” He helped her shove them off, laughing at her eagerness.

“I’m not going anywhere, Asta,” he observed. “You can take your time.”

She shrugged, “Taking your time is overrated, when you have a man that looks as good as you do without pants. Leliana did not approve of my suggested addition to the Chant, by the way.”

“Asta, you didn’t…” he stopped, realizing she was joking. “The fact that I actually thought you might have addressed that with Leliana worries me.”

She smiled cheekily, “I guess you’ll have to ‘debrief me’ about her latest letter, then.”

“Maker’s Breath, Asta, that was a terrible pun,” He stripped off his shirt, though, and laid himself down next to her on the rug. “This is… fuzzy and rougher than I thought.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Asta agreed, wriggling a bit, “When I was alone my room, I used to lie on my rug, and think about your coat,” she whispered, “naked.”

“Oh, really?” Cullen popped a couple of her fasteners open. “What else did you think about?”

“I used to imagine you laying it down for me,” she whispered, still sweetly, “and pushing me down into it, while running your hands everywhere…”

“I like these thoughts,” Cullen’s voice was rough. “Where were my hands?” She opened her mouth to tell him, and he shushed her. “Show me?” He finished her fasteners, and pulled the laces free on her breeches and tugged them down her legs while she tried to help, mostly ineffectively. Then she ran her hands over her breasts, and cupped them a bit, thumbing her nipples until they were stiff. She ran her right hand down lower, and touched herself then, humming a little while she stroked.

“I’d say your name, too,” she confessed, “pretending that you were touching me. This was long before we ever…”

Cullen hummed back, “So, you thought about me?”

“You know I did,” she replied, love shining in her eyes. “The reality is better than the fantasy ever was.”

“I thought of you, too,” he admitted, “and did… something similar. After the first time you touched me, I couldn’t stop,” he blurted out. “Every time you were away from Skyhold, I had to… I couldn’t…” he laughed, “I confess, I thought I had outgrown touching myself like that - not since I was a teenager have I ever been so eager.”

“Really?” Asta was flattered, and very, very aroused. “Show me?” He dropped his hand down, and wrapped his length in his hand, silky and hard at the same time, and stroked, slowly, dragging his thumb over the tip of his cock as he reached it.

He shook a bit. “I… I have very little control when it comes to you, Asta.” He moaned a little. “I want you to touch me. No, I want you around me, love.” He shuddered, “I’d imagine burying my hands in your hair while I buried myself into you…” he laughed, “You are right, the fantasy didn’t match the reality in the slightest.”

“The last time I was in this room, I got your letter,” she said. “The one that told me to come back. I flew out of this keep like Corypheus himself was after me, trying to get home to you as fast as I could.”

Cullen drooped, “Only to find out about the lyrium,” he groaned, but kept stroking, “Maker, I’m an idiot.”

She smiled, “It got better.” She gasped, her fingers hitting the next stage in her arousal. “Cullen, I want…” He stopped stroking himself to touch her instead, pushing a single digit into her, making her moan. She put her other hand on him, running her fingers across him lightly. “I can’t wait much longer,” she was shaking now.

“Don’t wait,” Cullen smiled, trying to find his own breath while she ran tickling fingers over his stomach and cock. “I want to watch you.” She drove up suddenly against his hand, and on the next upswing he added a second finger. “You’re so beautiful, Asta.”

She was beyond words, only movement and desire, pushing herself into him. He bent down to kiss her, and she stopped touching herself to bury her hands in his hair and drag him down against her. He pulled back, “No, I want to watch you come first, Asta, please,” he asked beseechingly. “Soon,” he promised. “I don’t want to wait long.” He touched his thumb to her instead, while she whined.

“Cullen,” her voice dragged the two syllables out, “Please…”

“Not yet,” he whispered. “You have to come first.” He hesitated, but then slid a third finger inside her.

The stretch was perfect, a beautiful pulling that set her body on fire, and she thrust against him still more impatiently. He bent the fingers, beckoning and rubbed as she pushed against him. His mouth found her breast and started licking with the tip of his tongue, flicking it against her.

The wine made her loud, he realized, and there was no way that the agents in the keep weren’t going to know exactly what they were doing. Oddly enough, he didn’t care. He was aching for her, and he had just enough willpower to hold out for her. Her moans were making him drunk, more drunk than even Maraas-Lok. “Sweet Andraste, Asta,” he breathed against her, “I love you.” She came undone around his hand, riding against him wildly, crying out his name. “That’s right, Asta…” she shook against him in her aftermath, and he removed his hand, unable to wait. “Are you ready?”

Her only response was a gasp, and a shaky hand that reached down to him, to try to pull him inside. She glared at him when he hesitated, and then the angry eyes closed as he shoved himself in all at once. She cried out again, and wrapped her legs around his back, bucking against him. He grabbed her thighs and held her even tighter, driving deeper than she could manage on her own. “Asta, Holy Fucking Maker,” he groaned, hardly aware of how loud he was really being. “You feel…nice.”

She sat up, sliding off him momentarily, and then shoved him back against the rug, riding him restlessly, determined to have all of him. She was wild, her hair loose and flowing, her eyes unfocused and half-closed. He held his hands to her hips and tried desperately to move into her, to snap his hips up. She slid up and slammed down, again and again, arching her back, until her legs started to shudder with the effort of maintaining the pace. She slowed at last, nearly spent with the exertions of the day, and Cullen flipped them both back over. She drew her legs higher, reaching for his shoulders and the angle nearly pushed him over the edge as it pulled a moan out of her.

They moved as one, gasps and cries and moans floating down the stairs and through the drafty keep, making agents blush and soldiers move away in alarm from the sounds of their love-making. At last he realized that she was building up for another release, and he grew determined, pinching and rubbing her breast while she touched herself again, desperate in her passion. He grew tighter as she clenched against him, trying to arch her back as she shouted his name one last time. With that, he finally came, shooting into her, gasping and groaning in turn as he rode their orgasm out. At last, she slid her legs down his shoulders and he sat back on his heels, eyes closed and panting.

“Maker’s Breath, Asta,” but he couldn’t even finish the sentence.

She had a blissful little smile on her face as she gazed at him. “Definitely better than any fantasy,” she laughed. He just collapsed next to her on the rug.

“Let’s not move for a couple of days,” he said, pulling his coat over them. “We can just stay here. This is the best spot in Thedas.”

“It always is, when I’m with you, Cullen.” She curled against him, content. “It’s a good thing the door locks.” And they fell asleep against each other, worn out from their really good day.


	48. The Choices We Make

Asta sat on her throne, staring down at Thom Rainier who had audaciously accused her of being corrupt, because she tried to save him from an abrupt drop at the end of a rope. She took a deep breath and tried not to be petty. A man’s life was at stake.

“Seriously, _Rainier?_ You have the gall to accuse _me_ of being corrupt, when you are responsible for the murder of children? For turning against the Empress you swore to serve for money? Only to have the half-witted plan fall apart underneath you and have to spend the rest of your life running?” Asta stood out of her throne and paced. “We had you released through legitimate channels, _Rainier_. Because I had to know exactly what else you had lied about. _Rainier_ ,” he flinched every time she said his real name, “you were loyal. You stuck yourself out in front of me a thousand times, blocked an arrow for me the first time we met, and continued to serve willingly at every opportunity. I knew you were probably not a Warden,” and he looked resigned at that, “but honestly, _Rainier_ , I thought you were trustworthy despite your lies.” She sat back down, and stared some more.

“I guess I only have one question. Why didn’t you trust the Inquisition, or me, with the truth? You’ve proven yourself a strong warrior, despite not being a Warden, you proved you’d take injury for all of us at Haven, at Adamant. Why didn’t you just come to me, or Leliana - who suspected as well - or even Josephine and tell us?”

“I couldn’t, Inquisitor. I’m ashamed of who I am. I… don’t deserve any kind of a chance at redemption.” His initial anger had dissipated, and he was left a broken man in shackles and padded armor.

“None of us do, Rainier,” Asta said bluntly, but the sting had gone out of her voice. “No one here has a completely clear slate, as my advisors have pointed out to me again and again. The Inquisition is in place to rebuild what is broken, to find what has been lost, to make Thedas better. That you have a past you are ashamed of is nothing new. No, the real problem here is that you hid that past. We all thought we knew you, considered you a friend, even as family.” She shook her head. “You made horrible choices. So have we all.”

“Mine are worse than most, my lady,” Thom Rainier said. “It was by my order that they died, that the men under my command committed that atrocity. I do not deserve leniency, I don’t deserve anything but death.”

“I agree with you,” Asta met his eyes. “You do deserve death. But my advisors - they disagree. I cannot bring myself to pardon you, Rainier. You committed an atrocity, as you said. Innocents died.” Asta’s face cracked. “And yet I cannot bring myself to sentence you to death, either. You… were my friend. I have had precious few friends in my life, believe it or not. I can’t bring myself to kill someone I thought of that way.” She slumped. “This is nearly worse than death, however, knowing what I know now about the Grey Wardens. Call me a coward, but I sentence you to death by Blight, Thom Rainier. We’re going to send you to the Grey Wardens, to undergo their Joining. Not everyone survives the Joining, Rainier. This is not mercy. You will have a short, bloody lifespan, but you will spend it doing what I think you do best - standing in front of those who need it. You will die young, in the Deep Roads or by the hand of darkspawn.” She stood again, “You will be escorted to the Grey Wardens rebuilding at Adamant, Rainier, after we defeat Corypheus and we will find out whether or not you can undergo the Joining. If you survive, you will be a Warden. If you do not, you will be dead.”

Rainier nodded along, “That is more than fair, my lady.” He hesitated, “The word of a traitor means nothing, but I am sorry for my deceit, and for my crime. But I cannot thank you for my life, either. I want to die.”

Asta slumped back into her throne, eyes closed. “And that’s exactly why you are going to live as a Warden, Rainier. Because for you, it’s a greater punishment to live knowing what you’ve done, to feel that guilt for the remainder of your life, than it would be to die.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, if I can ever trust you again. But until Corypheus is dead, the Inquisition needs you. And when I was in the Fade, at Adamant, I swore to the Nightmare we fought that I would never send you away, despite the past he insisted you hid. I will not break my word, even to a demon.”

***

Cullen found her later, alone in her old room, nearly empty except for the desk and bed. She wasn’t crying. She was stone-faced and cold, playing with something wooden. She looked at him with dead eyes, “Did I do the right thing? I… wanted him to feel pain like he caused me, like he caused those children. Felix Alexius had the Blight. I know how it takes those that have it, and the Joining is done with darkspawn blood. It’s horrible, and literally the worst death I can imagine for anyone.” She looked up at him. “I’m a monster. Worse than Blackwall, any darkspawn, any magister. Worse than Corypheus, even.”

Cullen sat down on the bed, and watched her. “I don’t think anyone here sees it that way. They see you giving him mercy, giving him a chance to atone.”

“But I don’t mean it that way! This is my revenge!” Asta threw a wooden top - one that Blackwall had whittled over several nights while they camped in the Hinterlands - over the balcony, and watched it fall down into the ravine. “He wanted to die, so I denied him a swift death and gave him one filled with horror. He deserves to live with the pain and guilt of the people he killed.”

“None of us have clean hands, Asta,” Cullen sighed. “I think you perhaps are holding Rainier to a higher standard, yes. I probably would have pardoned him, and then the Empress would have had him arrested and put to death immediately. What you did was spare his life in the only way you could, whatever you meant by it. I do think that Rainier understands your reasoning.”

“Good,” Asta said fiercely.

He paused, “Why are you worried whether you did the right thing if you are so bent on revenge?”

“Because,” and she finally started to cry, “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to leave him in Orlais for the Empress to execute. And I wanted to pardon him. Oh, Cullen,” she fell to her knees on the balcony. “I hate being the Inquisitor. I hate it.” She rocked back and forth, and wrapped her arms around her body and wailed into the wind around the tower. “I can’t do this anymore.” She wept like he had never seen her weep, not even after Redcliffe.

He picked her up gently, and laid her down in the ostentatious bed Josephine had picked, and curled up next to her, and held her, until she cried herself out and she fell asleep. He stayed awake for the entire night, watching her, and soothing her when she occasionally cried out in her sleep.

The next morning Dorian and Leliana found them, and Cullen pulled away from her to speak with them softly. “She’s not well,” he admitted. “She thinks that she sentenced him to the worst death she could have, and all for revenge. It’s preying on her, even in her sleep. I don’t think…” he swallowed. “I think she’s going to regret this choice, in the end.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes, “Well, we’ve all made choices we regret.”

“She hasn’t,” Cullen looked at them both. “Her choices until the Conclave were made for her. This could break her.”

“We can’t protect her from the danger of her own choices, Commander,” Leliana argued, “She would be nothing more than a child or a figurehead! We don’t need a figurehead, we need a leader.”

“I know that,” Cullen hissed, “but this…”

“She’s already sentenced him,” Dorian cut in. “It’s over. She has to live with it now. You can’t shield her from this, Cullen.”

“The Inquisition has no more involvement in his sentence, unless the Wardens decide to not put him through the Joining.” Leliana sighed, “I don’t think that will happen. They need people, and Stroud trusts us.”

“I know,” Cullen sighed, looking at her sleep, looking pale against the red of the curtains. “I know.”

Dorian spoke, “Let’s just hope she doesn’t wake soon. And when she does, we’ll all need to be there.”

***

Asta was pale-faced and sullen for the several days after, while they prepared to leave for the Hinterlands.

She spent her time hiding as much as possible in their quarters, trying not to let her sobs be heard down the ladder, or wandering amongst empty halls under Skyhold where hardly anyone went. She acted like she was sleeping when Cullen climbed into bed, and delegated most of her responsibilities for planning the trip to Valamaar to other members of her circle. Blackwall would not be accompanying them.

But Dorian flatly refused, “I am not going to take on duties that are yours, Asta, while you slump about Skyhold in your pajamas, refusing to bathe and feeling sorry for yourself. You are not the only person in the world to be lied to.”

“Fuck off, Dorian,” she hissed. “I just killed a man I considered a friend. One of your best friends in the world died the same way. You remember what Felix was like in Redcliffe. You remember. You should hate me!” She slumped against the railing. “You all should hate me.  Next time it could be you I sentence to a long and horrible death.”

“Oh, get over yourself!” he snapped. “Blackwall - yes, I’m still calling him that - idolized the Wardens. You gave him his greatest wish on a silver platter! No one hates you, Inquisitor. You gave the man a third chance that he didn’t deserve. You need to get back on the proverbial horse and do better, if you are so upset with yourself. No one thinks you are doing a bad job, except for a few malcontents that think the sun rises and sets in Orlais. Even the Empress thinks that your solution was fair - Leliana had a letter from Briala a day ago. Suck it up, buttercup. You’re in charge. Sucks that occasionally you have to act like it, I know.”

“You fucking MAGE!” Asta screamed at him. “As if I ever haven’t acted like it! I’ve been making tough decisions about who lives and dies since Haven! Since I woke up with this thing on my hand! I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want it.” She slammed her hand against the pillar in the library. Dorian smiled. Finally, a reaction.

“And yet you have it anyway!” Dorian said back. “Only you can do this.” He took a deep breath, “And we are all behind you. But you cannot spend your time second-guessing decisions that have already been made, either. Move on. We leave for Valamaar in two days. We need the Inquisitor, Asta. We need you at your most brilliant. Please, my friend, my sister…” he took her hand, “we all miss you. Some of us will even miss the hairy lummox. But what is done is done. And now we need you, in the present, dealing with the next stage of this journey.” He peered at her. “Can you do that?”

Asta shook, and swallowed, “I will try.”

“No, that’s not good enough. We need you to do it. Can you lead us?”

She took a deep breath, “Yes.”

“Good, then go home to that strapping young Templar of yours. I’m having a bath delivered, because you need one. Tell Cullen to lock the doors and use it. Quit sulking, eat something, and quit beating yourself up over something that you can’t help now.” He hugged her, somehow still managing to keep her at arms length, sighed over her appearance and shaking his head, went to find a runner.

She slunk back to their tower, and Cullen looked up and for the first time in days, she met his eyes. He relaxed, and she realized that he had a deep wrinkle between his brows that he hadn’t had the week prior. She cleared her throat, and with a rusty voice asked, “Do you have a headache?”

“No,” he smiled. “But I… I was worried for you. Are you… feeling better?”

She smiled wryly, “Dorian just chewed my ass up and spit me out.” She sighed, a little dramatically. “He also told me I stunk and that he was going to have a bath delivered.” Hesitating, she asked, “Can we lock the doors for a while, after it gets here?”

“Of course,” he stood up. “I’ll order something for us to eat and you can eat and bathe and we’ll talk.” He crossed his office towards her, and reached out to hug her tight. “I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to protect you, but I couldn’t.”

“This is one time when I didn’t need protection,” Asta noted, twisting her mouth. “Apparently I needed a two-bit necromancer from Tevinter to tell me where to get off.” She sighed, “I have been a bitch, haven’t I? And been slacking with the planning for this trip, and not using my time with you wisely.” She held him tighter. “Maker, I’m sorry. I need to apologize to everyone for this.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes, Inquisitor,” he kissed the top of her head. “And I’m not really sure that you have made a mistake. There just wasn’t a good answer.” There was a knock at the door, and he released her to let the bathtub and buckets of water in, one after the other until it was full. He asked the last maid, “Could you go see what they can deliver from the kitchens? Just whatever is handy. Tell Cook we’re grateful.” The maid nodded, and left without a word.

Asta climbed the ladder to get her bathing supplies while he locked the doors. “I see what you mean. I’ve thought about nothing else all week - all the decisions that I’ve had to make since I woke up in Haven. It’s not just Blackwall. It’s that scouting party that we never found because my thighs ached - they died, I’m sure of it. And all because I couldn’t bring myself to climb a few ladders.”

“And if you hadn’t charged with me, I might be dead,” Cullen said fairly, “And maybe more of my men as well.”

She slid back down the ladder, basket in her mouth. She took it out, and poured some oils in the tub. “And then the dreadnought - how many people died because I saved the Chargers? And maybe if I had just banished the Wardens then I would have found a different choice for Rainier…” she hesitated, “And yet, it’s not healthy to dwell. It’s done. I can’t go back. I can’t go back and save the Templars, or stop the Wardens from falling to Corypheus. It’s all out of my power now. It’s only in that single moment that I can change anything.” She finished undressing and then looked at him while she sank into the bath. “And that’s what haunts me the most. Those are only the choices I can see having an effect. _What about the ones I don’t see?_ ” She dove under the water, wetting her hair and coming back up.

“This is one of those times I think being intelligent actually hurts you,” Cullen said. “Most people don’t think like that, Asta. They live their lives in the moment, making decisions that might have far-reaching consequences and then move along to the next without worrying about it.” He paused and picked up her shampoo. “Here, let me,” and he poured the soap into his hand and worked it into her hair. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve witnessed the future if you fail? I don’t know. I think a few moves ahead, but still, you think further ahead than I do.” He laughed. “That’s probably why you beat me at chess.”

“Commander, I beat you at chess because you can’t stop looking at my breasts when I’m leaning over,” Asta let him rinse the soap from her hair. “That feels good.”

“I do not…”

“Don’t lie, Commander. When I play chess with you, I know where you’re looking. I pick my clothes accordingly.” She peeked up at him. “You’re doing the same thing right now. You, Commander, have a weakness, but it’s not a strategic one that our enemies can take advantage of.” She thought harder, “I don’t think.”

“Can you blame me?” His fingers trailed their way down to the body part in question, and squeezed.

She hummed, “Not at all. It’s a weakness I rather enjoy, actually. But, I think that a game of Wicked Grace is in order when we get back from Valamaar.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’d like to get to ogle too. And unless we play strip chess, it’s not going to happen otherwise.”

“What makes you think I’d lose?” He kissed her neck, kneeling down behind her.

Asta laughed, “Oh, just a feeling.”

***

Bull came into Dorian’s quarters and sat down on the recently reinforced bed. “The Boss doing better?”

“Yes, now that I thoroughly reminded her that she is Thedas’ last hope… blah, blah, blah.” Dorian sighed. “She wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t tell her that. I don’t dislike the hairy lummox, but watching him die of the blight like Felix did… it would be painful.”

“After we kick Corypheus’ ass, we might not ever know what happens to him,” Bull pointed out. “He’ll do the Joining thing, and we…”

“And that’s a very good question,” Dorian jumped in. “What does happen to ‘we’ after we defeat Corypheus, Bull?”

Bull shrugged, “You’re my Kadan. I’m yours. That doesn’t just change because we’re not in the same place any more. Asit tal-eb.”

“And what, pray tell, does that mean?” Dorian’s Qunlat wasn’t improving quickly.

“It is to be,” Bull grabbed the wandering mage and pulled him into his lap. “Dorian, you know I won’t be welcome if you go back to Tevinter. I’m not going back to the Qun. You can either come with me to the next job or we’ll part ways, and see each other when we can. But it’s not gonna change anything else. Not for me.” He looked at him close. “I don’t think it will for you either, whatever you say.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “Just once I would like to be able to fool you. It’s uncomfortable being read this closely, Bull. Can’t you pretend and let me have a few little… privacies?”

Bull grinned, shark-like. “No. You like that you can’t have barriers around me. You like that you are bare before me, that one person always knows what you want, what you are thinking, what you desire…” he kissed Dorian’s shoulder where it peeked out from his robes. “And you like that you don’t have to hide from me. I’m not going to pretend anything.”

***

Cassandra faced Varric, a red blush covering her throat and cheeks. “That’s what I said. I was drunk, dwarf, and I apologize for making you uncomfortable in front of your… friend.” She paused, “And I’m sorry I threw your vase and broke it. And called you a…” she cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t want to repeat it.”

“Fucking Maker, Seeker, I…” the dwarf ran his hand through his hair. “You didn’t deserve what she said, either. Bianca’s never been one for social niceties. But she had no right to call you a whore.” He looked up at the woman. “You have nothing to be ashamed about. If I had known she was there, I’d never have…”

“Exactly,” Cassandra stood. “It should not have happened in any case. And now, we can work together again, and move on from this. I assume Asta has informed you that I’m coming with you to the Hinterlands?”

“She might have mentioned it,” Varric said. “But, Seeker…”

“Don’t worry about it, Varric.” Cassandra moved toward the side door of the hall. “It won’t happen again.” And she was out of the room before he could stop her.

“Well, shit,” Varric sighed his shoulders slumped forward. “I need a drink.” She hadn’t even given him a chance to apologize for not defending her.

Cassandra leaned against the wall, body shaking silently. It was done. Now for the difficult part. Now she had to act like she didn’t actually care.

 


	49. Wicked, Wicked Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, NSFW. Again. I need to get these two out into the field so that they'll leave each other alone. Sorry/Not Sorry for all the smut. Really, there is a plot in here somewhere. I'm sure if I had an editor they'd tell me this wasn't necessary. Oh well.

But Cassandra had never claimed to be an actress. “Bullshit!” A random rock nearly collided with the dwarf smith’s head as the wild-eyed Seeker zoned in on her. “You dare! You single-handedly managed to curse the Templars and the Seekers to a painful death by red lyrium because you just had to know?!” The infuriated woman lifted her by her collar. “I ought to kill you now for crimes against Thedas. Or haul you back to Skyhold to be tried by the Inquisitor. Or detained to be ruled against by whoever becomes Divine! Your _research…_ ”

“That’s enough, Cassandra,” Asta had stood by and enjoyed the show up until this point. Bianca’s flaunting her married status and superior skills in front of Varric had grated her for the full day it had taken to clear out the darkspawn and make it to the door that needed closing, and if the Seeker hadn’t jumped in, she probably would have. “I think you’ve made our… your point.” She smiled sharply as the Seeker dropped her to the ground and drew closer. “Varric, you have a real winner, here, don’t you? She cheats, she lies, she steals, she sells her own people down the river when she realizes she‘s made a mistake…”

“Some would say we’re a perfect match,” Varric muttered.

“No, you are far too good for that bitch,” Cassandra cursed. Varric just shrugged.

“She manages to take down half of Thedas by talking to the wrong Warden,” Asta observed. “Well, now that the doors are sealed, Bianca, I’m going to let you go. I don’t feel like starting a war with the Smith caste today, luckily. I’ve been doing enough of that lately.” She smiled down at the woman, “So run along, back to your husband…”

Cassandra growled.

“…and maybe you should think about staying away from Varric for the foreseeable future.” Asta grinned wider. “After all, sweetheart, you aren’t that special. Talented with crossbows, not a bad Smith, but otherwise, pretty ordinary, after all. Think about it, ‘kay?”

Bianca stood shakily, “If you let him die, Inquisitor…”

“Oh, honey, don’t even start.” Asta eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you cared that much you could have married him. Only to find out that after all, your work, your status and your legacy was more important than him. Bullshit. Varric deserves better.” She straightened. “We’re leaving. If I ever hear that you are anywhere near this part of the Hinterlands again, I will address it with your guild, since your reputation means so much to you. You will be watched, Bianca.”

“Varric,” Bianca called, but he just shook his head at her and left her alone in the Deep Roads, following the Inquisitor on the path to the surface.

Cassandra snarled wordlessly at her as she passed, but didn’t touch her again. She wasn’t worth it.

***

Camp was solemn that evening, back on the surface. Asta tried to write a letter to Cullen to inform him that the situation was resolved, but for once the words wouldn’t come. Cassandra and Varric sat staring into the fire, on opposite sides, not making eye contact. Vivienne, for once, had kept her mouth shut and retired to her tent.

Asta was about to give it up as a bad job and try again the next day, when Cassandra finally spoke. “So she’s married?”

“Oh, have we reached the point in our friendship where we gossip about each other’s love lives? How about you, Seeker?” Varric asked bitterly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried,” Cassandra swallowed. Asta passed her a bottle of wine. She had brought plenty, knowing that with this group, they’d probably need it to keep from killing each other. But instead of passing it back, Cassandra passed it to Varric, who took it, reluctantly. “There was a mage, Regalyan. It was a long time ago. He died at the Conclave.”

“Aw, shit, I’m sorry, Seeker, I didn’t…” Varric took a big swallow. “I am such an ass.”

“I asked first.” Cassandra pulled her lips tight.

“Yeah, she’s married. We write letters. Not unlike Her Inquisitorialness and Curly, here. Stay in touch. Occasionally we manage to meet up, even though we shouldn’t.” He sighed, “That’s probably over. Really, it’s been fifteen fucking years anyway. Long time to carry a torch.” He passed the wine back over. “Thanks.”

“It’s not my wine,” Cassandra pointed out.

“Not for the wine, for the… threats.” Varric laughed, still bitterly. “Never seen her that mad before. Always had a major ego, not unlike myself. We were the dream team - I was just starting to write, making a little money, met her at one of my brother’s stupid parties. We managed to bust up more than one, just being ourselves. We almost started a clan war.” Asta took a long drink from the bottle, just listening, and passed it over. “Talk about a long time ago. It was before Hawke came to Kirkwall, long before. She just… always manages to turn up.” He drank deeply.

“Like a rock in your shoe?” Cassandra almost smiled.

“Like a pain in your ass,” Varric grinned. “Always there when you don’t need it and don’t have time to think about it.” The grin fell away. “She didn’t choose me, though. She chose him, and all the stuff the Quiz said.”

“She’s not worth it, Varric.” Asta threw in.

“I know,” he picked up a stick and poked at the fire.

“Will you see her again?” Cassandra asked.

“I always have before,” Varric sighed. “I always do. Even when I don’t mean to. Even when I tell her I don’t ever want to see her again, she drags me back in, tries to ruin the life I’ve built for myself without her.”

“Fuck, Varric,” Asta said, stealing back her bottle, “You need an intervention.” She shook it. It was empty. She reached behind and pulled out a second, popping the cork efficiently.

“Look who’s talking,” Varric nodded, “How many did you bring, anyway?”

“Enough,” Asta sighed. “It’s been a long month. Blackwall, the Qun, Bianca, a fiancée I barely see, the Emprise du Lion, the Arbor Wilds always at the back of my mind, Corypheus to defeat…”

“You’re swamped,” Varric laughed. “I think that’s an excellent reason to get drunk. Let’s wake up Vivienne and let her take the first two watches.” All three of them stifled their laughter at the thought of waking the crabby mage up from her beauty sleep.

“Nah, it’s pretty stable through here now,” Asta sighed. “No reports of bandits for a month or so, no reports of Red Templars or rebel mages… just people trying to put their lives back together.” She took another sip. “Besides, wine’s not my favorite. Not fruity enough.  Usually. And two bottles shared three ways?” She shook her head. “Probably not enough to give us more than a good night’s sleep.”

“I could use a good night’s sleep,” Varric noted, and snatched the bottle from her open hand. “You in, Seeker?”

Cassandra sighed, tired of being the kill-joy, “I suppose. But only if you tell a story.”

Asta shook her head, “You know, I think I’ll leave you two to the bottle, finish this letter, and get some sleep.” She sighed, “I have to let Leliana know what’s happening, after all.”

***

_Dear Cullen,_

_Well, this was a disaster. Not only was Varric leaking information about red lyrium to Bianca, but that bitch of a smith is responsible for Corypheus getting his hands on it in the first place. And red lyrium has the fucking blight. Yay._

_But at least Cassandra and Varric are talking to each other? I left them with several bottles of wine and a campfire, and Varric preparing to tell stories. I just had to find some time to write to you, to try to get these words down._

_We leave tomorrow. I’m glad you didn’t come - so much red lyrium. I know you think you won’t be affected by it, but my love, we’re all affected by it. Even Varric says he feels like he’s ‘quietly going insane’ around it. You can’t tell me, as strong and brave as you are, that you would be unmoved. And I can’t bear to see you hurt, much less poisoned the way that shit is capable of._

_We’ll have to leave for the Emprise in a matter of days after I return. Hopefully I can manage to make better use of what time we have before I must go._

_My Love Always,_

_Asta_

***

_My Asta,_

_Leliana has informed me that your letters are ‘slipping’ again, and that she is disappointed in both the lack of racy material and professionalism. I’m supposed to tell you to… well, to the Void with what I’m supposed to tell you._

_Love, I hate sending you away like this, when you are so fragile. With Blackwall’s betrayal so fresh, and your companions so splintered. I reminded Cassandra before you left that I was counting on her, and she just looked sad._

_So, as an attempt to cheer you up, tell Varric - I can’t believe I’m going to say this - that I’m in for Wicked Grace upon your return. (Maker preserve me. I must be insane.) But still, it’s just cards in the tavern, amongst a few friends. I imagine I will survive. I might even win._

_I miss you. I love you. Make haste back to me._

_Cullen_

_P.S. It is just us and Varric, right? That can’t be so bad._

***

Cullen glowered at the assembled group, completely unamused, taken for everything he had, including his pride. “Never bet against an Antivan, Commander,” Josie winked, appreciating the view. He blushed miserably, the redness going all the way down. Asta and Bull ogled him openly, not even trying to disguise where their gaze was landing. Dorian hit his partner, narrowing his eyes, and Bull dropped his finally, to his lover’s approving nod.

Cole blinked at him, “It comes off. I didn’t realize it came off.” Asta choked, and Cassandra slapped her on the back, laughing.

“This was a set-up,” Cullen grumbled. “You all planned this, didn’t you?” He stared around at the assembled card-sharks and rogues that were his friends.

“Commander, would I do such a thing?” Varric winked. “Just a fluke, I’m sure. You’ll win next time.”

Josie just laughed and gathered the massive pile of her winnings into her arms and left the tavern, beaming in victory.

Cole tilted his head, “Never bet against an Antivan, she says, but what happens when two Antivans bet against each other?”

“That’s a question for the ages, Kid,” Varric hooted.

Cassandra stood, “Well, I for one don’t want to witness our Commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks.” She smiled, a little more at ease than Asta had seen her recently, and swayed to the door. Varric eyes carefully did not look at her, and Asta hid a grin.

“Well, I do!” Dorian leaned over, and it was Bull’s turn to frown forbiddingly. “Kadan?”

“What, just because I’ve already ordered…” Dorian started.

“Kadan…” Bull rumbled, but he grinned.  "Ah, well, I suppose I'm the one who will benefit later..."

“Fine!” Dorian stood in a huff, and Bull followed him, half knocking over his chair in his haste to follow the mage.

Asta sat demurely, locking eyes with her handsome Commander who squirmed under her close regard, trying to give her hints to avert her eyes and turn away. “What? It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” she pointed out. “If you’re nice to me, I could scout the battlements for you. If you’re really nice to me, I might even run home and grab you a pair of pants.” She grinned wickedly.

“Maker’s Breath, I‘m never playing cards again.” Cullen gritted. “Asta, I ought to…”

“Oh?” Varric leaned over, “What is that, Curly? Should I get my notebook?” Cullen’s glare would have sliced him in two if it had been a sword. “All right, all right, I know when I’m not wanted.” He left, snickering. “Your Inquisitorialness, you’ll have to tell me later what ‘being nice’ involves,” he called back, just before the door shut.

Asta stood, still mostly clothed, though she had lost her scarf and belt. “Well,” Cullen bit out, “What does ‘nice’ mean?” He glowered, but his mouth twitched.

Asta considered relenting, “Would you rather me run up and check the coast is clear? Or go grab you pants?” She smiled, still a little wickedly, “After all, I would like knowing you owe me…”

Cullen couldn’t help but grin, now that the assembled witnesses to his demise were gone, “I pay my debts, Inquisitor.”

Sera’s voice came out from under the table, “Huh? Whassat? Did I win?” and Cullen shot back ten feet, covering his privates with his hands as Asta doubled over in laughter. Sera came out, frowning. “Whatcha doing that for? Oh, Quizzy didn’t lose, did she? Going up to bed, then.” She shook her head, disappointed. “Honestly, like I’d be checking his parts out. Not interested! Ugh!” She called back.

Asta got control of herself with difficulty. “Well, Commander No-pants?” She sniggered.

A pants of pants dropped down from the second floor. “Here, had it in my stuff! Don’t you two go and do… anything here! I have to look at that table!” Sera disappeared into her alcove and slammed the door.

Cullen snatched them up. “These are mine. Why did Sera…” He peered suspiciously at his fiancée. “Asta, why did Sera have my pants?” He asked, as he pulled them on under Asta’s approving gaze.

“I believe the plan was to fly them like a banner tomorrow morning, in Josephine‘s office,” Asta followed the line of him with her eyes, watching the skin disappear with open disappointment. “But I owe you now.”

“And why is that?” The two made their way up the stairs to the battlements, his hand at her back.

“For losing,” Asta grinned as they reached the attic door. “I think I owe you a lot for the eyeful I got this evening.” She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “This one is yours.” And took off like a shot over the battlements, back towards their room, slamming tower doors in between them to slow him down.

Cullen cursed again and laughing, followed her at a run, knowing he wouldn’t catch up until she was already in his room, she was just too fast, but lost in the thrill of the chase and the alcohol still moving through his system. He left the doors open against his own orders while he chased her and finally caught her in his office, leaning up against his bookshelves. “You let me catch you,” he observed, stalking her from across the room.

“I’m not caught yet,” Asta smirked, as she bit her thumb, temptation threatening to overwhelm her.

“You want to be caught,” he grinned rakishly, the night wind on the battlements had rumpled his hair beautifully, and Asta wanted to bury her hands in it. “You can’t tell me you don’t.” He unlaced the pants and let them drop on the floor, and Asta bit her lip. The man was perfect, his muscles toned - how did he stay so fit, behind that desk? - even down to his scars. She pulled her eyes back up, with difficulty.

“Maybe,” she admitted, stepping forward from the bookshelves. He grabbed her waist and pulled her in, resting his hand on her ass.

“Well, now I have you,” he whispered, “And you have me at your mercy.” He bent his lips to her neck. “But then, you do owe me…” he murmured against it. “How can we settle this to our mutual satisfaction?” He pulled them back to lean against the ladder to their loft. Asta reached down to stroke him, hardening, even though she had barely touched him before now.

“If I have you at my mercy,” she thought aloud, “then…” she dropped to her knees. “Stay still,” she ordered, and kissed the tip of him.  
  
“Asta,” Cullen choked, “You don’t have to…”

“Maker‘s Balls, Cullen, aren’t we past this?” Asta tilted her head to look at him. “I won’t do anything I don’t want to do. You told me before you were interested. Let me try.” Cullen nodded, reluctantly. “Do you not want me to, after all?”

“It’s not that,” Cullen protested.

“Then let me,” Asta refocused. “I had a taste of you before. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Months and months of thinking.” She flashed a hungry look at him. “I want more,” and took him in hand and covered him with her mouth. She had no idea what she was doing, she realized, but tried to follow her instincts. Where she would have used her hand, she used her mouth. She couldn’t go very deep, but Cullen was making noises, so it couldn’t be that bad. She curled her tongue around him and rubbed.

“Maker, Asta, more,” he moaned, his protests forgotten with the feelings she stirred, and she went to work, experimenting. She cupped his balls, and he tensed, growing still harder. She went too deep, and choked, and he grabbed the ladder, trying not to move. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, “Just stay still.” She swiped her tongue across his head and swirled it around.

Cullen’s laugh broke in his throat. “Asta, that’s asking a lot.” Her mouth started to move over him again, as she giggling against him at his comment. That made him buck up against her, choking her again. “Sorry! Sorry!” She just glared, and kept going. “Asta, that’s…” his knuckles tightened on the ladder, trying not to grab her hair, force her down. “Damn it, Asta, you’re going to have to stop, I’m…” she wrapped her hand around his base where her mouth couldn’t reach and he lost all words in the sensation. “Oh, that’s… don’t…” his voice turned into breaths and moans that matched her not-quite-even rhythm. It hardly mattered, he was drowning in the sensations she was weaving around him, minutes flying by unobserved, and lost himself entirely as he came into her mouth, groaning, and trying not to move against her. Asta struggled to swallow and couldn’t. Resigned, she took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her mouth, while he sagged against the ladder, completely spent, staring at her in disbelief and trying to catch his breath.

“How was that,” she climbed to her feet, and tried self-consciously to use the handkerchief to clean him up. “Was it okay?”

Cullen released his white-knuckle grip on the ladder and lunged against her in a hug, stopping her feeble attempts with his closeness, and hoping his knees would hold up. He kissed her, wrapping his tongue around hers, tasting sex and ale and Asta. He pulled away, shaking when he realized he was responding to her again. “Andraste’s ass, Asta. That was… It was perfect. Now go upstairs?” He sighed, and shook a little more with the aftershocks. “I want to return the favor.”

Asta grinned, “Still never want to play cards again? Because watching you lose made me want to play cards more often.” She swung up the ladder, it getting a little easier with repetition, her giggles drifting down towards him.

Cullen ran his hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath and still his shaking. This woman would be the death of him. He just knew it. And then he followed his death willingly up the ladder.

At least he’d die happy.

 


	50. Choice Spirit

Asta dropped into Cullen’s office for a quick kiss and to drop off an overdue report.

“Here to distract me?“ Cullen asked, grabbing her waist and pulling her to stand between his legs.

“I only wish, my knight,” Asta sighed, leaning her forehead against his. “I’m going to have to leave for the Emprise in two days. There’s too much to do before then to take even a moment.”

“Well, we will make the most of the time we do have before then,” Cullen closed his eyes.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Asta started.

“I wish we didn’t have to send you. I wish… I wish I could go with you. I wish a lot of things.” He sighed, and let her go. “Right now, I wish this endless parade of nobles complaining over the damage our march through Orlais caused would drop right into the Void and never return. Some of the things I wish about you and I are just about as likely to happen as that.”

“Give them to Josephine,” Asta suggested. “You don’t need to worry about it. It’s done, and we saved their country from a demon army. Surely that should count for something, even if they didn’t back the Empress.”

“I already tried that,” Cullen sighed, “No, these are the nobles that backed the Empress, and the Inquisition, that want reparations for trampled wine groves and missing property. Unfortunately, Josephine has done everything she can. It’s up to me, now.”

Asta blew away the concerns, “Still saved them from a demon army. Tell them to suck it, in so many words.”

Cullen blew a small laugh through his nose. “If only it were as easy as Teagan after Redcliffe. We sent soldiers to help clean up, and he was happy. Happy enough to invite us to an invitational that we were polite enough to lose, even.”

Asta leaned back against his desk and folded her arms. “Ask Guy.”

“What?” Cullen blinked.

“He’s Orlesian. He probably thinks it’s just as simple to deal with their nobles and thinks Fereldans are impossibly hard to comprehend. So, ask him. After he’s recovered from the shock of being consulted on something other than requisitions and increased efficiency, he’ll give you an earful. And then, my dear Commander, it will be simple,” Asta leaned back in and breathed into his ear, “You just have to take his advice. You will look brilliant, and efficient, and the model of diplomacy.”

Cullen shook with laughter. “Asta, it can’t be that easy.”

“Ask and see,” she stood and pulled away. “I should go. Dorian is trying to tell me the dragon armor Dagna made for him is hideous. He’s right, but the stuff is amazing otherwise, so by all that is holy, he’s going to wear it anyway.” She pecked him on the cheek, lingering a little. “I’ll see you later?”

***

_My lovely Asta,_

_Has anyone told you how annoying it is when someone is right too often? I guess I’d better get used to being annoyed. Guy straightened out the mess I was trying to make of our Orlesian supporters in about half an hour and half a bottle of wine. Apparently, things aren’t that different in Orlais. Unfortunately, Josephine noticed, and is now trying to steal my assistant. Guy shows signs of defection. I find it extremely likely that the position will be open again shortly. You aren’t interested, are you? I hear the fringe benefits of working with the Commander are delightful._

_Well, it was worth a try._

_I love you. Don’t get killed. I had a gruesome nightmare about just that last night, and it’s haunted me all day. Let Cassandra and Bull be your shields. I know you don’t feel like you can trust Blackwall, but… I find myself wishing you had him with you as well._

_I wish I was with you. Never has this been so frustrating. I think accompanying you on your side trips, brief as they were, has made me restless. Leliana has been lecturing me. I know I am needed here. But never has what I want fought so much with what needs to be done. It’s a hard lesson._

_In the meantime, here’s the first thornapple blossom of the year. I snatched it for you while Elan’s back was turned. I know my dream wasn’t pleasant, but I dreamed of you, just the same, so thornapple it is._

_I hope your dreams are more pleasant, and that I feature in them. I remain,_

_Your Cullen_

_***_

_Commander,_

_I’ll just jump right into this - I need the building team to rebuild Judicael Crossing, a full complement of Inquisition soldiers with as few mages as possible to help me retake Suledin Keep, and humanitarian aid. These people are living on dried beans and it’s still winter here. Everything is frozen solid. Without the river, trade has dried up and they are completely isolated._

_This place is awful. You are not allowed to come out yourself, and that’s an order, Commander._

_Dragons, darkspawn, red Templars, Pride demons out of every rift I’ve sealed… and rumors of a Forgotten One, Imshael, sitting in the heart of Suledin. I have that from a reliable source - Michel de Chevin. I’m hoping once Imshael is defeated de Chevin will consider joining us. Perhaps he will be able to improve our recent troubles in Orlais._

_It’s swarming with Red Templars, they were mining red lyrium in the quarry in the most disgusting fashion, and the villagers were being sold into service by Mistress Poulin in some twisted attempt to keep the remainder alive. That’s the skeleton of the issue. I’m not going to go into it further until I get back. I want to discuss it with you, but only in person. You can probably guess why. Be well._

_That said, I’ve attached a whole packet of letters from Samson with the caravan that is returning with Mistress Poulin. I’m curious to see if you reach the same conclusion that I have._

_Expect a more personal letter as soon as I can. My ink keeps freezing, but with luck, one of the mages will come up with a plan to keep it fluid._

_Sincerely,_

_A.T._

_***_

_Inquisitor,_

_We are sending soldiers and aid promptly, and a healer to deal with any cold-related injuries that may have occurred while you were scouting the area. She seems quite eager to help the villagers as well. Please try to keep warm - I’m not there to prevent hypothermia this time, and someone has made me promise not to come to her side. Despite the dragons, cold weather, red Templars, demons and various other concerns that threaten her physically and mentally._

_Please be careful. Those who have had cold related injuries are far more likely to suffer from them again, the healer tells me. I worry for you. I laugh to think of Dorian out there freezing his balls off, though. He’s miserable, isn’t he? How are Solas’ feet? Has he consented to wear boots yet?_

_I miss you horribly. Being with you on the Storm Coast and in Crestwood - I’m definitely spoiled. I want you back here as soon as you can manage it. And yes, I know how unrealistic that truly is, but, my love, I will be truthful. I long to be with you._

_As for Samson, I have been working on the letters you sent me. I think you’re onto something. Perhaps by the time you return we’ll have the whole picture put together. I certainly hope so._

_More things are blooming, so have some Forget-me-nots. Those, at least, have a very plain meaning._

_Come home soon, safe and sound,_

_Cullen_

***

_Dearest Cullen,_

_I have a moment. And Solas has solved my ink problem in exchange for a fire rune attached to his leg wraps. Apparently, even elves have cold feet out here. Maker, it’s cold. The wash water freezes in midair when we toss it out of the enchanted bowl we keep it in._

_As far as your assistant problems - why not ask Loranil? He’s ‘eager’, you said before. He and Mireille could probably use the extra funds that the promotion would entail, and Mireille would probably kiss you for keeping him out of danger instead of being sent out constantly. It would be nice if they weren’t both deployed all the time. Especially since you insist they can’t be sent together. And he speaks Orlesian slightly better than you._

_On the other hand, no being kissed by young ladies, no matter how married, Commander. That’s an order._

_Also, it occurs to me that not only are you hypocritical about your own cohabitation with me, though we remain unmarried, so are you about us being on missions together. Seriously, Commander, perhaps you should not be above the rules? On the other hand, I am hardly unbiased, and am not willing to depart from our little room, so… never mind. Forget I said anything._

_No change on the Cassandra and Varric front. She seems resigned. He tries not to look at her. It will probably come to nothing - Varric seems completely determined to sacrifice himself on the altar of Bianca Davri, and Cassandra just… won’t. Won’t cross any lines, not since she slammed Bianca into the wall in Valamaar. It’s a shame, but I suppose not everyone gets a happy ending._

_Dorian and Bull, however, are disgusting. Dorian apparently commissioned a matching Dawnstone axe for Bull’s pretty armor and Bull loves it. So they are all sappy and cute over the campfire. I would hit them if I wasn’t sure that it would hurt me more than it hurts them. Also, I know it’s just jealousy. And it’s my own fault for bringing them both along._

_About campfires - Maker’s Frosty Breath, I am pleased that the forward scouts cut plenty of wood. Have I mentioned how cold it is here? Those scouts definitely receive a bonus._

_I wish anything was blooming here besides the frost. I’ve found lots and lots of frozen elfroot, though. And a stalk or two of Felandaris. You know, I almost miss the Hinterlands. At least there I used to see Crystal Grace and feel a little better, like it was a good omen. After all, ‘overcoming impossible odds’ is exactly what I’m trying to do on every front._

_I’ll send a formal letter soon. After we finally take the Keep. If I don’t make it back… well, that’s not an option. I just have to - I have rifts to close and you waiting for me. It’s not like anyone else will suffice for either of those imperatives. Imshael holds the Keep, though, Cullen. It’s going to be rough. We go in tomorrow. Thank you for the healer - she’s overworked, but still enthusiastic._

_Asta_

***

_Dear Commander,_

_Well, that was bracing! And yes, before you get nervous from receiving a letter from me instead of Asta, she is fine. She has a minor concussion that the demon Imshael gave her when she didn’t take him up on his offer to close all the rifts for her, make the world safe so that she could remain with you, or stop the Blight.  She also said that you would have never forgiven her if she'd accepted, so I suppose you should know she refused it for you.  Sweet, isn't she?_

_I couldn't believe the sort of things the so called 'choice spirit' was offering her, myself. The last time I was tempted the demon offered me money, power and virgins.  But that’s another story, isn’t it?_

_She insisted that I write to you immediately before the news of her injury could be exaggerated by the returning scouts. The healer you sent has her well in hand, and she is living quite well in the Keep’s medical quarters surrounded by blankets and fireplaces. Far more comfortable than the rest of us in our miserable little tents that we have to share with massive Qunari warriors who don’t bathe enough. Not that I’m complaining. Would I do that?  Still, I wish I had a minor injury to exploit._

_And now I should say it again because you are probably hyperventilating - she’s fine, Cullen, just a little banged up, and will be right as rain in a few days after you receive this. Also, she informs me that you need_ _to know the bridge is far better than the last one, probably due to less ale and the presence of the Master Builder. She wants me to write other things (If you haven’t figured it out, she’s partially dictating this, unable to write because her eyes won’t focus quite yet. Double vision.), but I am absolutely NOT going to write about any of your body parts. I have standards. Though some of her descriptions are most entertaining. If she wants someone to write about that sort of thing, Varric would be a better choice._

_She should be able to write to you herself in a few days. She says - ugh - that she loves you, and misses you, and that even all these fireplaces can’t keep her as warm as you in your little loft. There, I wrote it. I feel like I need to bathe now._

_If you want to write to her, keep in mind that for a little while she may have to have things read to her. Just until her vision clears. Have mercy on those of us who are her surrogate eyes._

_Dorian_

_***_

_My love,_

_Dorian’s letter reached me and I was nearly frantic. You are all right, aren’t you? I won’t feel better until I have a letter by your hand. Your vision - it will come back, won’t it? I can’t imagine you being unable to read._

_Leliana tells me I’m ridiculous. I don’t care. You are everything. It’s all I can do to keep my promise._

_Tell me you are better, please. Or I will break my promise and come out there and see for myself. You turned down a chance to fix the world because of me. You were injured, because of me._

_All my love,_

_Cullen_

***

_Cullen,_

_You silly man, I’m fine. My vision cleared up two days after Dorian wrote to you. I’m a little wobbly on my feet, mind you - my head tends to spin - but because of this I get to come home sooner. The dragons will just have to wait for a little while._

_You are absolutely under no circumstances to come out here, Commander. I’m writing to both Leliana and Josephine to tell them so. This isn’t the first concussion I’ve had - the first was after Haven. Only for that one, you were there… and I’m still bitter that I can’t remember. I’d rather have gotten that memory back from the Fade instead of spiders and the Divine… oh well. I guess the Fade doesn’t work that way? I’ll have to ask Solas._

_I’m reading just fine now. Nothing else to do, since I’m not allowed to get up without assistance, lest I fall and injure myself further. They tell me it will be another couple of days - and then I can start getting ready to go back home. Thank the Maker. I’m ready to be warm again - I’m never warm unless I’m with you._

_Dorian says he didn’t write any of the fun stuff in my last letter, so I’ll just say this - I think of you all the time. I have less privacy here than in my tent, so all I can do is think. It’ s extremely frustrating. I’ll be taking that frustration out on you when I get back._

_I love you. I’ll be home soon._

_Asta_

_***_

_Dear Josie,_

_Send out Desjardins, if you haven’t already. The Keep is yours. It’s colder than a snofleur’s den out here, so tell him to be prepared. Also, he should probably look into helping out some of the less fortunate villagers. Their town is all but destroyed. Perhaps he can lend assistance? The building team is still out here - they can help._

_The Commander has to stay away from this place. Everything north of town is covered in red lyrium. It may take years to clean it up entirely. If it can even be done, considering that red lyrium has the blight. What a mess. Any news from Stroud on that at all?_

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

_Asta,_

_I will stay here. But Asta, we have him. Samson. I have the location of his headquarters. Upon your return and recovery, we will have to neutralize him._

_I’m going with you. We can argue about it when you get back, among other things. But this time, I’m going to win._

_My heart remains with you,_

_Cullen_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was anyone's Inquisitor actually tempted by Imshael's offer? My 'evil' one took the power. However, if it had offered to fix the Blight, or seal the rifts, or offered something a little more personal than generic 'virgins'... I imagine things might have gotten interesting.


	51. Disorientation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, over 3000 hits. That's... well, I'm flattered and humbled all over again. Thank you for reading this. I'm finally going to get to start the DLC today, so I might have to do some rewriting of what I have left. Seems like most people have had to do that, so I can't imagine that I'm any different.
> 
> Thank you for every comment and kudo. And even if you do neither, thanks just for reading. I'm so glad I decided to be brave and share it.

Asta slid out of the back of the wagon she had been forced to ride in, and started walking over the bridge to Skyhold, slowly. The ‘minor’ concussion still had her experiencing dizziness and disorientation occasionally, and so riding horseback was out of the question, the healer had told her firmly. So she was plunked in the back of the wagon in Orlais, as soon as they reached the road system, and there she stayed.

Her friends were all riding. She quickly discovered that reading in a back of a wagon made her sick, so she couldn’t read. Her muscles felt like they were atrophied with all the sitting and doing nothing of the past several weeks. Eventually she gained enough stamina to be able to sit on the front of the wagon with the driver, so at least she could watch the scenery go by.

But at least now she was home. The bridge seemed endless, and she had to stop and take a breath halfway across, leaning way over to watch the ant-like people of the tent city in the valley. She waved her friends ahead, indicating she would catch up, as she leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes. Home. Where the temperature was, if not warm, at least mild in comparison. Where she didn’t have to wear mittens and figure out how to keep her toes from freezing to her socks with her own sweat.

If she ever had to go back to the Emprise du Lion, it would be too soon. Of course, there were the dragons to deal with, but surely someone else could do that? After having Helisma look into whether or not they were essential to the local ecology, of course. But surely three dragons weren’t essential. Maybe Bull would like to take the Chargers out and have some fun.

And now, she had to figure out how she was going to tell her Commander that he couldn’t come with them to the Shrine of Dumat, and that she had turned down what may have been her only chance to permanently save the world from the Blight because her boyfriend wouldn’t have liked it, and then killed the demon that offered the solution, so that no one else would have the option. Her mouth twisted wryly. She wasn’t sure if he would thank her or yell at her. Maybe a little of both. It was Cullen, after all.

She sighed, and the wind stole the sound away. After these long weeks, she felt like less of a presence than usual. Like no one was looking for her, like she could stay in the shadows, hidden. It wasn’t unpleasant, after being the center of attention in Skyhold for so long. The people of the Emprise were too desperate to stand on the usual Orlesian courtesies, and it had been a relief. But as soon as she crossed the bridge, that would be over. There would be decisions to make, and arguments to have, and she would be the most visible person in the room, always.

She only wanted to see one person, personally, and to see him, she had to finish crossing the damn bridge. She pushed herself back. It wouldn’t be long. They knew she was weak, knew she was convalescing, so they’d keep the meetings and consultations down for a few days while she rested.

Slowly, slowly she made her way through the courtyard. So far, so good, no one was looking for her yet. She climbed the stairs near Cullen’s tower even slower. How had she managed to get so out of shape in such a short time? She leaned against the wall briefly, letting the dizziness pass, and then climbing again immediately. She wanted to get home.

She opened the door to his office. He wasn’t there. She blinked blankly around the room, watching the dust motes flying through the light sifting through the arrow slits. She never thought that he wouldn’t be in his office. Where else would he be in the middle of the day? She walked over to the ladder, recognizing all at once that she would not be able to climb it in her state. She sat down in a heap on the floor, wanting to cry. All that work, all that effort to make it up the stairs on her own, and she couldn’t even make it up to her bed. She closed her eyes, and leaned against the ladder and drifted off, for just a few moments.

“She’s here! I‘ve found her!” Her head jerked up from the rung where she had left it, recognizing that voice, and the arms that were wrapped around her. “Andraste’s Ass, Asta, what were you thinking?!”

“Oh, this would be the yelling part. I can take it. I know, I made a bad choice.” Asta wrapped her own arms around her Commander, clinging to him.

She sounded too meek, too docile, too weak. Cullen tried to stop himself from panicking. “Come on, back to the main hall.” He lifted her easily. “You’re not going to be able to climb that ladder, so we’ve set up another place for you.”

“I don’t want to sleep anywhere else,” Asta whined. “I want to be with you. I want to go home.”

“I never said that I wouldn’t be with you,” Cullen kissed her head gently, like she was going to fall apart if he used too much pressure. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“This must be the arguing part,” Asta straightened a little, “No, Cullen, you cannot come with me to the Shrine of Dumat.” She looked pitiful - the bruises were still fading, and her eyes in her fatigue were unfocused, while she tried to look firm.

“We’re not arguing about that yet,” Cullen choked back a laugh, “I’m just taking you to where you - we will be sleeping for a while.” He was shaking a little with the withdrawal symptoms that had come on knowing she had been hurt and he was unable to leave his post. He had spent weeks cursing the situation, cursing the lyrium that told him it would make him stronger, but she was home now, and he could keep her safe.

“Don’t cry,” Asta looked up at him. “I’m okay. Just out of shape. Again. And dizzy. The demon made me hit my head. It hurt. And the medicine they gave me makes me sleepy.”

“Damn it, Asta, I’m not crying. It’s…” Cullen sighed. “It’s the lyrium. You were right, I couldn’t have taken the red lyrium. I couldn’t even take reading about it, the little you wrote, combined with the news of you getting hurt.” She opened her mouth, and he stopped it with a short kiss. “And no, I’m still going to Dumat with you. We’ll argue about it later.”

“I knew there would be arguing,” she sighed, “so you are going to yell at me, too.” She sounded so resigned, and leaned her head back against his chest. He just tightened his arms around her as they reached the main hall and turned left by the throne. “Wait, I don’t want to sleep in that room. It’s cold and lonely.”

“It’ll be warm if I’m with you, right?” Cullen asked. “That’s what you said in your letter.”

Asta frowned and tried to concentrate. “Yes, probably. And it does have a fireplace. But it has a lot of stairs. Stairs are _hard_. And mostly evil.  And you won’t be able to be with me all the time. At least in our loft I know you’re just downstairs.”

“Trust me, you won’t be doing stairs by yourself for a little while,” Cullen stated firmly. “And people will report to me here, just the same. It’s a little out of their way, but Loranil is going to be running interference for me while you recover anyway.” He cracked a smile, “Mireille is very unhappy with me. He’s been working long hours.”

“You’re mean.” Asta thumped his armor with her hand. “Ouch. They’re still newlyweds.”

“Well, I did offer to let them stay in our loft, but Mireille refused to sleep in a room without a roof,” Cullen explained. “So Loranil finishes work, and then heads home instead, and we have a runner on nighttime duty.”

“Well, that sounds very sensible,” Asta closed her eyes, and relaxed against him. “Do I have to sleep in that stupid bed?”

“I’m afraid so,” Cullen snickered. “But so do I. If that helps.”

“No, you don’t,” Asta opened up her eyes and looked at him. “You don’t have to do any of this. And why haven’t you had the dwarf make that skylight yet, anyway? It’s been months!”

Cullen set her down on the bed, smiling. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled. “Just dizzy. It’s more the medicine than the injury. But that healer couldn’t help much with my head. Said it mostly needed to heal on its own, unless I wanted to see a surgeon about trepanation.” Her eyes went wide. “I don’t want to have holes punched in my skull, so don’t even think about it, Commander.”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it, Asta,” Cullen said. “Do you want to sleep? I could…”

“You aren’t going _anywhere_.” She grabbed him. “I may not be able to welcome you home properly, but if I’m going to be sick, and you’re going to be working here, than you are staying put.” She nodded her head emphatically and then looked around. “It… are those my things? Did you put them back?” Her dresser, her chest, her toy soldiers, her books, the bear rug - all of them were where they had been so many months before.

“I wanted you to feel at home,” Cullen sat down on the bed. “It’s not permanent. But I thought you might heal faster if you felt comfortable. Josie wanted to redecorate again, said that a couple needed different ‘accoutrements’ but I wouldn’t let her. Just had some volunteers move your stuff back over, and some of mine in.” He laughed slightly, “Your brother says he’s done moving your stuff around.”

“See if I help him when he needs to move,” Asta grumped. “I suppose I’ll have to though. I owe him.” She looked at Cullen. “Open the doors, will you?”

“Aren’t you cold?” But he went to obey.

“I doubt I’ll ever be really cold again,” Asta shivered all the same. “Emprise du Lion was cold in a way that I’ve never felt before and never hope to experience again. Seriously, I had to worry about my socks freezing to my feet. Skyhold is tropical by comparison. And I don’t want you to feel closed in. Hopefully all the windows will help, but if it doesn’t, then we’ll leave the doors open and go through a ton of firewood. And wear warm clothes.” She stretched out, and grabbed a couple of pillows to put behind her. “Did they tell you how long I have to rest for?” She sighed, “I think I have another week on this medicine, so I figure it will be at least that long.”

Cullen sat back down and took her hand. “A week with the medicine, and another week with rest and slowly increasing your activity. And you have to speak with Ellandra, who is concerned that this is your second concussion, and the surgeon, who we will not allow to drill holes in your skull, and see what they say.”

Asta groaned, “But the Arbor Wilds! We don’t have the time…”

“Leliana has some thoughts on that. Her information is up to date, and she’ll be by tomorrow,” Asta started to protest, but he put his finger on her lips, “tomorrow to brief you. For now, you and I are on leave to rest.” Asta smirked, and he shook his head, “Nothing else. Maker, Asta, I could have lost you. To the Red Templars, to Imshael, to your injury… I just…” He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it, “I don’t know if I can go through that again.” The line was back between his eyebrows again. “Promise me you’ll rest and stay put. I’ll be here as much as I can - as much I would be in my office, except for officer’s meetings. They flatly refused to meet in your bedroom.”

Asta laughed and sunk back further against her pillows. “All right, Cullen, I promise. Especially if you’re here. What else would I have left for?” She snuggled back, still holding his hand. “I don’t suppose there is anything to read?”

Cullen leaned in and rested against her forehead. “Maker forbid there be nothing to read.” He pulled back. “I enjoyed Serault’s dragon treatise, by the way.”

“You read it?” Asta beamed. “What do you think of his thoughts on the Fereldan Frostback?”

“I think the one in the Hinterlands needs to go. Since its reproductive cycle is so short, it won’t be long until its young will start expanding its territory,” Cullen sat back. “You look disapproving.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Asta frowned. “You’re right.” She narrowed her eyes. “It’s too close to Redcliffe and the Crossroads.” She tilted her head, “You really read it.” A smile bloomed on her face as beautiful as any flower.

“Of course I did. I said I would.” He stood up. “I’m going to get the runner they posted to get us something to eat, and then we’ll talk about it.”

“And other things,” Asta’s face fell. “You are going to yell at me.”

“Actually, I’m not,” Cullen started down the stairs, calling back up. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Asta. You fought hard, turned down a demon that tempted you with the things you wanted most. It probably would have offered me lyrium, bravery and you.” He spoke briefly with the runner outside and made his way back up the stairs. “I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to turn it down, especially,” and he grabbed a book at the top of a tall pile and stretched out next to her on the bed, “if it had offered me you.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted a safer world?” Asta snuggled into him.

Cullen shook his head, “It wouldn’t have occurred to me. I have always figured that I would make my own world safe.” He flipped the book open. “The Blight is horrible, but it’s all we’ve ever known. The rifts… well, they aren’t my direct concern, are they? I’m just the Commander of the Inquisition. But you…” he looked at her, and the crease was back between his eyebrows. “If Imshael had offered me you, safe from all harm, I probably would have done anything he wanted.”

“In the stories, those kind of deals always backfire,” Asta noted. “I remembered that, when I almost gave in.” She laughed a little bitterly, “That and the thought of the expression on your face if I told you I made a deal with a demon that caused another soldier - Michel de Chevin - to be sacrificed so that you could live. I couldn’t see that going well.  Besides, if I had agreed, it might have been an illusion anyway.  Demons aren't known for being upfront.” She leaned against him more, looking at the page, but not seeing it. “So, why would it have offered you bravery?” She remembered his tombstone in the Fade, and wondered if he would answer.

Cullen snorted, “It’s the one thing I don’t have.”

“What the…” she sat back up and grabbed her forehead. “Ugh, too fast. Cullen Rutherford, what are you talking about?”

He hesitated, “If I were braver, I would have gotten permission from my Knight-Captain and fought with my parents against the Blight when it came to Honnleath, and they might not have died. If I were braver, I wouldn’t have told the Hero of Fereldan to annul the tower. Instead, I was afraid, and let my fear do the speaking. If I were braver, I would have left the Templar order then, and fought with the Hero. If I were braver, I would have stood up to Meredith far sooner. Lives would have been saved. If I were braver, I… could have had you back in Haven.” He sighed, “All the truly important turning points in my life are a matter of not being brave enough.”

“You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met,” Asta started, but he interrupted her.

“No, I’m just good at faking it. Faking it and carrying a big shield and sword,” his mouth twisted.

Asta looked at him with understanding. “You already have me, you know. And in Haven, I was yours then, too. You don’t have to be brave to have me. You don’t have to make a deal with a demon to have me. You just have to have me.”

“Yes, but what would I have to do to keep you safe?” He laughed, a hollow one, with no mirth behind it. “That appears to be beyond mortal abilities.”

“I still have your luck,” Asta leaned back against him. “And I have you praying for me. I know you do, so don’t deny it.”

“I wish it helped more,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m not dead, so maybe it does,” Asta said, scooting closer. “Who am I to say? Two years ago I would have told you that Imshael probably didn’t exist as more than a fairy tale.  A demon with a name?  Ridiculous.”  She thought of Cole suddenly, and wondered, and then shook off her doubt.  Cole was different.

“And now he doesn’t,” observed Cullen. “Solas told me that you were able to reform the Fade around you while you were within it - to change dreams.” He looked at the top of her head. “It made me wonder what else you can do.” Asta stiffened, sensing the line of his thoughts.

“Nothing right now except listen to you read to me.” Asta shoved him slightly. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not divine. I’m not a mage. I’m not a herald of anything in particular. I’m just a person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time who is now stuck with cleaning up this mess.”

Cullen kissed the top of her head, and started to read. After all, it really didn’t matter. Divine or not, she was his, and he was hers. He just hoped he’d be able to keep her for a little longer.

 


	52. Purpose

“I’m very sorry that it makes you unhappy, Inquisitor, but I just can’t give my approval for such an undertaking while you are still recovering from your head injury.” Ellandra folded her arms over her chest in a ‘know it all’ attitude. “It’s for your own good.”

“I hate it when healers tell me something is for my own good. It’s in everyone’s good to defeat Corypheus!” Asta was furious, trying to look commanding even from her half-reclining position on her ridiculous bed. “We’ve tracked down his Red Templar right hand and you tell me I can’t go because of a bump on the head?”

“It’s hardly just a bump on the head. This is the second time in a little more than a year that you’ve cracked your skull, Inquisitor. Without the proper rest, you risk internal bleeding, brain damage, damage to your sight, even death. It’s rest or risk dying, Your Worship.” Ellandra rolled her eyes, “and I’m sure your advisors would agree that the one person capable of closing rifts cannot be risked for this. Rest, Your Worship. Heal, Your Worship.”

Cullen took her hand, “It’s all right, Inquisitor. We’ll send someone else.”

Asta glared equally at him, “And if there are rifts? What then?”

“I do know how to call a retreat,” Cullen said, amused. “And give orders. I meant to go, in any case. So I will lead the charge on the Shrine myself.”

Asta shook her head, but gently. “No, the red lyrium. The risk of contagion.” Her brows creased. “You can’t go, Commander.”

“I believe this is where I take my leave,” Ellandra packed up her things. “The only thing I have left to say is thank you, Inquisitor. For Mattrin‘s letter, and my phylactery.” She sighed, “I wish it had turned out differently, but I never got to express my gratitude. It’s better knowing what happened, and at least I know he didn‘t end up with Corypheus.” She smiled sadly, and turned to leave. “I’ll tell the Ambassador and Sister Nightingale that we are done here.”

“Would you send them up?” Cullen requested.

“Certainly, Commander, I will send them right away.” Ellandra saluted and departed, with an air that her work was done.

“Commander,” Asta began, and he stopped her.

“No, Inquisitor. You cannot go. Healer’s orders. You are injured, and the Inquisition needs you well.”

Josie and Leliana’s steps were heard on the stairs. “Ellandra looked far too pleased with herself,” Leliana noted. “What did she say?”

“She said I’m injured,” Asta growled impatiently, “and the Inquisition has to put its goals on hold until I’m well enough to go into the field again.”

“Inquisitor, you exaggerate,” Cullen said, narrowing his eyes. “She said that the Inquisitor risks bleeding in her brain and many other things if she aggravates the injury. She recommended extensive rest.”

“It could take months!” Asta fumed, “We don’t have time for that!”

“No, but with sufficient rest it won’t take months,” Cullen shot back. “If you follow instructions, you’ll mend quicker, especially with access to the healers here, and be back in the field in no time. We can implement Leliana‘s plans for the Arbor Wilds, and I will…”

Asta crossed her arms in stubbornness, “It will have to wait,” Asta began.

“That’s impossible,” Cullen gritted, “Samson will move his base and we’ll lose him.”

“I have to agree with the Commander,” Leliana noted. “Surely someone else can infiltrate his base.”

“I’m going to,” Cullen affirmed.

“No, you aren’t,” Asta’s brow furrowed deeper. “It’s too dangerous. I will not risk…”

“I’m the Commander of your armies! The danger to myself is hardly something to take into account in this matter,” Cullen argued, “It’s imperative that Samson is apprehended. So I’m going.”

Leliana and Josie exchanged a look, and Josie spoke, “I know it’s unusual, but I agree with the Commander. You cannot go while injured, Inquisitor. You are vital to the Inquisition’s goals.”

“So is the Commander,” Asta tried but Josie shook her head.

“If the Commander fell in battle, there is a chain of command that would replace him. If you fall, if your mark is lost, then we are lost. It is that simple. You are not fit, this is a major raid on an enemy’s base, it makes sense to send the Commander.”

“But the lyrium,” Asta protested.

Leliana cut in, “Honestly, Inquisitor. We all have weaknesses. It doesn’t mean that we get to pick and choose where we are sent. If the Commander is so weak to temptation that the very sight of lyrium sends him into withdrawal, perhaps he needs to be replaced in any case. In this, he cannot be your paramour. He must be your Commander.” Asta narrowed her eyes at her, and then, defeated, closed them.

“Fine,” she almost whispered, “but I want to be in on the planning. In the meantime, Cullen said you had plans for the Arbor Wilds, Leliana?”

“I’m going to send in my best scouts, saboteurs and spies,” Leliana explained. “They will work as a team, sabotaging Corypheus’ forces in any way they see fit. Corrupting water, lyrium and food supplies, damaging weaponry, burning encampments. They will not engage the enemy directly, but they will gather more information and slow down his approach. An army moves slowly, Inquisitor, as you know. It could mean a delay of weeks, and if we’re lucky, a month or more, as they have to resupply and regroup.”

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, see that it’s done. We have to buy ourselves time, advisors, that is evident,” she sighed. “I am sorry I got myself injured. I don’t have time for this.”

“No one ever has time to be sick,” Josie noted, and turned to go. “I’m going to start rallying our Orlesian allies to meet us in the Arbor Wilds. That will take time, but will eventually buy us a little longer while you recover, and the Commander travels.”

“In the meantime, I will recall Rylen from Griffon Wing,” Cullen stated. “He will meet us there as well.”

“Very well, and I will rest and recover,” Asta made a face. “Isn’t there anything else I can do?”

Cullen smiled, “Why not research what we discussed on the way to Val Royeaux? It needs to be done, and you will have time.”

Asta smiled, “Maybe this won’t be so bad if I can sit and read for a few weeks.” And then she sighed, “Very well, I’ll make a list of the materials I need. Josie, Leliana, do what you must. I’m going to consult with the Commander on Dumat.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen blushed as the women giggled and left the room.

***

Hours later, they had made progress on the travel and strategy, and moved on to team selection. “So Vivienne, definitely,” the Commander said, with the maps and letters they had collected spread out over their bed.

“Yes, her barriers are amazing, even around Templars, and you should take Bull, but not Dorian. His skills - well, let‘s just say they aren‘t used to Southern Templars in the Imperium.” Asta thought. “Varric or Sera would be good. Raining down arrows was very helpful in the Emprise.”

Cullen hesitated. “What about Blackwall?”

“You mean Rainier,” Asta frowned. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “I’m going to talk to you as Cullen, for a moment, not the Commander.”

Cullen straightened, “All right, Asta, what do you need to say?”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like you going out there, without me, not knowing if you’ll be safe. And I‘m not sure I want Blackwall at your back, not knowing if I can really trust him.”

Cullen smiled, “You want to protect me?” He took her hand, “We all do what we must, Asta. And I… will sleep better knowing Samson is gone and no longer a danger to you.” He tilted his head. “Also, Asta, I might mention that turnabout is fair play.”

“This is different,” Asta protested, “You know there will be lyrium there. You know you’re meeting someone from your past, know that you are walking into…” He stopped her.

“I have to face my demons at some point, love. Let this be the beginning.” He closed his eyes, “There is much I still haven’t told you about what happened in Kirkwall. Samson was… he was kind, once. He was kicked out of the Templars for passing love letters from a mage to his sweetheart out of the Gallows. On the Champion’s recommendation, he was reinstated for a time, but when Kirkwall fell apart…” he sighed. “It’s a lot of explanation. I’m not proud of who I was then.”

“They kicked him out for passing on love letters?” Asta looked incredulous.

“The official charge was ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar’,” Cullen wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“If they kicked Samson out…” Asta swallowed, “What happened to the mage?”

“Meredith made him Tranquil,” Cullen stared at his lap. “I still wonder if there was anything I could have done.”

“They made him Tranquil over _love letters?”_

“Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, I assure you,” He closed his eyes. “I won’t blame you if you think less of me.”

Asta swallowed, “Did you ever…” Cullen’s eyes met hers, troubled. “I see.” She took a deep breath. “Well, we all have things we are atoning for, as you’ve told me before.” She held his hand tighter when he tried to pull away. “I still like who you are now. And perhaps we can start putting things right, if the cure for Tranquility can be proved viable.”

He relaxed a little. “I would like that. It would be good to be involved.” She squeezed his hand.

“I think I can arrange that.” And then she yawned hugely.

“You should rest,” he observed.

“Stay with me?” She laid down, and tried to pull him with her. Cullen stood instead, gathering the maps and papers spread around, and kept his distance. “Afraid I’ll corrupt the moral integrity of a Templar?”

“Too late,” Cullen laughed. “And I’m not a Templar any longer. But you have to rest, and… I’m worried that if I touch you I won’t be able to stop.”

“I hate this,” she grumbled, but her eyes were already closing. “I missed you. And I couldn’t do anything in that infirmary, surrounded by people. I want you, Cullen.”

Cullen swallowed, hearing her desire so bluntly made it all the harder. “Likewise, Asta. But I’d rather have you well.”

“When I wake up I want to see Ellandra. I’ve got to find out exactly how much rest I have to have,” Asta pouted, and yawned again. “We should have asked her about sex,” she mumbled into her pillow.

“Sleep, Asta,” Cullen said, trying not to laugh or blush, and failing on both counts.

***

_Dearest Asta,_

_I hope you are improving. We are making good time, and hope to reach the Shrine in a day or two. There is an increased amount of red lyrium in the area, so I am more certain than ever that we are on the right track._

_It is having an effect on me, as you suspected. I’m dizzier, my headaches are worse, and Varric informs me I’m ‘grumpier’. So, more mood swings, I assume. I admit that it’s hard to tell from my point of view. I know that your companions will fill you in on my condition, so there’s no point in hiding it. But we will finish this as soon as possible and come home._

_I like to think of you waiting for me there. I’m glad that for once, you are safe, and I am the one in danger. I wish… but that’s pointless, isn’t it. It is what it is._

_Rest, my love. Follow Ellandra’s instructions, and I will return to you soon, with Samson defeated and a blow dealt to Corypheus._

_I love you,_

_Cullen_

***

_Cullen,_

_This whole ‘waiting and worrying’ thing is extremely trying. If you have half the anxiety I have right now when I‘m on a mission, I wonder how you can stand it. You must be far stronger than I. Ellandra has told me that I must stop and try to relax, and threatened me with a tranquilizer if I wouldn’t quit pacing._

_So Cassandra is trying to distract me with some of her favorite books. I particularly like this series ‘Magic and Mercy’, about Templars and Mages. It got amazing reviews from the Randy Dowager, and I can see why. You don’t still have your old Templar armor do you?_

_I asked Ellandra about sex, and she laughed at me. LAUGHED. And told me she suspected upon your return that I would be cleared for ‘such activities’ - if I behaved myself now. And then told me she understood completely - apparently her and Mattrin were an item for years before the Circles fell. She’s read ‘Magic and Mercy’ as well, and we had a nice conversation about it. We both think the Knight-Lieutenant sounds awfully attractive, if a bit too prone to praying at random moments. The mage is sweet, but we both think she’s a bit insipid._

_Otherwise, I’m making some progress with Cassandra’s help on researching the Seeker order’s original purpose in hopes it will help me make some of those hard decisions we discussed. I have also asked Josie to sponsor this young professor, Kenric, from the University of Orlais - we corresponded some when I was with the Chantry, but his field of study is the first Inquisitor, Ameridan. Not my field, of course. Lucky bastard to get to attend University, though. He wrote to us and requested funding for an expedition to the Frostbacks to see if he can find Ameridan’s final resting place. I enthusiastically wrote back - anything he finds out could help us. We have to figure out what went so wrong to put us in this state, so many hundreds of years later._

_I’m glad that you recommended this to me. Keeping myself busy helps, and Dorian and Cassandra are very good research assistants. Solas has not been as helpful as I hoped - I just know he has knowledge I lack, but he won’t share it. It makes me grumpy, and I kind of want to agree with Sera that he‘s too tied up in ‘Elven Glory‘. I suppose with both of us grumpy we would be quite a pair. I suppose it might be a good thing we are separated by a sea at the moment._

_I managed to make it down the stairs to the garden yesterday. Spring is in bloom here. Have some phlox - we may be parted physically, but our souls are united, after all._

_Write again, as soon as you can. My tone may be light, but I worry all the time. Come home safe, my shield._

_Yours Always, even in my impatience,_

_Asta_

_***_

_Inquisitor,_

_I’m afraid I have bad news. Samson was tipped off to our approach, and fled the scene before we could apprehend him. All we found here was red lyrium, Red Templars - more horrific than ever, some tools, empty lyrium bottles and a letter. I shudder to think what you went through in the Emprise, if this was what you were facing._

_This is very difficult to write. I told you about Samson, and how he was released from the order for passing on love letters. And how the mage involved was made Tranquil. That mage was here. Maddox. We tried to save him, Vivienne tried, but… he killed himself rather than allow himself to be captured and betray Samson. I fail to understand why - and in another way I understand entirely. Maddox said that Samson saved him before he needed him. That he gave him purpose._

_I do understand that need for purpose. If Cassandra hadn’t… but she did. I have to remind myself she did recruit me. And I’ve been in that position - wanting to help and otherwise unable. After Kinloch…_

_It was not a complete loss, we did deal Corypheus a blow, and recovered some lyrium tools that belonged to Maddox that Dagna might be able to use to deconstruct Samson’s armor. I hope._

_The bastard left me a letter. “Drink enough lyrium and its song reveals the truth.” I shudder to think just how much lyrium he had been taking. His resistance… we found bottles licked clean. Of course, I did the same at my worst. It made me think about my life choices. Perhaps that is where we differ, he and I._

_Maker’s Breath, this letter is hard to write. At the shrine, all was smoke and ash and red lyrium glowing and pulsing. The aura of the place - I was repulsed and drawn in at the same time. And the acrid, metallic smell - Asta, you’ve held back so much for fear of putting me over the edge, haven’t you? I claim to be your shield, you even call me that, but… you’ve been shielding me all along. I want to be angry, but judging by your companions’ reactions to my behavior whilst we fought through the buildings, I have to admit, you were probably right to do so._

_Perhaps I should resign. Perhaps I’m not strong enough, not…_

_You’d tell me to stop thinking like that. I miss you. Your words make me stronger._

_Cullen_

***

_Your Inquisitorialness,_

_Curly’s in a bad way. That Shrine - Andraste’s Tits, Asta, why did you send him? He was worse than he ever was in Kirkwall, biting off things about Samson under his breath. Even now, he’s slumping by the fire, looking defeated and more like a kicked puppy than ever._

_I understand disappointment all too well. My life has hardly turned out the way I thought it would, after all. But Curly - he’s going to need you to be strong right now. He’s questioning everything, and he’s been doing that way too much since Meredith went bonkers and turned into lyrium._

_Admittedly, the whole situation was a disappointment. We’re all still coughing from smoke inhalation. It was awful. I’ll take care of him until we get back, but when we get back - I think the man needs to stop thinking for a bit. When a man or woman starts questioning their purpose in life… shit happens._

_Between him and I, we saw that Maddox got a decent funeral. Pyre and everything, and Curly himself sang the Chant. Maddox was a decent sort, as I remember. I’m glad we could do that much for him, in the end._

_See you soon,_

_Varric (written in a swirly script that shows years of practice at signing books.)_

***

_Hey Boss,_

_You’re gonna want to take care of the Commander when you get back. If we were under the Qun, he’d be headed to the reeducators for sure. Sex would be good. I’m sure with your head not a lot of that was happening before we left._

_Hope you’re feeling better. You were missed. The Commander doesn’t have your joie de vivre, ya know?_

_See ya,_

_Bull_

_***_

_Commander,_

_Cullen, I refuse to even dignify that self-pity with a response. We will talk upon your return._

_I’m very sorry now that I joked about your old Templar armor. It was thoughtless of me. I apologize. I still eagerly await your return. In that way, I think it is far better to be the one traveling, isn’t it - for you, every step you take brings you closer. For me, all I can do is wait- wait for you._

_I think its my turn to encourage you, so have some white julienne - despair not, and some wormwood - do not be discouraged. Dagna will help with the tools, she is already confident. And yes, I know she’s always confident, except when I tell her I need protection against possession._

_I love who you are - don‘t let your past make you blind to that._

_Your Asta_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently concussions can have consequences most dire. I looked it up to make sure I wasn't exaggerating. It was worse than I thought. If you have a head injury, please see a doctor!
> 
> I wanted Cullen to go on his own in any case, though. Almost didn't do it by letter, but decided this worked better than the other version. I hope I was right.


	53. Before They're Needed

Cullen handed Dagna Maddox's tools, and she left, muttering to herself about fractures and crystallization saying she would see him in about an hour to report. Varric shook his head at the other dwarf's preoccupation, and patted Cullen on the back as they parted at Skyhold’s gate, flashing him a smile. “Say hello to Asta, Curly,” Cullen forced a smile, and rubbed the back of his neck, and started up the steps to the Keep proper. He wanted to see her so badly, but she was still injured, he reminded himself. He couldn’t expect…

He was blindsided by a rush of Asta into his side. “Cullen!” Her arms wrapped around his neck and buried in his hair and the fur of his collar, joyful laughter echoing into his ear.

“Asta?” He held her back, “You’re doing better?” His whole face lit up in relief and then fell. “Should you be running?”

“Running is fine,” Asta laughed. “I’ve been cleared for moderate activity,” she beamed. “I saw you coming from my balcony, and couldn’t wait for you to come to me,” she picked up her hand in his and tugged. “Come on, I ordered you a bath and some real food should be there in a while…”

Cullen laughed, “I could get used to this, you know.”

Asta tilted her head at him. “You should! Come on,” and she drug him through the main hall.

“Shouldn’t we check in with Leliana and Josephine?” He protested, but following her willingly enough.

“Tomorrow!” Asta grinned. “I pulled a few strings. There are benefits to being the Inquisitor’s fiancée, you know. One is she can delay the necessary meetings for one night - well, most of them. Another is warm baths upon your return from a mission. And the other…” she pulled him through the lower door that led to her chambers, and leaned up against him, his back against the door while it shut firmly, “Well, I have been cleared for moderate activity. And I made sure that included sex.”

“Maker’s Breath, Asta, what did you tell Ellandra…” Belatedly he remembered the topics she had mentioned in her letter, and swore, blushing.

“You should be able to tell your healer anything, Commander,” Asta twinkled. “But you know that we’re no secret. Half of Skyhold will be rooting for you tonight, and the other half for me.” She paused, “It was lonely and cold in that room without you. And Ellandra wouldn’t let me move back to the loft.”

Cullen blushed redder, but bent to kiss her all the same. “I missed you too.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Now, bath. I know that you want one. I always want one as soon as I get back especially after being around red lyrium. And while you bathe, we can talk.”

The bath was steaming, just filled, from the looks of things, and Cullen wasted no time stripping off his armor onto its stand for polishing later. Asta watched avidly, making him a little self-conscious after their separation. “Asta, don’t you have anything to do?” He pulled his shirt off with one fist, and she caught her breath. His back was lean, traced with a few scars, but still beautiful. One thing about this room - it had better lighting. She itched to run her fingers up it, but sensed it wouldn’t be welcome, right at that moment.

“Not really,” she mused, thinking. “I sent Cassandra and Dorian away when I saw you riding up, and they know they won’t see me until tomorrow. I wanted you to have a proper meal, so that will take some time to prepare.” Her eyes traced down his now naked form with unconcealed delight. “And I’ve missed you.” She stopped. “Did you want me to leave?” Her face fell. “I can, if you like.”

“No, stay, we need to talk.” He stepped into the bath. “This trip was an epiphany of sorts, for me.”

“Not a good one, I gather,” Asta sat on the bed, cross-legged. “I could tell that you were wrestling with something, from your letters.”  She fidgeted with the coverlet, twisting it idly.

“Yes, well,” he took up the cloth and soap from the attached tray, and wet one, rubbing the other against it. “I had to confront some past decisions, and spent the most of the return trip comparing my current purpose with my past one.” He started running the lathered cloth across his chiseled chest and neck, and Asta’s eyes were drawn to the movement, mouth dry. She bit the side of her finger and ran it across her lips.

“The Inquisition versus the Templars?” She tried to focus, a difficult task with him so unattired and occupied. “Did you come to a conclusion?”

“I concluded that you were right,” He looked at her. “The Templars should be disbanded, so that they cannot be used by the Chantry any longer. They, we, are too easy led into anything that gives us purpose, direction. Templars are trained that way. We, they, need to stop being sheep. And I don‘t think that will happen if we, they, remain as an order.” The line between his brows was deeper than ever. “The Seekers, led by Cassandra, will give us, them, a chance at least to leave if they desire it. And if they want to serve, she can guide them.”  He sighed, "I'm not against Templars, they serve a purpose, but well, it's still hard to stop myself from identifying with the remains of the order."

“Is that how Samson justified his recruitment by Corypheus?” Asta asked gently, “That he gave him purpose?”

“No, that’s how Maddox justified his suicide,” Cullen closed his eyes. “That…Samson saved him before he needed him. Samson earned his loyalty with that, despite everything he became.” He dunked his head under the water, and came up with his hair damp and curly and shining with the dripping water.

Asta bit her lower lip, warmth pooling between her legs, and tried to stay on topic. “And the Inquisition didn’t save the Templars,” Asta said quietly, “even though we needed them. Is that it?”

“A little,” he opened his eyes and didn’t meet hers. “I understand your reasoning, of course. But… we have more resources now. We don’t need the Templars, but… I’d like, with your permission, to see if we can find a few more, and the missing Tranquil as well. The mages - they come on their own, but the others…” He looked up at her now. “Could we do that? Save them before they‘re needed? Not to earn their loyalty, not to use them, but...”

“Of course,” Asta agreed. His eyes were so golden, so warm as he smiled, relieved. “We should have done it before.” He started working shampoo into his hair and she started to breathe shallowly, hands itching to run the soapy curls through her fingers, and her breasts tightening. “Anything else?”

“Only that I’m curious how long we have before Dagna comes to interrupt us,” Cullen looked at her wickedly. “There’s room for two in here.”

“Not long enough, Cullen,” Asta laughed. “At least, not if I know Dagna. Besides, we still need to talk.”

“About?” He finished rinsing his hair and bent his legs up over the side of the tub, and leaned back, still tense and attempting to enjoy the water while it was still warm.

Asta took a deep breath and prepared to kill the mood. “Cullen, I wasn’t trying to keep things from you. I told you everything you needed to know that would have impacted your tactics and strategy. Anything you needed to know. I spared you the unnecessary description, it’s true, because I didn’t want to make you sick. I suppose that was protection, of a sort.”

“Ah,” he said, not moving. “I thought that might have been it. Asta, you realize that any of the things you’ve left out might have impacted my decision to lead this last mission on my own? I might have agreed with you.”

Asta snorted, “Like that’s likely, Commander. I know you, you’d have insisted it couldn’t be that bad and rushed in, sword drawn, counting on your strength to carry you through.” She tilted her head and mused, “Though why it’s okay for you to want to protect me when I’m not supposed to protect you…”

Cullen sighed, and sat up, putting his arms over the side of the tub, and met her eyes. “Asta, I don’t mind you wanting to protect me, or worry about me. That’s wonderful. I’ve never had anyone outside of my own family want to do that for me before. And even then it’s been twenty years. But if you are withholding information that is vital to my performance as Commander -”

“I’m not!” Asta protested. “Really, I only held back some of the side effects of the red lyrium because…”

“And what else are you hiding?” Cullen cut her off, sounding tired. “I may get sick, but if we can’t be honest with each other…”

Asta’s face crumpled. “I am being honest. I haven’t lied. I’ve omitted, it’s true.”

“Does Leliana know the side effects?” He asked softly. Asta nodded. “So her comment before I left…”

“Was based on her opinion that you could handle it,” Asta looked away. “I disagreed. But a lot of that was selfishness, looking back. I didn’t want to send you into danger.” She looked up again, “I didn’t want to be the one left behind if you… if Samson…” She sighed, “I was wrong - you could handle it. I underestimated you.”

Cullen rose from the bath and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. She squeaked, and wrapped her arms around him as well. “I’m not going anywhere. But no more omissions, please?”

“Okay,” she whispered into his chest. “No more omissions. I'm sorry.”

“And I feel the same way every time you leave,” he drew back, so he could see her face, and brushed her hair away from her face. “If something were to happen to you…” Cullen drew a shuddering breath, “I’m very afraid the Inquisition would be out a Commander as well. But I don’t have a choice, and neither do you. Neither of us can afford to keep the other safe all the time.”

“I know,” Asta whispered, “but…”

“But nothing,” Cullen’s sad smile belied his tone and words, “That’s the way it has to be for now. Once this is over, once Corypheus is defeated… then we can worry and protect each other. For now, we have to be willing to sacrifice.”

“Fuck that,” Asta spit out between suddenly clenched teeth. “I am done with tragedy. I and all of Thedas have had enough of tears, blood and death. We lose our heroes almost as soon as we’ve found them. I will not be wasted like that. And I won‘t let you be, either.”

Cullen was shocked into laughter. “Well, I can’t argue with you. I’m not particularly eager to be wasted, as you put it, hero or not.” He suddenly realized he was wet and naked, and standing in a puddle. “I’d better get dressed before…”

“Hello!” An overly cheerful voice called up from the bottom of the stairs, “I knocked, but no one answered! Coming up!”

Cullen’s eyes went wild and wide, and he dove into the dressing room. “Asta, my clothes!” Asta laughed and moved towards the bureau.

“Come on up, Dagna. The Commander will be a moment, I’m afraid,” she handed Cullen his clothes, winking and then realized she was soaked through. “Actually, we both will. Can you come up in a few minutes?” The dwarf was already peeking above the banister. “Never mind, then. You’ll just have to talk through the door, I’m afraid, while I change. What have you found out?” Asta pulled out her dry clothes and moved to join her Commander in the closet, suppressing a giggle.

“Well, I’ve got something for you,” Dagna chirped. “Why is there so much water on the floor? Did I interrupt…”

“No, not at all!” Cullen called through the door. “I was finished with my bath, that’s just from… drying off!”

“Oh, okay!” Dagna chirped. “Why was the Inquisitor so wet, then?”

“He was drying off on me,” Asta quipped, and Cullen threw her a dirty look.

“Okay…” Dagna said, drawing out the word in awkwardness. “I could come back if you were…”

“No, no, that’s not necessary!” Cullen called out, just as Asta grabbed his butt, holding onto it for a moment. “I’ll be out in just a second… Asta, stop that,” he hissed, pulling on his pants, ignoring the need for smallclothes in his hurry.

"I'm a weak woman, Commander," she smirked at him, appreciating the view, and took off her own wet clothes without ceremony, crossing her arms across her front while peeling her sodden shirt off, revealing a black lacy corset with shoulder straps that did plenty for her cleavage. “Merciful Maker, what are you wearing?” he whispered, tensing. “Never mind, just… put something on!” Asta winked, and took her time while he pulled on his shirt and left the closet, sans socks or boots.

“Sorry about that, Dagna, I know you’re busy…” he started.

“Not a problem, Commander. Everyone knows you don’t get to see each other enough,” Dagna observed. “The good news is that I’m done.”

“Already?” Cullen blinked. “You’ve had the equipment for about an hour. That’s very… efficient.”

“Well, Maddox’s tools were just the thing!” The dwarf chirped. “Took no time at all to create this…” and she flashed a rune at him.

“A rune?” Asta stepped out of the closet. “What does it do?”

“It’ll work on the median fissures in the lyrium in Samson’s armor!” Dagna grew even more excited, and Asta’s face lit up. Cullen looked confused - the victim of a Chantry education. “I mean, it’ll break his armor, leave him defenseless,” she explained more gently.

“So we have him?” Cullen brightened.

“We have him!” Dagna confirmed.

Asta hugged her, “Thanks, Dagna. You are the best.”

“Hey, Inquisitor, the Commander’ll get jealous!” Dagna laughed. “I’ll let you two get back to it. Give her one for me, Commander!” Cullen blushed, and the dwarf left, laughing.

Asta smiled at her Commander, smirking. “Going to take her advice?” She crossed over to her desk, and set the rune down gently, and leaned against it backward.

“I don’t know,” Cullen smiled, crossing the floor and taking her into his arms again. “Should I?”

“Well, I think a celebration is in order, Commander, you did manage to bring something back that will bring Samson to his knees,” Asta observed.

“Right now I could care less about bringing Samson to his knees,” Cullen murmured, cupping her ass with his hand. “I’m thinking a little closer to home.” Asta hummed in response. “Perhaps you need to show me what you have on underneath.”

“I just got dressed!” Asta protested, smiling.

“If you don’t show me, I’ll find out for myself,” he teased, and started on the buckles on her vest. “I want to see.”

“I could give you clues,” Asta teased. “I bought it in Orlais, ages ago - but we haven’t had a moment since.”

“And you put it on today because…” Cullen prompted, peeling her vest back and dropping it on the still wet floor. He stepped in closer, and leaned his forehead into hers and pulled her tunic's ties loose.

“Because you were coming home,” Asta whispered, a breath away from his lips. “I wanted to show you before, but never had an opportunity.” He freed the hem of her shirt from her pants, and started work on the laces of her pants. “I thought you wanted to see it?”

“I want to see all of you,” he pulled away from the temptation of her mouth when she tried to dive in for a kiss. “Now, now, Asta, patience. Time enough for that if we aren’t needed until tomorrow.” He paused in his unlacing. “You know, I’m going to lock the door.”

“Oh, privacy,” Asta sighed, “What a beautiful thought.” He went down the stairs, locked _and_ barred the door, and came back up to Asta, covered with black lace and silk that squeezed her breasts in and up, creating a valley that made him swallow. It barely met the top of her ample hips, and between her legs was another patch of lace and silk that did little for coverage, but made her legs look somehow still longer.

Cullen’s mouth was dry, and his gaze heated as he stood frozen at the top of the stairs, hand on the banister. He rubbed his mouth with his other hand, feeling the stubble. “You bought that in Orlais?”

“Mm-hmm,” Asta hummed. “Do you like it?” She turned around, and he realized belatedly that the smallclothes had no back at all - just a thin piece of lace that left nothing to the imagination. She threw a glance over her shoulder. The curve of her backside was incredible, soft and rounded, and his legs moved before he realized what he was doing, stopping just as he reached her side.

“Maker, Asta…” he swallowed again, “I don’t know whether to cover you up or tear it off of you.” His hands had a mind of their own, tracing the lines of her body, down her sides, around her ass, fingers barely touching her skin and the fabric confining it, longing just to grab her and fling her down on the floor.  But it was still wet.

“Well, I think covering it up would be a waste,” Asta’s mouth twisted with humor. “How about we discuss tearing it off me when you’re undressed, hmmm?” Her eyes sparkled, and he bent in to kiss her neck, lips parting to place a mark on her after a short time, the desire so long put aside welling up in him all at once. “Cullen,” she gasped at the pressure of his lips, “Clothes.” He pulled away and ripped his tunic off over his head, and bent right back towards her, reaching for her lips this time, already open for his tongue. She brought her fingers up to trace the scars on his back gently, while he grabbed her hips and pulled her back in against him so that she could feel how hard he was. Her fingers unlaced him quickly, aided by the haste in his recent dressing, and she shoved them off his hips, leaving him bare. He stepped out of them backwards, pulling her with him to the bed.

“I just want to throw you down,” he admitted, pausing for breath in the kiss that had consumed them both.

“Then do it,” She murmured against his mouth, kissing him gently between words. “I don’t mind. Maybe we’ll break this horrible bed and Josie will replace it.”

Cullen choked, “You want me to…” Her lips found his lower lip, and the sentence was lost in a moan.

“Cullen, trust me, I’m ready. I’ve been ready for weeks, all pent up with no release. Andraste’s ass, Cullen, just…”

He swung down and grabbed her legs to pull her against him, grinding up into her as she wrapped her legs around his back, her last words lost in the sensations he was creating between her legs. For long moments he just held and moved his mouth against hers, their tongues meeting and parting in a frantic dance. His hand found the ribbons at the back of the corset, and pulled them loose. Turning at last, he dropped her back on the bed, standing over her, breathing hard through his nose, fists clenched for one moment, watching her before he bent over and pulled a breast out of the support, his other hand sliding behind her back to arch her up into his mouth, and latching on. Asta hummed deeply, his tongue working her up as his other hand pulled her other breast loose, the valley between them deepened further. His hands dropped down to the clasps, and they sprung free one after the other, making him laugh against her and then groan as they revealed her skin further, creamy and freckled and soft, and in his mind, perfect.

He bent back to his work, not bothering to remove the article of questionable clothing entirely. There was no point - and his cock informed him it would take too long to slide it off her shoulders. His tongue and hands worked wonders, kissing down her stomach to her navel, cupping her breasts with his thumbs pressing into the now hard peaks until a gasping and panting Asta pulled him back up to her mouth, one hand in his hair, one at his jaw, desperate to taste him again, feel him against her and inside her. The heat grew between them and Cullen dropped the hand at her breast to stroke her over the cloth still between them, already damp with her arousal. She arched against him in response, and he cupped her harder, and rubbed. She started to shake, “Cullen…”, her voice warbled, and then she snapped, and bit his lip, licking it with her tongue in a fast apology when he gasped. He slid the fabric to the side, and aligned himself with her, touching his thumb to her center, circling slowly in an attempt to slow them both down, pulling away from the gravitational pull of her lips, trying to breathe deeply. It would be over too fast if they kept on like this, and he wanted…

Asta reached out and grabbed his hips, impatient at the delay, and pulled him into her. All at once, he was surrounded, and he moaned at the pressure on all sides. “Asta,” he protested weakly, unable to deny that this was what they both had wanted, needed, but it came out as a plea in any case.

He rocked against her, almost instinctively, and she tightened her legs and arched up, crying out for more friction. “Cullen, please!”  He was so hard, and she was finally full after feeling too empty for too long. Her brain was scattered, wondering how she had managed when she didn’t have him to give her this feeling, to fill this need. He was too still, trying to let her adjust, give himself a moment to control himself. She pushed up against him stronger now, frustrated at the lack of movement, spreading her legs apart and whimpering.

With that whimper, Cullen decided that waiting was overrated. He growled, moved his lips to her shoulder, and started to thrust, giving up all pretense of gentleness. He nipped her collarbone, her shoulder, the curve of her neck, unable to stop himself. The fabric still between her legs impeded him, so he used a hand to keep it to one side, and his thumb to glide against her clit while he held on to her other thigh, pulling it higher against him. They were both back at the edge, each one fighting to keep the other as close as possible, deeper and deeper into their mutual passion, coming apart only to move back together harder, faster. Asta fisted her hand into the coverlet, head thrown back and her breathing ragged.

He felt her tense, her back arching yet more, tightening around him, and she called out wordlessly, contracting around him and moaning as he kept on, the pursuit of his goal now his only focus. Asta fisted a hand in his hair, finally managing to unwrap it from the covers she had twisted it in, and yanked him back down. “I love you,” she said, and covered his mouth with her own one last time, frantic to keep him against her. He moaned against her mouth, and rushed over the edge of the cliff, pouring into her, holding on to her too tightly. He fell against her, almost whimpering in turn with the strength of the aftershocks, as she held him just as close, shaking.

“Welcome home?” She offered feebly, some minutes later, and he chuckled where he lay against her neck.

“I could really get used to this."

She wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him. “I hope we both do, someday.”

 


	54. Before the Wilds

Cullen peeked over the edge of the stairs and grinned. Asta was at her desk, making arrangements for a quick trip to the Hinterlands to help Cole with Varric and Solas, and not paying attention to him at all. The light filtered through the stained glass windows beside her, tinting her skin and the papers in front of her. He hid his gift behind his back and snuck towards her.

“What did you need, Cullen?” She asked, not looking up. His shoulders fell in defeat.

“I was trying to surprise you,” he explained, disappointed.

“Then you shouldn’t wear plate armor when tiptoeing up stairs,” Asta tilted her head, eyes gleaming in laughter. “What’s behind your back?”

“I got you something,” Cullen was extremely proud of himself. “Close your eyes.” Asta smiled, and complied. Something settled on her head and over her face.

“What?” She opened her eyes, and laughed. “You got me a new helmet?”

“Helm, actually,” Cullen knocked on it with one hand. The sound rang into her ears. “Ellandra said you needed better protection than that floppy hat you’ve been wearing for so long.”

“Well, it’s not the same hat,” Asta started, but Cullen cut her off.

“In any case, this should protect you when you get a little too close to anyone or anything and forget how to duck,” he teased.

Asta wandered over to her vanity mirror, curious to see what it looked like. “Cullen, this looks like your helm,” she observed.

“It does!” He beamed proudly, so glad that she noticed.

“You are giving me your helm?” Asta blinked at him from behind the Mabari’s teeth. “Seriously? My head is a lot smaller than yours, Cullen.”

“No, I had Dagna make you your own,” he laughed.

“You made me a helm like yours,” Asta deadpanned. She laughed out loud. “That’s… cute.”

“That’s what Bull said before Sera started making puking sounds,” Cullen took her hand. “Do you like it?”

Asta smiled, “It’s sweet, Cullen. Thank you for thinking about me. I hadn’t even thought about needing new headgear, it’s been weeks since I’ve left Skyhold.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed him through the helm.

“I’m a little worried,” he confessed, “Are you sure…”

“Ellandra says I’m fine,” Asta rolled her eyes impatiently, “Cullen, I need to get this done - the amulet isn’t working, and Cole is frantic. I have to leave eventually, and this is a relatively quick trip.” She turned around, and wrapped her arms around him, gently, “We can’t protect each other all the time,” she reminded him.

“I know, I’m being ridiculous,” he sighed, and leaned his forehead against hers. “You’ll be fine.” He pulled back, “Just don’t hit your head on anything?”

She smirked, “Isn’t that what the helm is for?”

***

_Cullen_

_Yes, I’m taking care of myself. That is the whole reason for this letter - to satisfy your anxiety. Other than the dragon - which we are staying far, far away from - Redcliffe is positively bucolic now. All happy villagers and ‘Thank you, Inquisitor!’ and ‘We’re joining up soon, Inquisitor!’ The helm is wonderful - not too heavy at all, and a massive improvement over the fancy hat. Thank you again. And Cole has been taking his responsibility to make sure I’m wearing it very seriously. He objected when I took it off to eat and sleep last night. He said ‘It just wants to protect you.’ I told him I had nothing to fear from my pillow, and I caught him talking to both helm and pillow seriously a few minutes later. I think they worked it out, but it’s hard to tell. I survived the night, in any case._

_Cole’s problem has been identified - his situation seems to be more complicated than even Solas thought. He’s not possessing anything, or anyone, and Varric insisted that he needed to be more human and Solas that he needed to remain true to his original purpose and origin as a spirit. All tied into his grudge against the original Cole’s killer. Since I’m not supposed to be omitting information - it was a Templar. Apparently the original Cole was an apostate mage taken to the Spire. He died there, alone and forgotten, and our Cole came through the thin Veil at the Spire to keep him company._

_How do I keep getting drawn into these impossible decisions? I wish that you could have come along - you could have pitched in with a Templar opinion. But that said, I decided that Cole, for his own protection, needed to be more human. Even if I had decided otherwise, the amulet still may not have worked, and I can’t bear to think of Cole corrupted into a despair demon. Solas is not pleased with me, but lately it seems that I can’t avoid that. I’m more and more convinced that his goals and my own are too disparate to align. Possibly just because I’m human and our biases are different._

_It hurts. Solas has been there for me, saving my life since the very beginning. But I can see him pulling away, just as determined to defeat Corypheus, but with his own plans hatching behind his eyes. I only wish I knew what they were. In the meantime, we can still rely on him, I’m sure. We all had our own motivations for joining the Inquisition, and without him, I’d be long dead. Maker knows, I need him in the Arbor Wilds - he isn’t the only mage around with his own goals, and I trust him more than Morrigan. Nothing against her - she’s a wonderful mother, and I only wish I could pull off the clothes she wears, but she tells us less than half of what she knows. It’s written all over her face._

_Mages love their secrets, don’t they? Thank the Maker that Dorian doesn’t have that kind of agenda. Between Solas, Vivienne and Morrigan I’m a bit overwhelmed._

_Cole wasn’t entirely pleased either, but Varric has taken him under his wing. I hope I made the right choice. Certain things are going to be more difficult for him now, I’m sure. Apparently he puts honey in Leliana’s wine? Did you know?_

_Being apart is even more painful now than ever. I’ve been spoiled. It is good to get out again, though. Skyhold was starting to feel very small._

_Your Asta_

_***_

_Asta,_

_I’m glad it went so well. I wasn’t expecting a letter with this short trip, and I was worried. I know, I’m ridiculous._

_Thank you for wearing the helm. Dorian tells me that next time I should have someone knit us matching sweaters. In his most sarcastic tone, of course. That wasn’t my intention, exactly - to have us match - but I already had the schematic and…_

_You don’t mind, do you? If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it, as long as you have something else. It won’t hurt my feelings. At the time I was thinking about how Dorian had that axe made for Bull, and wanted to do something nice to keep you safe. I hope I didn’t embarrass you._

_I’ll see you in a few days. For you, I will make some time._

_Cullen_

_***_

_Bull,_

_Dorian wants you both to get matching sweaters. Maybe they can have the words ‘Horns Up!’ stitched on them? Sera could help. She has contacts in Denerim. Massive wool industry in Fereldan. Oh, maybe the family in Redcliffe could help? The one whose ram we saved?_

_Say hi to Dorian for me. See you in a couple of days._

_Love,_

_Asta_

***

Dorian crashed into Asta’s bedroom two weeks later, fury written across his face. “YOU! You are responsible for this…” his waved hand indicated his sweater, in a lovely shade of red that complimented his complexion, reading ‘Horns Up!’

“Why, hello, Dorian,” Asta mocked from her desk, surrounded by books on the elven pantheon.

“Nice sweater, Dorian,” Cullen smiled, looking up from his seat on the couch and marking his place in his book with his finger. “Sera’s friend did a nice job.”

“Obviously,” Dorian seethed. “And Bull loves it. Did you see what she had them put on the back?!” He spun around. The words ‘Bottoms Down!’ leapt from the fuzzy knitwear.

Asta busted up laughing. “Does Bull’s say the same thing?”

“Yes,” Dorian spat, “And that Qunari thinks it’s hilarious! He wants to have one made for every Charger!” He narrowed his eyes in anger, glaring. “I think I hate you both.”

“Next time, don’t make mean comments about sweet gifts, then,” Asta said calmly. “You had it coming. I love my helm. I’m going to wear it to the Arbor Wilds.” Cullen smiled happily, beaming just a little. “Besides,” Asta continued, “Bull picked the color. He thought it would look good on you. He was right. Does wonders for your eyes and skin.”

“You cannot butter me up with compliments, you villainess! I will have my revenge! I will swoop down when you least expect it!” Dorian spun back around and swept angrily down the stairs, slamming the door behind him and making dust drift down from the owl above the windows.

Cullen snickered, “Swooping is bad, Asta.”

“I’m not afraid,” Asta said. “Sera has about a million more pranks to pull on Dorian. She’s just waiting for the right moment. He’s the one that should be afraid.” She sighed, “I do hope he didn’t tell Bull he hated it though. I did give Bull the idea.”

Cullen stared at her. “You’re diabolical. You and Sera… you haven’t pulled anything on me, have you?”

Asta smiled sweetly, “Now why would you think that, love?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed, “My desk has been rocking. You didn’t have anything to do with that?”

“Cullen Rutherford, I just managed to get a Qunari warrior to have his vain ‘Vint lover wear a ridiculous sweater in public. Would I settle for having your desk rock?” Asta’s eyes twinkled. “I’d do something far worse, I assure you. Maybe we broke it that night? Which reminds me, when can we move back to your loft?”

Cullen was taken aback. “You want to move back? Really? I thought you were doing well here.”

“It’s not home,” Asta took a sip of her tea. “I do like the light better here, but you can’t work here like you can there. It’s not convenient for you to hike halfway across the keep. And I’m definitely well enough to climb ladders now.”

“There’s still a hole in the roof!” Cullen protested. “The builder hasn’t come back from the rebuilding efforts in the Emprise yet!”

“And a far better bed,” Asta pointed out.

“It doesn’t have a fireplace!”

Asta tilted her head and smiled, “Cullen, do you like this room?”

“Parts of it,” he muttered reluctantly, put on the spot. “It’s airy, so being indoors doesn‘t bother me. The furnishings are ridiculous, true, but the fireplace has been nice. And I like the view. And I can watch the sentries when I can‘t sleep and make sure they‘re actually doing their job,” he admitted at last.

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “Then I think we need to arrange for our old bed to be moved in. If you are happy here, we should…” she sighed. “But I really liked being upstairs while you worked.”

“You still have a desk in there,” Cullen pointed out. “And you could still work upstairs.”

“It won’t be the same,” she sighed. “That’s okay. We don’t really have time for anything like that right now anyway. It’ll will wait. Like so many other things.” She rubbed her forehead, irritably.

“Is your head hurting?” Cullen asked concerned.

“A little. It doesn’t happen often.” Asta put down her quill and bottled her ink. “But it means it’s time to quit for the day. I need to go speak to Vivienne about the Exalted Plains in any case. She needs us to kill a Wyvern.”

Cullen frowned. “Are you sure…”

“I have been cleared to go back to active duty, Cullen,” Asta reminded him. “As long as I don’t overdo it, I’m fine. It’s just a wyvern.”

Cullen snorted, “I remember when a wyvern would have sent you running behind Cassandra.”

Asta smirked, “Well, Cassandra’s coming. I’m still not a lot of use, mind you. The others will do most of the work. And Vivienne can at least heal a little if I do run into problems.”

Cullen nodded, resigned. “It’s been nice having you here so often.”

“But it’s time to go,” Asta sighed, “More than time.”

***

Two days later it dawned clear and warm, and Asta entered the courtyard to see her troops off for the Arbor Wilds.

It was time. They were ready. So was Corypheus, and she couldn’t deny that her gut clenched, knowing how unlikely it was that she would live through this confrontation. She addressed her troops from the stairs, as she had the day she accepted the position of Inquisitor. Her hands shook. She had so much to say, but would they listen? The Inquisition’s armies spread before her, through the courtyard, over the bridge and beyond. Dorian had amplified her voice with magic, and they could hear her ragged breathing. It was time to begin.

“The one we fight, he is no god. He is a monster, twisted and broken. He may think he is the stuff of legends, of our worst nightmares, but he is nothing. We serve Thedas - the best of Thedas, all that is good, pure and wise in our world. We represent all races and all beliefs, not just that of the Chantry. We need to remember that, and that what he desires - worship, subjugation - are secondary to what he would do to the people we strive to protect. He steals our Warden’s minds - the ones that put themselves between us and the darkness. He kills innocents for the power their blood offers. He has taken our Templars and twisted their purpose for his own ends. He tried to take our mages and make them his slaves, and we thwarted him. He tried to take Orlais and give it to chaos, and we stopped him.”

“Many of you know that I do not take the Chant literally, but I find parts of it to breathe truth, all the same.” Asta’s mouth twisted wryly. “Sometimes being a former Chantry Sister comes in handy.” The scattered laughter died out and she took a deep breath. “In this case, Trials comes to mind, the first chapter: ‘Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me.’ Like Andraste so long ago, we should not fear the legion. The legion should fear us, for we are stronger together, stronger in our faiths and in the friendships we’ve made with those unlike us. We are Thedas, and no trumped up Magister can prevail against us.” She raised her voice and chin. “Tell me that we can fight together, can live together, respecting our differences and our similarities.” A massive cheer rose from the assembled armies - and Asta smiled. “Then we cannot be defeated. It is as simple as that. For while Corypheus leads with fear, we guide with compassion.” She winked at Cole, sitting on a ledge, who smiled briefly under his hat. “While he breaks, we build. While he steals, we give back. While he spreads lies, we breathe truth, at almost every opportunity,” she temporized, remembering the Winter Palace. “Where he can only hate, we try to act with love and respect.” She faltered, and regained her composure, “Every one of us has someone we would hate to lose. And I hate to ask you to risk them. But what we serve may be bigger than ourselves, in the end. It may be more than just being able to tell your grandchildren that you were at the Arbor Wilds. I will fight to be able to say that I stood for what was right, and pure, and good in Thedas.” She raised her eyes back up to face them, and asked, almost too quietly. “Will you fight with me?” It was a question, not a speech, and every soldier treated it as such. The cheers and salutes thundered through the courtyard and over the bridge. “Then let’s march. I will see you in the Wilds, my friends, my comrades.” She grinned wickedly. “Let’s go tell a fucking Magister from the dawn of time where to get off.”

Cullen snorted behind her, and Josie sighed and turned away, muttering, ‘And it was going so well.”

Asta merely saluted them all, and left to go back into the keep, to gather her bags and go find her horse. The rest of the army turned, at their captains’ orders and marched across the bridge.

Once inside the hall, she leaned against the wall, completely unobserved, and willed herself to stop shaking. Samson waited for her in the Arbor Wilds, and Corypheus. From here on out, she could only be the Inquisitor. That’s what they needed. They didn’t need Asta, the archivist, the bookworm.

She only hoped she would find herself waiting after the battle. She didn’t care much for the Inquisitor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that some people think that helm is a lion, and some think it's a bear. It's a Mabari, people. Cullen is literally Andraste's Mabari. /end head canon I tried to work it into the story, but it just wouldn't fit. That's one of the reasons that this chapter took so long to write. Lions are a symbol of the royal family of Orlais! There is no way that Cullen would choose to represent anything Orlesian. A bear... well, at least that's a little more likely.
> 
> Also, I really wish I could draw about now, because I want a picture of Bull and Dorian wearing matching sweaters, and Dorian glowering. He deserved it, though.
> 
> I cut out so many other pranks with Sera in an attempt to keep the size of this massive thing under control (ha!). But I really love this one, and I can't let it go.


	55. Take this Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, can you have fluff that is integral to the plot? Because if so, this is it. I just let all the sentiment and warm fuzzies out in this chapter, but it's all necessary, I swear. Believe it or not, I do try to rein it in. If you could see all the fluff I cut out... well, it's a wonder that I'm only at 160,000+ words.

The road to the Arbor Wilds was long, but it scrolled past Asta like it was a curtain being pulled to darken a window. They left the road to Val Royeaux, breaking away from known civilization and stepped into the past, ruins around them, even the signs of the civil war finally left behind to its dust and ashes. Asta had to be visible, be a presence, and she struggled with it every waking moment.

After the first night of her nightmares returning and Cole holding her through them, she had said “Fuck this shit,” and slept in Cullen’s tent instead. No one said a word, naturally, and even the eye rolling was kept to a minimum thanks to Bull’s axe and Dorian sparking lightening across his fingernails. She slept a little better after that, even though his days were long, and his nights with her short.

It was the antithesis of the long trip back from Adamant - there weren’t any teasing touches and lingering kisses with her pulling away. It was longing looks and preoccupation, and keeping up spirits, and falling into their tent with extreme fatigue just to hold the other while their dreams alternately shook them awake. It was harder, and easier, and Asta just wanted something different. Something that wasn’t a war, that wasn’t a constant fight for what was right, that wasn’t a nightmare wrapped in bloody necessity, made palatable by a love she never expected to find.

And yet every day she emerged from her tent as the Inquisitor, made decisions and let her soldiers and followers see her as they needed to see her - Cole helping with that - instead of as who she really was. “Will it ever end?” She asked Cullen that night, when he finally joined her, tripping over her boots at the front of the tent - still not used to them being there after a week of travel.

“Everything ends,” he said into her shoulder, kissing it lightly. “It’s just a matter of when.” She found the thought slightly comforting, and slept better that night.

She argued with Solas and Morrigan over the Elven Pantheon, and was inclined to Solas’ point of view. She spoke with Cassandra about the Seekers and whether she really wanted to be the Divine, and was reassured that she wasn’t making a choice her friend - for they were friends, despite their terrible beginning - wouldn’t be able to live with. She even managed to laugh with Varric and Sera, and surprisingly, Blackwall. Sera even bent so far as to fill her boots with pudding - an attempt to cheer her up and keep her looking like people, of course. She listened to Dorian complain and complain about the traveling, the twigs in his hair and bugs in his tent, and helped Sera sneak a few extra in that night before he retired. She talked blood grooves with Bull - Harrit yelling “They are called ‘fullers’, you arse!” from his anvil - and listened to him and Krem tell crazy stories about jobs of the Chargers until she marveled at all they had seen and done.

And after it all, she curled up with Cullen at the end of the day in the midnight darkness of their tent and knew that somehow, she was going to survive. She just had to, whatever Samson and Corypheus had planned, neither of them could take her from what she wanted her future to be. She started checking that she had the rune on her person daily, and laughed when Cullen caught her doing it, rubbing the crease from between his eyes. “It’s all right,” she smiled, when he caught her hand in his and kissed it. “Just making sure that if we run against him unexpectedly we’re prepared.”

“We’re prepared, Asta,” Cullen said. “It’s going to be all right.” She mostly believed him.

And then they were there, met the Empress’ army, their scouts, disheveled, tired and smirking with their success at sabotage, and ordered that a cask of Chasind Sack Mead be saved for them upon their return to Skyhold - seeing the raven off to Cabot with a cheer and a smile. She pulled on her Inquisitor mask for the Empress, and greeted her, almost as an equal this time, while her brother watched on the sidelines with too wide eyes.

“Shit, Little Sister, was that the _Empress of Orlais_?” He hissed at her later, and she just smiled and nodded. “Damn, our parents must be so pissed right about now.” And then she was shocked when he pulled her in and hugged her. “I’m fucking proud of you.”

She was more surprised when she hugged him back, laughing. After all, if there had to be an end to everything, she could at least try to make it a good middle. And then she left him, and went to find Captain Rylen, who was, she had no doubt, with Cullen.

She was right, and was sorry that she was. “Fuck no, Commander,” Rylen argued. “You’ve got no business leading from the front.”

Cullen was pissed. “At least you have the rank right this time, Knight-Captain,” he observed through narrow determined eyes. “I will do this. You will keep your troops in reserve until needed at the second barricade, and I will carve the way for the Inquisitor’s team.” Unobserved, Asta leaned up against a tree and watched them work it out.

“Damn it, _Commander_ , this is no time to be coddling your sweetheart!” Rylen slammed into the table and made it rock on the uneven ground. “The scouts spotted Samson at the edge of the ruins yesterday. She’s got to get in there fast, and if you are trying to move every little rock out of her way so that she doesn’t trip we’ll never get there in time to stop him!”

“I’m not coddling her, _Knight-Captain_.” Cullen’s voice was deeper and sounded dangerous. “And I’m hardly going to pave a road. Asta is more than capable…” he spotted her against the tree and straightened. “Inquisitor, we were just…”

“Eagerly awaiting your presence,” Rylen spat out. “Some of us more than others.” Cullen growled at him, but didn’t deny it.

“Gentlemen,” Asta greeted. “Is there a problem?”

“Your _Commander_ is putting himself in the line of fire,” Rylen grunted. “It’s foolhardy and unnecessary. Anyone could take point and clear the path. But your _Commander_ wants to play hero.”

“That’s enough,” Asta’s voice cracked like a whip, and even Cullen snapped to attention. “He doesn’t have to play hero, Knight-Captain. And quite honestly, have you seen him fight recently? I have. He killed a fucking dragon in Crestwood a little more than a month ago. I’d say that more than qualifies him for the job of hero.” She tilted her head. “Is there a reason he shouldn’t lead that team?”

“You don’t send your commanding officer into the front line,” Rylen explained, but he was not looking her in the eyes. “He stays back, tries to see the bigger picture.”

“Well, Knight-Captain, I’m pretty sure that he’s still the Commander. So if he wants to 'play hero', as long as it isn’t a tactical error, I’d say you have to let him.” Asta turned to Cullen, “Unless I can convince you otherwise?” To him, her eyes looked worried. She didn’t want him to be that close to the danger.

“I’m afraid not, Inquisitor,” Cullen stated. “And I admit, I rather hope I’ll see Samson myself. Solve a few problems before they reach the temple, if you please.”

“Commander, this isn’t about personal vendettas,” Asta attempted. “This is about stopping the worst thing to happen to Thedas since the Blight.”

“I know that, Inquisitor,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “But all the same, if he shows up, I would like your permission to engage.”

“Denied, Commander. Unless I am with you and have used the rune. That is the whole reason for you going to that shithole Shrine of Dumat, after all.” Asta furrowed her brows. She was not going to be drawn into their argument.

Rylen grunted again, “Girl’s got sense, Commander. You should listen to her.” He barked a laugh, “And she can cuss for you. Maker knows, you were never able to.”

Cullen drooped his shoulders, and Asta relaxed. “Very well, but I’m still clearing the way, by your leave, Inquisitor.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Commander,” she smiled, still worried, but knowing he would follow orders.

“As will I,” Leliana stepped out from behind another tree. “My people have been out here for too long, most are exhausted, so we’re a little short on scouts. The least I can do is let another get a bit of a rest.”

Asta nodded, “We need every person, but they’ve already done so much.”

Leliana winked, “And I’ll try to keep an eye on him for you, Inquisitor.”

Rylen groaned, but good-naturedly, now that the tension was somewhat diffused, “You’re all in on it. There’s no saving a man when the women gang up on him that way. I understand now, Commander.”

Cullen barked a laugh, “You should have seen them at the Winter Palace, old man. Surrounded by women like that - I never had a chance.” He smiled warmly at Asta and sighed. “I’ll be another hour or so, Inquisitor. I need to go over the location of the skirmishes that the troops from Griffon Wing have been encountering since they got here. Might tell us a little more about the location of their camps.” He hesitated, grabbing her sleeve while glancing between Leliana and Rylen, his desire for privacy warring with his desire for her. “Wait up for me?”

“Of course, Commander,” Asta agreed readily while Rylen guffawed and then choked as Cullen backhanded him in the chest. “Come now, Knight-Captain. He said it himself, he never had a chance.” She spun on her heel, eyes glinting with humor and went to find her inner circle. Rylen hooted and Leliana snickered, and Asta caught a brief glimpse of Cullen drawing his hand down his face in embarrassment out of the corner of her eye.

In her attempts she ran across a small shrine, and a single soldier chanting before it. She swallowed down her distaste, and finished the portion of the Chant for him. After all, if he believed that she had interceded, perhaps… perhaps his faith would be enough to see him through. Maker knew, hers wasn’t.

She finally found them, lounging around in their own characteristic ways - Bull sharpening his Dawnstone axe, Dorian alternately reading and complaining about all he read, Vivienne and Solas also reading, but calm and implacable in turn. Varric telling Cassandra stories as she listened, rapt, across the fire. Cole feeding a rabbit at the edge of the forest, talking to it softly. Sera cackling as she and Blackwall compared notes on Val Royeaux’s lesser known taverns. Asta leaned back and watched them. They were good people, every one.

She finally broke into their camaraderie, reluctantly. “Listen up, my friends,” she took a deep breath. “I’m going to have different jobs for you, so I want to know up front who doesn’t want to go into the temple.” She looked around. “Sera?”

“Yeah, rather not,” the elf confessed. “Seen enough of those elfy ruins to last me a lifetime.”

“Okay, then I would like you to follow up with Leliana tonight,” Asta said. “Her scouts have been running interference for weeks, and they need a friend,” her eyes met Sera’s with understanding.

Varric spoke up next, scratching his head. “Yeah, I could miss it. I’d like to help out the Nightingale. After all, you’ll tell me the whole story once you’re safely out of it, right?”

“I’m going with you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra stated, blunt as ever. Varric took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, Asta noted. Cassandra didn’t notice. “We started this together. I’d like to be there when you finish it.”

Asta snorted. “Right. More like when you finish it for me. Remember who you’re talking to, please.” Her gaze moved to Dorian and Bull. “Gentlemen?”

“You’re taking Bull,” Dorian thrust his chin in the air. “Don’t argue. We already talked about it.” He cracked a smile, “My talents will be better used with the remainder of the army and the remains of the enemy.”

Asta nodded, sad that he wouldn’t be with her, but not denying that he would be useful. “Then I’d like you to stick to Cullen. He’s going to be at the front lines, pushing us through. I’ll need you to…” her throat closed off and she couldn’t finish.

“Darling, we both will,” Vivienne stated. “Solas is the mage for this job. You need his knowledge, and he’ll temper that apostate’s overblown ambition.”

Solas spoke, “Technically, Madame, all mages are now aposta…” but she cut him off.

“Hush, Solas. Just be thankful I’m capitulating.” She managed to strike a pose, even sitting on a log in front of a campfire and Asta bit off a laugh, even through the tears that wanted to leak through.

“Thank you, Vivienne. Solas, is that all right with you?” The elf nodded silently. “Very well. Cole?”

“I’m with the Commander.” Cole looked worried. “I can’t do what I did at Adamant now. Is it going to be all right?” His eyes unfocused, “Dizzy thoughts, stuck at a rocking table, thinking of a rocking desk instead. Oh, Maker, did we break it?!” Cole blinked in confusion. “Why isn’t he sorry?”

Asta’s face flushed and Sera broke into a thousand pieces of laughter. “Desks beware!” she cackled. “Sturdy, she said,” Sera bent over laughing. “Commander Tightpants not such a tightass after all…” She couldn’t even get out a full sentence, she was laughing so hard.

Varric busted out when he caught up with the non-sequitors, “You and Curly? On his desk?!” He laughed, “I can’t use that, no one would ever believe it.  Not Curly.”

“Maker, Varric,” Asta threatened, “If I ever see that in print I’ll…” she realized that the Merchant’s Guild owned most lawyers, and sighed in resignation.

Bull grunted, “Way to go, Cullen. That’s good stuff.” He nudged Dorian, “Told you, Kadan. Pay up.”

Dorian fished out a sovereign and dropped it in his lover’s palm. “Fine. I should have known he wouldn’t have been able to break away from his office.”

Asta reddened further but smirked all the same, “Well, truthfully…”

“Stop!” Dorian held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

Varric chuckled jovially, “Maybe you should stop making bets on it then.”

Cassandra leaned forward, breathing fast. “Did you really…” and then leaned back, mask back in place. “Tell me about it later, Asta,” she commanded regally. Varric raised an eyebrow and Asta winked at him.

Asta looked at Blackwall, silent, sword in his lap. “Well, you have a full team,” he said, “So I guess I’m with the Commander then.”

Asta nodded. “Though, Blackwall, if Cassandra hadn’t wanted to come…” she bit her lip. “I would have asked. As it is, I need you at Cullen’s back. Please.” She let the worry leak out of the single word. “I need someone I trust there.”

Blackwall raised his head, surprised, and nodded. “Very well,” he smiled. “I liked your speech at Skyhold. Tell that fucking darkspawn Magister where to get off, Inquisitor.”

“You know I will, Blackwall.” She looked around at her friends. “Thank you all. If you aren’t with me, check in with Leliana or Cullen, and then we’d all better get some sleep - Cullen moves out at first light, and we need to be ready to go at his signal.”

***

Cullen broke away earlier than he thought he’d be able to - sent away by a suddenly understanding Rylen. He had spoken with Cole, Vivienne, Dorian and Blackwall, and accepted their help, touched by Asta sending them to him. Leliana had immediately started hatching plans with Sera and Varric involving traps and lures. They’d be at it long into the night, he was sure.

But for now, he was hers. Only hers. He passed a vine of Arbor Blessing and broke off a piece for her. ‘Blessed by the vine in spring, I shall not fear the winter’s sting,’ after all. Comfort and Abundance were never a bad thing. He dropped back from the path and gathered a few more flowers for her, a whole message woven into his hands, and then pulled out a single purple ribbon from his pocket, wrapped them together and headed for the tent. It made for an ungainly bouquet, but it still had its charms, he decided. He was lucky so many things grew so easily here.

He reached the tent all too quickly, and watched the lantern cast a shadow of her on the walls. She was reading. Of course. He could see the fall of her hair, the light cutting through it, casting ragged shadows against the canvas. She turned the page, and he could see the light through the thin paper. He took a deep breath, and pulled aside the canvas flap.

Her head came up, her eyes tired. “You’re back?” She asked, sitting cross-legged on their bedroll.

He was sad that it was even in question. “Of course,” he answered, and handed her the flowers as she set the book aside. “I picked you these.” His head flashed back to that awkward boy in Honnleath, holding out dandelions to that village girl, and then to Haven, when he had first given her flowers. He hoped he looked a little more confident now, and then realized he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Maker’s Breath,” he cursed, and sighed, dropping his hand. “I just can’t stop doing that, can I?”

Asta laughed softly. “I think it’s endearing.” She took the flowers, smiling. “Where did you find Dragon Root?” she was shocked. “I’ve never even seen it except in a botanical!”

Cullen shrugged. “It was just there. I remembered it from… that book.” He laughed. “I didn’t even realize it was rare.” She was translating the bouquet he realized, and he started to blush, thankful that the lantern was turned down low.

“Dragon Root and Lavender,” she breathed.

“Ardor and Devotion,” Cullen affirmed.

“Ragged Robin and Clarkia?” Asta raised an eyebrow.

“Wit, and I do delight in the variety of your conversation,” he smiled proudly.

Asta shook her head, but laughed in happiness, “Dragon Lilies?”

“Inner power,” Cullen started taking off his armor, shucking off the pieces and stacking them as neatly as possible. “It seemed appropriate.”

Her hand traced the ribbon binding them all together and froze in sudden recognition. “Cullen, is this…”

“The ribbon you gave me,” he finished with his armor, pulled his shirt off and stretched out beside her, one arm rested on his bent knee. “I hope this will suffice as an apology for being so busy. The Antivan chocolates I bought for you as a back up plan went down with Haven, I’m sorry to say, and I never did have Josie order more. Though they wouldn’t be any good now, in any case.”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” Asta’s eyes were wide with surprise. “You kept it?” Her voice came out as a squeak.

Cullen leaned towards her. “My lady gave her knight a favor. I’ve kept it always, as a reminder of our impossible attraction.” He kissed her cheek, chaste and sweet. “That’s what you do with a lady’s favor. Didn’t you know?” He mocked her gently, his voice deepening just as it had that night.

“You…” Asta lunged at him like she should have done then, kissing him full on the mouth and knocking him over, and rested her elbows on his chest, flowers forgotten. “You… should have been a chevalier.”

He choked. “Maker forbid.”

“You can be a chevalier without being Orlesian,” Asta pointed out practically.

“I’d still rather not,” he said firmly. “I have a job, in any case.”

“And what is that,” Asta laughed, playing along.

“I’m your knight,” he smirked, “and apparently your hero. Rylen didn’t let up all evening. Called me ‘dragon slayer’ and ‘lady-killer’ and ‘hero’…” he took a deep breath. “Besides, it’s mutual isn’t it?”

“What’s mutual?” Asta looked a little confused.

Cullen wrapped his arms around her, and continued, “If I’m your hero, then you are mine.” After that Asta didn’t let him speak any more. He didn’t care. His mouth was far too busy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now you've read this, and I need some people to answer a question for me. I have two chapters that come next - one is NSFW and the other is the battle to the Temple of Mythal. I'm not sure the NSFW one fits the tone of the story at the moment, but you know they're keeping the whole camp awake, right? So tell me, do you want to read it? Or just skip right to the Temple and the actual what-passes-for-a-plot? Until I hear otherwise I'm leaning towards the Temple. But long fic is already long, and my chapters keep getting incrementally longer... and if you want to read it, I'll post it.


	56. The Dawn Is Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end I decided to compromise, and so the beginning of this is an abbreviated form of nearly 7 pages of night-before-battle sex. Asta and Cullen have wasted enough opportunities. I'll think about posting the whole thing as a one off, but it may not make sense as a stand alone outside of Asta's world. That said, I doubt anyone reads smutty literature for the philosophy, so it probably doesn't matter.

Asta held onto Cullen’s shoulders as if she let him go, she would find herself falling back into the Fade, to be lost forever. He nuzzled her neck, breasts, pulling at her clothes, trying desperately to get her bare before he lost it entirely to the insistence of her need. She, in turn, loosened his trousers and pulled them free, immediately climbing back over him as he tried to slip her pants free of her legs. He managed one leg before she sat back down over him, too impatient to let him continue.

As soon as her mouth met his again he forgot his unspoken protests in favor of meeting her tongue, her lips on equal ground, groaning into her, muffled into near silence. She hummed into his, moving over him slower, but just as greedy and demanding as before. He felt her, wet and warm, over him, and pulled away slightly to drop down to graze his lips, teeth and tongue over the swell of her breasts pressed against him. Asta whined slightly at the loss of his mouth on hers, the sound echoing her fear of the battle the next day, of what could happen, of what probably would.

What were the odds, after all, of them all making it back from such a confrontation? They had been lucky, so lucky, to have this long with everything that had happened to them since she had woken up in the Chantry dungeon in Haven, glowing green and forced to run uphill after a Seeker. Asta laughed at the memory of meeting him, and he murmured a question mark into her chest.

“I was just remembering seeing you for the first time. You killed a demon for me, I closed the rift and you took off your helm and I was gone.”

“You only love me for my hair,” Cullen accused. “If I were bald…” His teasing tone dropped to her stomach, kissing her navel and sliding her back against their bedrolls. She followed his guidance eagerly, longing even more to be with him while she could.

“You have lovely hair,” Asta admitted, “but that’s hardly all of it. No one had ever saved me from anything before,” she started to explain.

“So you wouldn’t love me if I were bald,” Cullen stripped off the rest of her leggings and kissed her knee, gently, laughter in his eyes.

“You could be bald or painted green,” Asta claimed, just before he nipped the inside of her thigh. “It wouldn’t matter, I swear.” She gasped as he nipped her again, slightly further up. “After all, Blackwall blocked an arrow for me the first time I met him, and no one can deny he has plenty of hair…”

Cullen growled, “It’s not the quantity, it’s the quality.” He moved his mouth, increasing the pressure of his teeth as he climbed for the pinnacle and kissed her core, to make her moan against him, teasing her with his tongue and lips. “Do I have to prove it to you?” He leaned his head against the inside of her thigh, his lips wet, looking at her with such longing, love and humor that she couldn’t help but reach for him to try to prove something of her own. She pulled him back up from between her legs, and her kiss told him exactly what she thought without any words at all. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” he chuckled between the press of her lips against his. Her hands buried in his hair and he laughed again.

“That’s right, Commander,” Asta moaned as he kissed down her neck again. “The only proof I need is you, here.” She paused, “If I don’t…”

“Don’t say it,” Cullen growled against her shoulder. “You will come back. This is not the end.” His movements grew more emphatic and he moved back to her mouth, as if to stop the words from falling out. He wouldn’t let her speak, wouldn’t admit the chance at all, that she wouldn’t be successful, even though the fear of it threatened to choke him and woke him every night without fail.

With those words their lovemaking grew far more serious, no teasing now. Where before they kissed, now they bit and nipped at each other, marking the other as if it would create a barrier to protect them in the day to come. They wove their own magic, one against the other, runes traced with tongues and hands against every inch of each other’s body, sinking into their souls as they moved against each other.

When the moment of entry came, they locked eyes with each other, desperate for the point of contact, for the affirmation that the other was there, wholly involved, four eyes blown wide with the image of each other in the dim light of the lantern. Cullen lifted her hips and sunk into her slowly, breaking the eye contact only to bend his head down into the crook of her neck, dedicating himself to his calling. Asta lifted to meet him with her own purpose, both dragging out the moment, afraid of the end of everything, and of everything that had brought them together, but promising in that moment that it would not be the end of them.

Asta was first to break against his vows, his gentle ministrations of love and sacrifice, but instead of dropping back she became more fierce and more protective, pulling him into her as if they could meld together and never be parted again. Her fingers pulled his hips into her, leaving yet more traces of her tenderness for him to remember the following day. She wouldn’t let him stay slow and sweet, pushing him to meet her equally. Cullen’s hair was wild in the humid air, sweat dripping from him as he flung himself against her, teeth gritted against the knowledge of what was to come. Some of the sweat could have been tears, but neither would have admitted it.

Asta cried out his name at the last, as he shuddered into her restlessly, never caring who was too close or who would overhear - it was only the two of them, alone in the dark. He laid there in her arms as the moon glowed through the canvas, without words, but neither needed them. If their dream ended the next day, they both knew at that moment that they had loved the other with all that they had.

They fell asleep within the circle of each other, and no demons crossed the glyph. Here, they were safe. Here, they were stronger. Here, they were both protected.

***

Cullen and Asta rose in the pinky-grey predawn as one of the watch called softly for the Commander to wake up. They helped each other with their armor in the near-dark of the dim lantern, Asta sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer and determined to see him off. Cullen checked her dagger harness, and for the coin around her neck, and kissed it, and then stole a kiss from her as well. It quickly dissolved to something more heated, and he finally broke away to lean against her forehead.

“You’ll have to finish that later, Commander,” Asta whispered.

“I promise I will,” Cullen answered, peeking up into her eyes. The dawn was breaking, and he had to get going. He picked up his own helm, and went to leave the tent, but Asta stopped him with a hand on his arm. She ruffled through her things from the night before, and found the ribbon.

“I can’t let my hero go into battle without my favor,” she said, tilting her head with a sad smile. Cullen offered his arm wordlessly, and Asta wrapped it tight around him, slipping a spring of Lavender below it before tying it off. “That should keep it put.” She grabbed his coat, looking fierce, and slipped something else into his pocket. “This is for luck,” and she kissed him hard, pulling him down to meet her. “And that’s because I know you don’t need it. Send them to the Void, Commander. I‘ll see you out there.” Cullen pulled the item out of his pocket.

“Smallclothes? Asta, I can’t…”

“Luck, Commander,” she giggled. “More than one type of luck, after all. And it’s not like I’ll need them where I’m going. Cassandra never wears them at all. Says they chafe.”

Cullen shook his head at her, wanting to laugh and then sighed instead. “It’s time.” She nodded at him, ever so slightly and he nodded back, understanding, and watched her Inquisitor mask fall over her face as she left the tent, and then followed her.

There was no fanfare today, and no speeches to give. The Empress Celene was still fast asleep in her pretentious tent, and Cullen’s troops had to get into position before the enemy grew too active to make the plan work. So the Commander just saluted his Inquisitor with his fist over his heart and she nodded in acceptance, heart in her throat.

Then he grabbed her and kissed her one last time in front of his troops and her friends, who blinked in surprise but made no comment, nodded back at her and headed into the forest wild. She watched, arms crossed over her stomach until he disappeared, as Cassandra came up behind her, supporting her without a word or touch as her lover and her friends went to clear her a bloody path.

Cassandra finally touched her shoulder. “You should eat something,” she recommended.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll need your strength,” She protested. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Asta sighed, and turned away from the woods. “Have you eaten anything?”

Cassandra didn’t answer.

Asta sighed, “This is what it felt like for him at Haven. Given the two choices I’d rather not be the one left behind.”

“You are lucky, you know,” Cassandra said. “To have someone to lose.” She looked down at her feet, ostensibly to dodge tree roots. “I’ve never had that. Not since Anthony. Even Regalyan was never truly mine to keep.” Asta touched her shoulder in understanding and they walked back to the mess tent.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll choke something down if you eat too,” Asta said finally as they reached the tent. “My day is your day today, and we’ll probably need the energy.”

“It’s a deal, Inquisitor,” Cassandra smiled.

***

It was a hard slog through the underbrush and dense rainforest that were the overgrown paths to the Temple of Mythal, full of greenery that tried to choke them and Red Templar Shadows emerging suddenly from the woodwork to take them under. Cullen and Leliana worked together, drawing their prey to the traps set up by Sera and Varric the night before, pinning them down in place while they slaughtered the resistance. The first barricade, the second, and Rylen remained with a group of chevaliers to hold fast. Hours passed filled with hard fighting and then the third barricade, and Cullen ordered Leliana to remain with his troops while he took the inner circle to scout the path to the Temple.

Only to attempt to cross the last river before the Temple and be ambushed by his former Order, red and monstrous. It was brutal, and bloody, and he could hear the lyrium singing to him through his brother’s skins, repulsive and sweet. Vivienne cast a barrier around him, and somehow, it helped - it blocked a bit of the noise and helped him focus.

“Send up the signal!” Cullen ordered Dorian, who lived up to his nickname for once, sending fireworks up into the air to signal Asta to head in, that they had reached and held the final border before the Temple. The Red Templars seemed to be endless, and now they seemed to be fighting elves as well - oddly armored elves who spoke a dialect he’d never heard before. The water that surged around him was shallow, and pink now with the blood and lyrium of the fallen enemy. Blackwall was at his back, and their styles complimented each other, chevalier and Templar.

They had a moment, and stopped to breathe, and drink a regeneration potion, panting. And then a strange looking arrow sprouted out of Blackwall’s neck, and he fell backwards into the water, stunned. After that, it all went to the Void, with Vivienne attempting to keep up barriers and heal, but unable to Fade Step far enough away to avoid the influx of elven archers trying to make their stand.

Cullen was forced to defend Blackwall, whose breath was shaky where he laid in the water, propped up awkwardly between the broken bridge and a rock, groaning. “Don’t die on me now, Warden!” Cullen yelled at him.

“Not… a Warden,” Blackwall panted, eyes hazy. “Never… was.”

“Warden-Recruit, then!” Cullen yelled at him, deflecting more arrows.

Dorian reached them and examined the wound. “It’s not good, if I pull it I could nick the artery,” the mage yelled. “He could bleed out.”

“Just let me die,” the chevalier said.

“Not an option, Blackwall!” Cullen yelled, and deflected more arrows. “Dorian, what can you do?”

“Not much,” Dorian admitted. “I’m a necromancer, not a healer, Cullen.” He cocked his head at the Warden, “I’d be able to help more if you were dead, you hairy lummox.” It was said in a tone of affection, and the man breathed a shuddery laugh and then went still.

Time seemed to stop, and yet more elves streamed out of the woods towards them. Cullen swallowed his grief, and kept fighting. “For the Inquisitor!” He yelled, and stepped away from Blackwall to confront their new enemy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath. Don't Panic. Remember when I said this was the happi(er) version? Cling to that.


	57. Enchanter Come to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still with me? Take a deep breath. You don't have to worry for long.

Asta’s party reached the second barricade without dealing with any kind of real resistance, to be greeted by Rylen and his men, and a host of several chevaliers. “For the Inquisition!” They cheered her on. The remainder of the Red Templars they were fighting were mopped up quickly enough - the Inquisition forces and their allies had worn them down quite effectively, and Solas and Morrigan’s simultaneous chain lightening spells took care of the rest. Asta didn’t stop to greet Rylen with more than a nod - it had been hours since Cullen had taken off into the jungle and they had a set goal to reach.

So they ran on, and Asta realized that she wasn’t puffing, despite the heat.

“Cassandra, I think I’m actually in better shape!” She yelled back to the Seeker. “I’m barely breathing hard!”

“Ugh!” Cassandra made a disgusted noise and Bull laughed.

“Hey, it’s progress!” Asta pouted. “Certainly took long enough.” The group jogged through the undergrowth, Bull breaking trail as necessary, until they were attacked unexpectedly. Solas snapped up barriers as soon as he realized.

It was just a small group of Red Templars and Wardens that had managed to break through, however, and once again, Asta’s capable team mopped them up with little difficulty. “We’ve got to keep moving,” Asta said, but allowed them to drink a regeneration potion before pressing on. “If this group broke through, there will probably be more. Stay on your guard.”

They crossed a small river, and met Leliana’s scouts at an isolated ruin. “Good Hunting, Inquisitor! We’re keeping them at bay! Cullen’s just ahead,” Leliana shouted. “We think he’s meeting heavy resistance, but we’ve been pinned down here. Varric and Sera are off trying to set a few more traps for those that break through - just keep moving, Inquisitor! You’ve got to get to the Temple!”

Asta saluted her spymaster and jogged on, fearing the worst.

***

Cullen stepped away from Blackwall to confront the enemy, only to have Vivienne throw off her Fade Cloak and step behind him. “Honestly, Gentlemen, if I weren’t here,” the mage folded her lips in concentration and disgust, yanked the arrow out of Blackwall’s neck and cast Resurgence, flooding the entire group with power, energy and stamina in a stunning glow of magic. “I can’t do that more than once,” the mage scolded, “so do try to be more careful in the future, Ser Rainier.” Blackwall nodded respectfully and the mage glared at Cullen, unsheathed her blade, and sent a flurry of arrows flying back at the elves, much to their surprise. “What are you standing around for, Commander? Haven’t you ever fought with a Knight-Enchanter before?” She threw up another barrier. “I do hope you have a plan to get us out of this mess.”

“Right,” Cullen shook his head to break his awe at her raw power and regained his focus. “It’s a little difficult. They’ve got us backed against this bridge, they’re mostly archers - I don’t suppose anyone has any bees?” He threw out feebly. Blackwall laughed and Vivienne made a disgusted noise to rival Cassandra’s own.

***

Asta crested the hill just in time to see Cullen’s group being snuck up on by a whole group of Red Templar Shadows, followed by Behemoths, and pinned down by the alien elves archery. “Shit,” she swore, and gave her orders. “Morrigan, Solas, keep up the barriers. If I know Viv, she’s going to Fade Cloak towards the Behemoths and try to knock them toward Cullen and Blackwall. After that, she may start trying to deflect the arrows back to the archers. I’ll toss some bees in towards the Shadows, try to keep them busy and panicked and flank them.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s save my Commander and our friends,” she ordered. “To work?”

It went well, Vivienne doing just as Asta had anticipated after she finished glaring at the Commander’s weak suggestion. When Cullen saw the bees swarm, he looked everywhere, only to see Asta step out of stealth to deliver a death blow to a Shadow that he hadn’t seen flanking him.

“Maker, I’m glad to see you!” he yelled over the chaos at her. He stabbed the Shadow to make sure, and turned to guard her back.

“Likewise, Commander!” Asta threw back. “Having some difficulties?”

“Nothing Vivienne couldn’t handle,” he quipped, the despair of a few minutes ago turning to laughter. That was just like her, he realized, always turning his darkest moments into joy. “Bull loves this, doesn’t he?”

Bull was flinging himself into the Behemoth in full Reaver mode, dripping blood and fury and river water and roaring like a dragon, the happiest he had been all day. Dorian cast a barrier over his lover, and zapped the rest of the Red Templars with Chain Lightening, Bull’s enthusiasm being infectious. “I could do this all day!” He shouted, and Bull roared in response and arousal.

“What makes you think that?” Asta laughed and stabbed another Shadow. “Is it the smile? Or the noises he’s making?”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near their tent tonight!” Cullen yelled back. “You should get going, Inquisitor! The Temple is just ahead! We’ve got this now. After all, we have Viv!”

“That’s Madame de Fer to you, Commander!” Vivienne stepped back out of Fade Step. “Honestly, no one has respect in this institution. Technically, as Knight-Enchanter I rank…”

“No time to talk, Viv,” Asta threw out. “Throw a few spells at those elves, would you? I have to get past them to get to the Temple.” Vivienne sighed and immolated them with a wave of her hand. “Much appreciated.” She turned to Cullen, “You’ll be all right now. I’ll see you in a while.”

Cullen sunk his blade into one last Shadow and turned back to her. “Be careful,” he ordered, and knocked his fist against her helm. “Don’t hit your head. I’d kiss you, but I can’t reach your lips through the helm,” he half-joked.

Asta nodded, still mostly business, “Make it up to me later, Commander.” She spun on heel, “Solas, Cassandra, Morrigan, Bull!” We’re moving out! Let’s go! Samson’s not going to wait for us forever!”

Bull shook out his fullers, and grunted. “Let’s go then. See you, Kadan.”

Dorian smiled, “Likewise, Amatus. Don’t do anything foolish, oxman,” he sighed as if resigned. “After all, I won’t be there to save your sorry ass.”

The group crossed the river, as Cullen watched them disappear into the jungle’s greenery - their passage only marked by the disturbance of tropical birds, and soon even that sign of their presence ceased. “Let’s fall back to Leliana,” he ordered at last. “I’m sure some of these bastards got through our line. Regroup at the third blockade.” He turned his back to the path to the Temple, worried, but impotent to do anything for her now.

***

Asta’s group reached the Temple with little fanfare, the entrance stretched out in front of her in a dark tube with light at the end. “No sign of Samson,” she observed. “He must already be inside.”

Cassandra groaned, “That is not good. Corypheus…”

“Is probably with him,” Asta confirmed. “All we can do is get in quickly and see what we can do about the situation. No time to lose! Follow me!”

Solas shook his head in despair, and plunged in after her.

The darkness surrounded them as they ran towards the light at the end. “I hear fighting ahead!” Morrigan observed, and all too quickly Asta skidded to a stop, Morrigan just behind her. The group looked on in horror as Corypheus towered above them all with a few Grey Wardens and Samson strung out in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit…” Asta cursed. “This is bad…”

They remained unnoticed as they watched the scene before them, saw Corypheus destroy the remnant of the Temple’s Sentinels. “Solas,” breathed Asta, “Who are they?” But Solas didn’t answer. “What is the Well of Sorrows?” Asta asked Morrigan instead, only to have the mage shrug and shake her head. “You two are no help at all,” Asta fumed.

They watched Corypheus die, his remains spattered, and proceeded cautiously, confused, across the bridge after Samson. “What the Void is going on?” Asta asked. “Did he just implode himself?” Again, her companions were silent and she gritted her teeth with frustration. Samson proceeded into the temple, smirking at her, but Asta hardly saw a reason to hurry, with Corypheus… dead? The remains of a Warden‘s body started jerking behind them and the group backed slowly in confusion.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan exclaimed incredulously.

Corypheus resurrected, horrific and gruesome and they ran for the Temple’s door to slam it behind them, as the dragon - “Of course that fucking dragon is back!” Asta yelled furiously - flew in to meet it’s master and destroy them. The door shut at last, and sealed, and Asta slumped against it feebly, panting. “Well, shit, that’s not good,” she said at last. “What now?”

The group looked at each other with wild eyes, not comprehending entirely what they had just seen. Asta recovered first, and stood, making her way down to the ground floor of the courtyard, overgrown with moss and trees long untended. Cassandra spoke up, addressing Morrigan. “You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he mentioned a ‘Well of Sorrows’. Which is right?”

Morrigan scratched her head, unusually disconcerted, “I am uncertain what he referred to.”

Asta snorted, “Obviously. Solas? Care to express an opinion? An observation from the Fade, maybe?” Solas narrowed his eyes at her menacingly. “Ah, very well then.” She sighed, “I don’t know much ancient elven, could ‘eluvian’ translate into ‘Well of Sorrows’?”

“No,” Morrigan shook her head. “It seems an eluvian is not the prize Corypheus seeks.” Asta folded her arms and scowled equally at Solas and Morrigan. “Yes! I was wrong. Does that please you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp!” Asta rolled her eyes and started walking.

“Let’s just get this over with. I want to know how Corypheus returned to life. We saw him die!”

Morrigan chipped in, “And his life-force passes on to any blighted creature, darkspawn or Grey Warden.”

“We’ll find a way to stop Corypheus once we’re done here,” Asta pointed out. “One thing at a time, or we’ll go mad trying to do it all at once.”

“Archdemons possess the same ability,” Morrigan mused, “Yet still the Grey Wardens are able to slay them…” She fell silent, lost in memory. They reached the inner courtyard, and stepped toward a monolith surrounded by lacy tiles. Asta stepped on one, and it lit up, glowing.

“It appears the temple’s magics are still strong,” Solas observed, breaking his silence for the first time. Asta looked at him warily, hoping he would continue, but he was silent. She sighed, and let Morrigan attempt to decipher it instead.

The mage quibbled about the words and Asta rolled her eyes. Did she really think she was fooling anyone with her fumbling pronunciations and mistranslations? Asta didn’t have hardly any ancient elven and still could make out more than what Morrigan was translating, so she cut to the chase.

“Right, the petitioner’s path. I’ll dance around these tiles, make them glow, as Sera would say, and we’ll get going. It’ll unlock the main door. Probably.” She glared at her arcane advisor and elven expert. “Unless you two have something to add?” Both were silent. “Right then.”

Bull grunted in amusement and Asta leveled a glare at him instead. “Right, Boss,” he said. “Moving on.”

It took no time at all, and they proceeded to the stairs to the door, now released, as predicted. Asta paused in front of a statue of a wolf, confused. “Strange,” she mused. “Isn’t that Fen’Harel?” She thought back. “It’s bizarre. I’ve seen statues of him in nearly every elven ruin we’ve traveled to. That’s a lot of Fen’Harel.”

Morrigan pursed her lips. “Odd indeed. Why would the betrayer of the elven pantheon be displayed at a Temple of Mythal?”

Asta thought, “I’ve seen Maferath displayed in Chantries - he’s all over Val Royeaux - could it be a similar warning - a reminder of vigilance for the faithful?”

Solas sighed, irritated out of his silence. “It seems for all your knowledge, Lady Morrigan, you still manage to confuse legend with truth.”

Asta smirked, “You two seem like you are going to kiss when you argue. It’s adorable.” The two mages sprung further away from each other in horror, but Asta just snickered, her mood lightened with the teasing at least while Cassandra just made disgusted noises in the background.

Morrigan stopped her in the next room, prepared to argue against her jumping down the hole that Samson had detonated into the floor. Asta just shoved her aside. “We’re not jumping down the hole, Morrigan. We’re walking the path. Honestly…” she shook her head. “Halam’shivanas. The sweet sacrifice of duty. My sacrifice is having to work with you people and your secrecy.”

Bull spoke up, bothered. “People are dying out there, Boss, and you’re going to solve some puzzles?”

Cassandra agreed, “The longer we tarry, the more people die. Let’s jump down the hole and be done with this place.”

“I know, Cassandra, I know, Bull, but I bet we avoid more Red Templars if we do it this way. Why would they have bothered with cracking a hole in the floor unless they wanted to lay a trap for us? The puzzles look easy, in any case. It will take less time to run around a little than it would take for me to take out a behemoth or three.” Bull just grunted his reluctant assent. “I know you’re worried about Dorian, Bull, but honestly, they’ll be fine. Worry about us instead.” She swallowed her own discontent and hurried through the puzzles, quickly as she could, sensing a slight approval from Solas, which was a nice change.

The final puzzle finished, the team passed through the door and into a golden chamber, immaculately kept. “This hardly looks abandoned,” Asta mused, and the shoe dropped. “Those elves… Solas!” She spun to him, “Those elves!” She couldn’t even express her excitement, and for once Solas looked friendly and also amused.

“Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan mused. “What was this chamber used for?” They crossed the floor, and suddenly a dozen elves slipped out of stealth behind them, and everyone but Asta and Solas gasped in surprise.

A single elf - an Elvhen - Asta corrected herself giddily - stood high above them, and addressed her. “You are unlike the others,” he observed. “You bear the mark of magic, which is… familiar.” Asta blinked at him, and looked at her hand, and then at Solas. “How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“They are my enemies, as well as yours,” Asta could barely contain herself, glancing at Solas, who seemed… lighter somehow.

The elf relaxed ever so slightly. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who come before you, you wish to drink from the Vir’Abelasan.”

“The Place of the Way of Sorrows. He speaks of the Well…” Morrigan hissed at her, unnecessarily. Asta refrained from rolling her eyes. It would be rude to pull her attention away from the Elvhen, she suspected.

“It is not for you. It is not for any of you!”

Asta couldn’t contain her glee any longer. “You’re Elvhen! Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan! It’s an honor to meet you.”

Solas snorted but regained his composure quickly as Abelas spoke further. “The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We Elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over. We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.” He seemed weary with more than the years of a weighty responsibility but Asta couldn‘t ignore her curiosity.

“I have so many questions,” Asta enthused. “What about the war with the Tevinter Imperium? What about…”

“Asta, focus…” Cassandra warned. “People are dying, remember?”

Asta shook herself. “Right, I am sorry. What is the Well of Sorrows, exactly?”

Abelas refused to explain beyond a simple “It is a path walked only by those who toiled for Mythal. More than that, you need not know.”

Asta took a deep breath, “We did not come to fight you, nor to steal from your Temple.”

Abelas nodded, thoughtful. “I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed the rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal.” Asta let out a tense breath, and Bull shifted irritably. “If these others are enemies of Mythal, we will aid you in destroying them.” Asta’s eyes widened in joy. “When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart… and never return.”

“I accept your offer,” Asta nearly bounced with cheerfulness, and she could have sworn she heard Solas sigh in relief.

“You will be guided to those you seek,” Abelas intoned regally. “As for the Vir’Abelasan… it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

“No!” Morrigan shape-shifted into a raven and flew at the Sentinel in a panic.

“Morrigan!” Asta called, pointlessly. “Oh well, it wasn’t like she was that much use,” she muttered. She turned to the provided guide and proceeded to follow them through the ruins, her neck threatening to dislocate with trying to absorb everything she saw.

***

Cullen and Leliana had captured and bound some prisoners, and sent them back to the main camp with an armed escort. Now they sat and watched the Temple, waiting for a sign of Asta, or of danger, or of their enemy come to finish his bloody work.

“It’s been too long,” Cullen gritted out. “Where is she?” The sun was low in the sky, hours had passed since she entered, the fighting was over. There had been no sign of Corypheus or his dragon. Cullen was scared. “I’m going in after her,” he muttered, and started to walk towards the forbidding tunnel.

“Commander,” Leliana called out, “Wait!” The dragon flew away, carrying Corypheus, not even glancing at the remains of his ground forces. “Is he abandoning his armies?!” They looked at each other, unbelieving.

“That’s got to be the most shortsighted Magister I’ve ever heard of,” Dorian commented. “And I’ve known a lot of stupid Magisters. He’s just… leaving them?”

Cullen shook his head. “Now I’m definitely going in.” He marched towards the entrance, determined, hands in fists and damning anything or anyone that got in his way.

“She’s… not there.” Cole stopped following him, eyes wide. “But the other one. He’s there. Samson.” Cullen walked faster.

“Is she…” Dorian swallowed, scared. “She’s not…”

Cole smiled. “It’s all right.” Dorian sighed in relief, but Cullen kept walking, and Cole fell into step behind him. “She’s safe. She’s just… not here any more.”

“What the Void happened then, kid?” Varric shook his head. “Everything that happens to her is weird.”

They penetrated the Temple, left wide open by the retreating Elvhen. There was no sign of Asta or her team. They reached Samson, unconscious and moaning, and Cullen ordered him bound and gagged, but marched right past him to the stairs that led to the eluvian. It was shattered, and he collapsed, his body giving out with fatigue and despair.

“Cole, where is she?” He begged. “You said she was fine.”

Cole’s eyes grew hazy. “She’s so far away. But she’s home. She’s safe.” He smiled. “You don’t have to worry.”

Cullen bowed his head. “Fine. Let’s pack up and get out of here.” He fisted his hands and stood up, sharply. “I want Samson back at Skyhold for trial. Now!” He barked at his lieutenants who jumped to obey. “I want this Temple scoured for any sign of remaining Red Templars. Check that… hole in the courtyard. Take a mage with you, Vivienne, if she’ll go. I’m going back to Skyhold with Samson.” The line between his eyebrows was deep, and he looked deadly and serious.

He had never been so shaken and frightened in his life, not even at Kinloch. But Samson would pay. And Asta was alive. That would have to be enough for now.

 


	58. Shattered Mirrors and Empty Wells

Asta’s team busted through the doors to the Well of Sorrows in time to see Samson slaughtering more of their recent allies. Her face fell. It was such a waste of life to see the Sentinels die to defend their fallen culture. His posturing before the corrupted Templars made her want to be sick. “You tough bastards - a day’s march, hours of fighting, and still fierce as dragons. The Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.’

“Samson, Ser!” The Templar called out, “Watch out!” Asta approached warily.

“Inquisitor.” He greeted her, almost respectfully. “You’ve got a damn long reach. We come to the back end of nowhere and here you are.”

“Well, you know me, Samson,” Asta smiled, “I love to travel, see the world, meet interesting people, listen to them monologue…”

“You are in over your head,” he challenged, “Corypheus chose me twice - first as his general, now as the vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You know what’s inside the Well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor.”

Asta caught her breath. “What kind of wisdom would scour a world? What’s a Vessel?” She asked, trying to buy some time, get more information.

“What else empties a well?” Samson grinned, and Asta could almost see the man he used to be behind the monster. The man that would have shared a room with Cullen, carried love letters for mages, and begged on the streets for lyrium dust to feed his addiction. “I’ll carry its power to Corypheus. One more task entrusted to me. Being force-fed Chantry lyrium was good for something. This armor makes me a living fortress - mind and body. I won’t forget a word of the Well’s knowledge. Corypheus will be unstoppable.”

Asta sighed, “He’ll be unstoppable, not you, Samson,” she pointed out. “Once Corypheus is that powerful, you and your soldiers will just slow him down.”

Samson laughed bitterly, “Is that the best you can do? You’re no match for Corypheus. Even if you drink from the Well, you’ll never master its wisdom as he could.” He tilted his head and sneered at her. “I understand you used to be some sort of _librarian_ for the _Chantry_. How do you think you could possibly hope to match the power of a god?” He did something, and his armor pulsed with a sickening power that made Asta’s stomach lurch. “This is the power that the Chantry tried to bind. But it’s a new world now, with a new god! I will bring Corypheus the Well’s power and your head, all at once.” He lunged at her and ordered his men, “To arms!”

“There’s more than one type of power, Samson,” and Asta raised and used the rune.

“What did you do?” The broken man shrieked, collapsing, but he rallied, and he had the other Red Templars on his side. He was impossibly strong even without his armor, and she and her friends struggled to bring him down.

“Fuck Morrigan!” Asta gasped, “We could have used another mage!” Bull just grunted, unable to keep up with Samson’s unbelievable speed.

Cassandra was a wall of power, blocking Asta’s weak sides at every opportunity. Solas slammed the man with fists and rock made of the Fade itself, knocking him into the dust again and again. Bull drew all the attention he could upon himself and away from Asta.

Asta tried. She did. She tried everything she had learned, and nothing seemed to make a dent. There was no rift for her to disrupt, no vulnerability for her to take advantage of that she hadn‘t already. She put the remaining Red Templars to sleep until Bull could reach them, and remembering the long ago lessons in Haven with Cullen. “When you can’t dodge, parry,” she heard his voice in her mind. She dropped in and out of stealth, threw all her daggers. She took out two Red Templars on her own as the others fought Samson blow for blow.

Bull fell unconscious, and Samson ran over him as if he wasn’t there, trying to get to Asta. Cassandra blocked him, her tower of strength, and Solas fenced her in with ice glyphs to keep her safe. Cassandra bashed him back with her shield. He fought like a man who had nothing to lose, but he finally fell, defeated.

“Not the Well, you bitch. You can’t take it from Corypheus. You mustn’t…” he muttered, trying to stand and falling into the pool of water face-first. Cassandra rushed over to flip him over, and prop him up, grunting at the effort, but managing

“He’s still breathing,” Cassandra observed almost in awe. “His resistance must be…”

“We can take him back to Skyhold for judgment,” Asta decided from where she was attempting to revive Bull, groaning and holding his head and side. She tried to continue, to give orders to bind Samson so that they could wait for Cullen’s troops, but Morrigan’s raven flew in from the edge of the garden in an impossible chase to the Well. Abelas moved rocks to form steps to the platform where it waited, and Asta, cursing the mage’s priorities, ran to catch up. Morrigan beat him to the Well, but Asta reached them just after, panting, exhausted between the final battle and struggle up the stairs.

“Maker,” she panted. “Forget Corypheus. My true archenemy is all these fucking stairs!” She held up her hand. “Hold a moment. Let me catch my breath before you start arguing. I’m not sure I can take any more fighting today. It’s been a fucking long day, Morrigan, I’m warning you, and I‘m pissed that you just took off like that. We had to defeat Samson without you. Some ally you are.” She braced herself on her thighs and finally straightened. “All right. You can start now.”

Morrigan had the grace to look chagrined, but complied all the same. “He seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!”

Abelas replied, “So the Sanctum is despoiled at last.”

Asta sighed, “Seriously, Abelas, you don’t have to speak like a thousand years ago. Maybe that’s why Arlathan fell. Also, since we‘ve met you, you‘ve used ‘despoiled’ twice. You’re the high priest of Mythal, expand your vocabulary in the Common tongue, maybe if you slept less and mingled more?”

Abelas blinked, but the two continued to bicker like small children and Asta listened. “Better it be lost than be wasted on the undeserving!” Abelas threw at Morrigan.

“Fool, you’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!” Morrigan nearly spat at him.

“Back off, Morrigan.” Asta stated, as the rest of her group finally reached the Well and fenced themselves behind her.

“But, Inquisitor!”

“I said, back off!” Asta glared. “You ran off when we needed you. It’s evident that your goals are not those of the Inquisition. Maker’s Fucking Mercy, you mages! Do any of you not have ulterior motives?”

Morrigan raised one eyebrow. “The well offers power, Inquisitor. Can you afford not to use it, if it can help defeat Corypheus?” Her sultry voice was lost on Asta, who had reached the point of just not giving a shit.

Asta did not care for her tone, or her obvious desire for power at any price, but Abelas got there first. “Do you even know what you ask?” He shook his head and turned to the well. “As every servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on… through this. All that we were, all that we knew. It would be lost forever.”

Asta closed her eyes. She could feel the sorrow of the lost knowledge, the lost wisdom, and it tempted her. “It can’t be easy, holding onto what’s left.” She took a deep breath. “I understand a bit of that frustration.”

“You cannot imagine. Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp,” Abelas explained, weary and desperate.

“Why remain?” Morrigan wondered aloud, “Why perform a duty without purpose?”

Abelas stared at the well, lost in his thoughts. “You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny,” Abelas stated, his eyes fixed on the font and Asta saw a little bitterness in the glare. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

Asta’s mouth twisted wryly. “Gifts like this don’t come freely.” The knowledge still called to her, and she fought against the desire to have it. She could feel it wanting her in turn and she took a step forward involuntarily. The Well was somehow more of a temptation than even Imshael.

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost,” affirmed Abelas. His eyes were tired and defeated and he started to walk away. “The Vir’Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must,” he turned and faced them again, “but know you this: you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

Asta’s eyes went huge and suddenly the knowledge didn’t seem so attractive.

Morrigan differed and scoffed, “Bound? To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?”

“Morrigan,” she murmured, “Trust me, a goddess doesn’t need to exist in order to bind you, or even be a goddess. I would know.” Her advice didn’t even penetrate Morrigan’s determination.

“Bound as we are bound,” Abelas confirmed. “The choice is yours.”

“Does Mythal still exist?” Asta asked. “And Fen’Harel…” Her eyes were distant now, and thoughtful.

“Fen’Harel had nothing to do with her murder,” Abelas spat out. Asta’s eyes widened at the knowledge.

“Murder?” Morrigan exclaimed. “I said nothing about…”

“Where will you go?” Asta asked. “Are you just going to leave?”

“My duty has ended,” Abelas confirmed. “There is no place for us here.”

“A place remains,” Solas spoke randomly and a message passed between the two elves, largely unobserved by the humans and Qunari present. Abelas nodded and departed, as silent as a breeze.

Morrigan turned back to the Well, already dismissing the Sentinel as irrelevant. “You’ll notice the intact eluvian,” she sighed, “I was correct on that count, at least.” Asta nodded, mind still reeling from her suspicions.

She drug herself back from a thousand years ago and spoke. “Can Corypheus still use it to travel the Fade?”

“Each eluvian requires a key,” Morrigan explained again, seeing Asta’s preoccupation, “and the Well is the key. Take the Well’s power and the eluvian will be of no more use to Corypheus than glass.” Morrigan’s face grew dark. “I did not expect the Well to feel so… hungry.”

Asta took two steps back when she realized she wasn‘t the only one being affected by the thing. “Don’t go any closer, Morrigan,” she warned.

Morrigan turned back to face her. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands, Inquisitor. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

“I’m not sure I want its knowledge anywhere near my service,” Asta murmured, still distracted. “We have enough religious ties in the Inquisition, if you ask me.”

Cassandra cut in, brittle and suspicious. “I do not like this. She is far too eager.”

“I do not hide it,” Morrigan protested. “To restore lost knowledge I would risk much!”

“And what would you do with it?” Cassandra tossed back. “You could be worse than Corypheus!”

“So you would paralyze yourself for fear of what might be? I can give nothing but my word,” Morrigan bluntly rejoined. “Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

Asta shook her head. “No, you aren’t alone in your knowledge. Solas?” Her eyes stayed focused down, upon the murky Well. It’s water reminded her of the creeks they had fought through to get to the Temple, stained pink with blood.

“No,” he threw out. “Don’t ask again.” Asta blinked and met his eyes, hard and cold and… pained. And she nodded in understanding.

“Maybe we should destroy it,” the Well clamored at her, and she took another step backward.

“No,” Morrigan stepped closer, and grabbed at Asta‘s arm. “Give me this, and I fight at your side. I shall be your sword!”

“Sorry, I already have a sword. And he’s a lot cuter than you.” Asta stepped back again and took a shuddering breath. “I won’t do it. I’ve been bound against my will, to something I didn’t believe in. I won’t, I refuse to be bound like that again.” She faced Morrigan, dragging her eyes back away from the Well. “It’s yours, Morrigan.”

Solas exhaled in relief and Asta spun her eyes to him, drawn again out of her own trepidation and into his, confused and wary as Morrigan stepped into the Well, elated, and sank herself beneath it. A wave exploded over them all, a wave of power, not water, leaving them all dry, if shocked and breathless. Morrigan took some minutes to gather herself, muttering in a dialect of elvhen as obscure as it was old, but Asta knew they had no time to let her collect her thoughts. With the absence of the Sentinels the Temple’s magics would have failed - and they had to get out before Corypheus found his way in.

As if on cue, Corypheus stepped into the courtyard, glowering at the remains of his foiled plan and fallen general and empty vessel. Asta hauled Morrigan to her feet, “To the mirror! Quickly!” and without asking Morrigan activated the eluvian and they fled through it, Morrigan sealing it shut just in time for Corypheus to smash himself against the mirror, shattering it forever.

The group landed one by one on the floor at Skyhold, disoriented and confused, and Asta desperate. “Shit, shit, shit!” She couldn’t stop cursing. “Cullen, he’ll… run in there after me. He’ll find Corypheus and Samson, he’ll…” She tried to climb back through the mirror in a vain attempt to reach him.

Cassandra grabbed her and slapped her. “Inquisitor! Asta! Calm down!” Asta took a few shallow breaths. “Cullen will do no such thing. Leliana and the others are with him. They will stop him from doing anything foolish. Stop and think! Breathe!” Asta tried to slow her breath, calm her heart, focused on the Seeker’s eyes. “That’s better. We’ll send a letter. And Cole is there. He probably has… some way to let him know you are well.” Asta nodded, comforted slightly. “And I have no doubt he will ride for Skyhold as soon as he can. In the meantime, you will eat. You will rest. And I will make damn sure you don’t do anything foolish in turn.”

***

_My love,_

_I am fine. Truly. We used the eluvian to escape Corypheus and traveled back to Skyhold the ‘easy’ way. Tell_ _me you are all right. Tell me that you didn’t go into the Temple after Samson and Corypheus… tell me we won the day after all that._

_As long as you live, I don’t fucking care about the rest. Samson can rot in his own armor, and Corypheus…_

_Cassandra is taking care of me. I would have tried to go back through the eluvian if she hadn’t stopped me. She slapped me. I was a little hysterical, I admit. I still am, when I think of you going back into that Temple to find me. Please tell me that you didn’t go._

_I can’t eat, I can’t rest, and yet Cassandra is insisting I do both. Bull won’t even let me out of my room. I think he’s afraid I’m going to grab a horse and ride to find you. Maker, tell me you are alive._

_Your Asta_

***

_Dearest Asta,_

_Don’t worry. He’s alive. Cole told us you lived, that you were safely back at Skyhold. He even said it clearly, a definite improvement, in my humble opinion._

_Corypheus fled the scene - with that blighted dragon - after the eluvian was destroyed. How was it destroyed? That wasn’t made of glass… at least the one at Skyhold isn’t - and yet it was shattered. Samson is already on his way back with your advisors, as swiftly as Cullen can make them move. Josephine isn’t a_ _camper. It might take a while._

_When I didn’t know… Fasta Vass, Asta, I thought you were dead when I saw Corypheus flee the Temple and Cole said you weren‘t there anymore. I thought he had_ won _. Our losses weren’t bad, though more than bad enough, and all of your inner circle live. Bull’s probably too busy getting very drunk in victory to care, however. Tell him that I, at least, knew enough to write and reassure the people that I care about that I am fine._

_Don’t you go killing anything without me._

_Dorian_


	59. Just a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely NSFW. I'm beginning to think that every time I throw that out there about twenty (if I'm lucky) people's faces light up and they eagerly click on the link at their desk job. Please don't get yourselves fired for me. NOT WORTH IT.
> 
> Read me on the bus ride home instead. ;) Or while grocery shopping. Or while your significant other plays that first person shooter that you just couldn't get into. Because in that scenario, there could be distractions from said first person shooter... And yes, I know I'm evil. There are viable alternatives! /end public service announcement

_Andraste Fucking the Maker in the Fade, Cullen, if you are alive why the fuck didn’t you write to me at Skyhold? YOU KNEW I WAS HERE. I’ve been sitting here, worrying for a week and a half trying to believe that you are okay. Cassandra is worried for my sanity._

_She may be onto something, mind you. I was out of my mind with worry, until I received a letter from fucking DORIAN. Not my fiancée, but my friend. I’m considering letting him roast you with veil fire, Commander. I’d do it myself but I lack the necessary element, unfortunately._

_And ‘I was busy’ isn’t going to cut it…_

Asta looked up from her angry, angry letter at a noise on her stair. Her neck swiveled up and she stared blankly at the man who stood there, carrying his saddlebags and his helm in one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. The quill dropped from her suddenly lifeless hand. “Cullen…” she breathed, and flew into his arms, pinning him against the wall, making him drop his helm and bags, weeping, crying, kissing him. “Maker and all his children, Cullen, WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU WRITE?” Her hand slammed against his breastplate punctuating every single word. He laughed, and scooped her up against him, stopping her shouts in the most effective way. His mouth moved against hers with force, teasing her tongue out to meet his, making her anger diffuse into a moan and then pulling back to rest his forehead against hers.

“You’re alive…” he breathed. “You’re really here.” He pulled back from her, scanning her for injury, paying special care to her head. “You didn’t…”

“I didn’t hit my head, ass,” Asta slammed her hand against him again. It was starting to ache and she didn’t care. “I’m not injured at all. We made a temporary alliance with the ancient elvhen in the Temple and they…”

Cullen drew back, blinking in shock. “Wait, what? Elvhen?” His hands tightened on her involuntarily.

Asta shook her head. “It’s the long story of a very long day.” She grabbed his coat. “I thought you were dead. I knew you would go in after me.”

“Well, we couldn’t get in for a long time after the fighting stopped, and Corypheus was there, trying to figure out a way in himself with that blighted dragon. We sort of… left him to it. You were on the other side of that door, after all.” Cullen picked her up and carried her over to her sofa and sat down with her. “Your day sounds a whole lot more interesting than mine. I only had to argue with why we weren’t going to engage with a darkspawn magister and his dragon with Rylen. You, on the other hand…”

“Ancient temples,” Asta breathed, a sultry sound in her voice. “Ancient Elvhen, only awoken from their Uthenera when Corypheus attacked the Temple. A whole temple filled with artifacts and history - the true story, or part of it at least, about what happened to Mythal - the real Mythal! And a whole lot of confusion about Fen’Harel.” She shook her head. “I’m still not sure what to think about that yet. Sounds like the Dalish have a lot of things wrong.” She sighed, “It would have been an amazing day, actually, had it not been for the Red Templars everywhere and the insistence by our elvhen Temple guide that we not leave her side.” She brightened, “I did get to look at some beautiful mosaics, though! Perfectly preserved by magic! In far better condition than the ones at the Emerald Knight’s tomb.”

Cullen laughed, and pulled her closer. “Oh, Asta, never change. Only you could face a magister’s second in command and come out of it gushing about elvhen mosaics.”

“Well, that part was… not fun.” Asta’s face grew pained. “I thought for a minute we were going to lose Bull. And that armor - even with the rune Samson was a force of nature. They all saved my life. Except Morrigan. She disappeared as soon as…” Asta laughed, “You don’t know about the Well of Sorrows, or the Petitioner’s Path, or…”

“This is going to be a very long story, isn’t it?” Cullen buried his face in her neck. “I’m so… grateful you’re alive.”

“Then thank Solas, Cassandra and Bull,” Asta advised. “I fully intend to thank Vivienne. I saw that spell, Commander. Vivienne NEVER uses that spell. It’s a last resort. So who was it?”

“Blackwall,” Cullen stated simply.

Asta blinked fast. “Seriously? She used Resurgence on _Blackwall_?” She took a shuddery breath. “I would never have thought…”

“He took an arrow in the neck while he was guarding my back while I drank a potion,” Cullen explained gently, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “He was dying. She pulled the arrow, cast the spell and saved his life.” He shook his head in remembered awe, “I have never seen a spell like that before. It was like Dorian’s necromancy but… backwards.”

Asta nodded, “Yes. Vivienne saying she is a mage of no small talent is like me saying I like to pick up a book occasionally.” Cullen snorted, eyes roaming over her face.

“I can’t believe you’re all right,” his voice grew husky. “When Corypheus just left like that, and Cole said you were gone, but Samson was still there, I thought…”

Asta shushed him,, “I’m fine. Had some bruises, and my ego is definitely bruised after seeing what Samson could do. I feel more useless than ever.” She laughed a little bitterly.

“Hardly useless,” Cullen murmured. “You allied the Inquisition with Ancient Elvhen, probably saving lives, if I know you. You and your team took down Samson, left him defenseless.”

“Well, that was Dagna. All I did was push the button, as it were,“ Asta demurred, “And I couldn’t let them die! They are the only ones left that can tell me what it was like! As long as they live, there’s hope! They said they’d woken before - maybe they could tell me about Andraste! Maybe…” Cullen stopped her stream of words with a hungry kiss that made Asta lay all the way down and pull him with her. When he finally broke away, Asta had lost her train of thought. “…maybe… Bull isn’t right outside the door any longer, is he?”

Cullen smirked. “I sent him away. No reason he needs to think about this later, after all. Especially with Dorian still on the road.”

Asta snickered, “And just what is going to happen now that Bull might ‘use’ later?”

Cullen bent and whispered in her ear, making Asta startle in shock. “Commander!” Her smile grew, however, spreading even as the pink covered her cheeks and neck.

“Did I make you blush?” He smirked and started kissing up the side of her neck. “I told you before that if I whispered I wouldn’t blush.”

“Are you all talk, Commander?” Asta tilted her head to give him better access. “You’ve had a long, hard ride. Do you have the stamina for such a claim?”

“Try me,” he growled, and captured her mouth again. Asta was eager to be taken captive, pulling his coat off his shoulders while he stripped her out of her jacket and undershirt, his lips only leaving hers once they were gone in order to make the trip down to the edge of her breastband. He grabbed the edge with his teeth and pulled it loose so that it sagged down around her waist. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, you are…” he let his head fall forward in despair. “The words will never come easy, will they?”

“We don’t need words, Cullen,” Asta murmured into his ear.

He laughed softly, the laugh of a triumphant lover. “Perhaps you’re right.” He ran his hands down her side tickling her enough to make her rise up into his hard body with a giggle and covered her breast with his mouth, suckling softly, intent on drawing out her pleasure. She hummed and arched into his face, trying to reach his cock with her hands, but he grabbed both of them in one hand and lifted her against him with the other. “None of that, Inquisitor,” he whispered.

She could only pout, so he kissed her lower lip and went back to her breasts, licking and sucking the entire path and valley between. She squirmed, but managed to control her thoughts enough to complain about his armor and clothing. “It’s cold!” she insisted, and so he allowed her to unfasten the buckles and drop it on the floor, leaving him in his undershirt.

She ran her hands up under his tunic, marveling at her freedom to touch him. She ran her fingernails across his lower stomach under his navel and giggled when he flexed. He nipped the side of her breast in response, so she did it again, a marvelous chain reaction that had her moaning. Then she got even braver and pulled his shirt off, trapping his arms underneath. He protested, so she pulled it gently over his head, making sure to mess up his hair as it came over. Cullen glowered at her while she teased and tousled it further, delighting in the play and the designs of ringlets she could make.  He nipped at her fingers when she didn’t stop, making her squeal in pretend fear. He tossed the shirt away swiftly, glancing to make sure it didn‘t land in the fire.

“I missed you,” he breathed, looking as if the sun set in her eyes. “I rode ahead, at the last, when Josephine insisted on staying at the inn less than six hours away.”

Asta snorted, “Dorian did say she wasn’t a camper.”

“That is the understatement of the year,” Cullen laughed. “Not like my Inquisitor. She roughs it with the best of them, bathes in streams and ponds and waterfalls…” he hummed against her neck at the memory the pond offered, growing a little harder and clenching his teeth shortly against the pressure it caused. “Sleeps under the stars… if there aren’t any bugs or bats…”

Asta made a protesting sound. “That’s not fair! No one needs to get eaten alive!” He kissed her neck and she stopped arguing to hum at the touch.

“…she camps in the rain and the muck and sleeps on rocks…” He dropped a hand and pulled her laces loose, and slid his hand in. “Camps in the snow…” His fingers reached the edge of her mound and he stroked lightly as she arched against him, trying to get him to drop lower. “Even if she can’t pitch a tent…”

“In the dark!” Asta moaned. “I can do it in daylight!” His hand slid lower in reward, and pressed against her, making her buck into his hand. “Maker, Cullen!”

“Make up your mind, Asta,” Cullen sucked on the side of her neck, harder. “I’m not going to share.” He left a mark at the crux of neck and shoulder. “It’s me or the Maker…”

“Cullen,” she groaned, knowing what he wanted to hear.

“Better,” he breathed, “I love it when you say my name like that, have I told you?” He tried to resist pride, watching her bend against his hand touching so gently at her core. She tried to angle her hips so that he’d slide inside, and couldn’t manage it.

“Cullen…” she whined, and he started to throb at the sounds she made.

“All right,” he stood up and shifted her out of her leggings. “No smallclothes?” He shook his head with a slight knowing smile.

“Gave you my smallclothes,” Asta’s smile was wicked. “Haven’t worn them since.”

“Maker’s Breath, Asta,” Cullen nearly choked. “Maybe you’re hanging out with Cassandra too much.”

“Listen to yourself, Commander,” Asta teased. “Accusing your fiancée of hanging out with her straight-laced Seeker friend? Who could be safer?” She kicked off her leggings with one foot, and sat up to unlace him. “Besides, it’s practical. She’s right, under armor they chafe. Too many layers.” She finished unlacing him. “Now, strip, Commander.”

Cullen stepped out of his own trousers, and Asta raised an eyebrow at him. “Something you’d like to say, Commander?”

“I was curious,” he admitted, “and I knew I was going to see you. You’re right. They did chafe. Never realized before.” He bent to kiss her and she met him halfway, pulling him down into the couch against her. They didn’t need to say anything else, teasing instead with their mouths, and with his hands on her breasts and center. Her own wandered to him, and he didn’t stop her, letting her stroke him as best she could at the awkward angle and limited space. Still, neither suggested removing to the bed. They were there, at the best place in Thedas.

Asta bit his shoulder when he slid into her with his own exhale of relief, like he was finally home. He glided into her gently, but she was so ready, so swollen that she cried out against the pressure and friction. “I can’t… I’m going to…” She came apart, thrusting herself against him with her legs wrapped around him so that he couldn’t help but respond, despite his desire to take this slowly, to reunite in their home with loving care.

“Asta!” He groaned in protest, just before he released into her, spent and shuddering. He propped himself against the arm of the sofa, trying not to crush her, but his arms shaking with the effort. She scooted sideways when she recovered enough to realize, and he curled around her, his feet hanging off the end, and wrapping his arm over and around her chest.

“I think you have work to do, Commander,” Asta dared him. “I can definitely still walk after that.”

Cullen grinned against her hair. “Who said we were done, Inquisitor? I told Bull to tell everyone to leave us alone until tomorrow.”

Asta hummed sweetly. “I like the sound of that. Up for round two?” She slid sideways and he fell limp against the couch, peeking up at her from his arm under his head. She slapped his ass cheekily, and bit her lip so that her teeth showed.

“You’ll pay for that, Asta,” Cullen warned, his buttcheek already reddening while he laughed at her.

“Oooh, scary Commander voice,” Asta mocked. “Come and get me, Ser Knight.” He moved faster than she had anticipated, scooping her up and landing her in the bed before she even realized he had moved. She glowed in approval. “That was fast.”

“And this won’t be,” Cullen promised, and bent back down to kiss her quiet and take his time.

***

Asta woke in the middle of the night, curled against him like a shell, finally warm for the first time since she had come through the Eluvian with Morrigan. She stroked his hair, softly, and tried not to think about her dreams.

She filled her mind with other dreams, of travel, of time spent with this man in her arms, beautiful, mundane days filled with love and laughter and books and talking and ordinary arguments and making up afterward. She had never wanted anything so badly.

But Corypheus still lived, and she had yet to face him again. She wasn’t strong enough, she would never be strong enough - it just wasn’t in her. And his dragon still lived, and she had no idea how to counter it. Morrigan claimed much knowledge from the Well, but hadn’t made any of it known to her.

It was hard to dismiss such thoughts in the middle of the night, even with Cullen in her arms, muttering in his own sleep about nugs eating the cabbages. She smiled, and kissed his forehead, and he quieted temporarily. She reminded herself that while unhappy endings were inevitable - after all, everyone died at some point - she could still wish for a happy middle, however short that middle might be.

A middle filled with all the things that she wanted most. Cullen, time to really get to know her brother, Cullen, jokes with Sera, Cullen, Wicked Grace with Varric, Cullen, reading with Dorian, Cullen, drinking with Bull, Cullen… She whispered his name with longing and he stirred, half waking.

“Asta?” He tried to open his eyes, vaguely aware something was wrong.

“Shh, love,” she kissed his head again, trying not to let the tears out prickling at the corners of her eyelids. “Just a dream. It’s just a dream.” He tightened his arms around her and she found herself falling back into sleep far too easily.

It was just a dream.


	60. Sing No Sad Songs For Me

Asta stepped into the stables with her heart in her throat, glancing back at Cullen who stood right behind her. She wasn’t brave enough to do this alone, but… it needed to be done. She had said horrible things, and an apology wasn’t going to be enough.

“Black - Rainier,” she cleared her throat. “Do you have a moment, Thom?” She closed her eyes. “Is it all right if I call you Thom?”

“Call me anything you like, my lady,” Rainier put down his carving tools and faced her, shoulders slumped in his padded tunic. “What can I do for you?” He crossed his arms around his chest defensively. He was always defensive, Asta remembered, and the hindsight made sense.

“I need to apologize,” Asta said. “I said many things. I told you I wished you to die. I told you… well, you know what I said. The question is…” she lifted her eyes to him, “Do you wish to become a Grey Warden?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rainier stammered.

“Do you still wish to undergo the joining?” Asta offered. “We have yet to communicate our intentions or your sentence to Stroud or Weisshaupt. If you wished…” she sighed. “Look, Thom, you saved Cullen’s life.”

“On the contrary, I was hit with a stray arrow in an unguarded moment,” Rainier protested. “There was no saving about it. It was a fluke.”

“If you hadn’t been there, it would have hit me,” Cullen pointed out. “And you spent that entire skirmish guarding my back. I’m sure that at some point you saved my life, if we’re going to quibble about it.”

“You proved my point that I made at your sentence,” Asta stated firmly. “You serve best as a shield. You don’t _deserve_ to die of the taint. And I… am offering you a pardon. If you wish, I’ll transmute your sentence as a reward for services rendered. But it is your choice. You’ve spent a great portion of your life idolizing Wardens - and if you wish that chance, you’ll have it. But I won’t let it be a punishment. I was wrong, Rainier. I… let my personal feelings blind me.”

“What I did was horrific,” Rainier said. “I deserve whatever you choose to do with me.”

“No, you don’t.” Asta straightened. “Think about it. I shouldn’t have the power to conscript you into the Warden’s service anyway. That isn’t my job. And I would appreciate your assistance when we travel to the Dales in two days, if you’d like, to hunt a wyvern that Vivienne needs for some potion or other. Would you like to come?”

“I live to serve, my lady,” but Rainier smiled under his beard. “And I - I will think about it. I’m not used to having choices. Been running too long.”

“Yes, well, very few people that serve the Inquisition are used to having freedoms,” Asta pointed out. “I won’t bore you with the politics.”

“Thank you, milady,” the chevalier’s beard twitched. Asta turned to go, but Cullen stayed.

“Rainier,” Cullen paused, and just slapped the warrior on the back. “Thanks.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Rainier groaned. “I thought you were going to get all weepy on me, Commander. A man can only take so many… feelings before he buckles under the pressure.”

“I quite agree. Pint later? I’ll buy.”

“You’re on, Commander.”

***

Asta made her way up to Vivienne next, ready to express her thanks. “Vivienne, I…” the mage quickly wiped her eyes and stood as straight as she usually did, calm and collected. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all, my dear,” the Enchanter straightened further.

Asta sighed. The woman’s walls were impenetrable. “Very well, I just wanted to let you know we should be able to leave for the Dales in a couple of days, if you still need the heart.”

“Excellent, my dear, I’ll make my preparations.”

“And thank you for Rainier’s life,” Asta expressed sincerely. “I saw you cast Resurgence. Without it…”

“Everyone would have been lost,” Vivienne stated bluntly. “We were outmanned, out-maneuvered, flanked on two sides and we couldn’t lose the position. We needed every man. Even a burly chevalier with more hair than brains. I didn’t do it for him. I did it for the Inquisition. We needed to hold. Your own intervention was just as necessary to success, my dear. Even if it did involve… bees.”

Asta smiled, understanding the subtext behind the cool words. “I’ll speak to you later then.”

“Of course, my dear,” and Vivienne turned to face her balcony, eyes blank.

***

_Commander,_

_We have the heart, and are riding to the Ghislain estate post-haste in order to use it. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that this side-trip would be necessary. Continue to fortify Skyhold’s defenses against Corypheus while we are gone, and tell Leliana, if it’s necessary, that we will leave for Valance upon my return._

_I miss you. Professionally, of course._

_Let me know if you need anything in Val Royeaux. I’ll probably stop there on the way back._

_A. T._

***

_Asta,_

_Since you expressed a wish to know if anyone required anything in Val Royeaux, I have compiled a list._

_Josephine - tiny cakes and a supply of that tea she serves at her interludes - mint and oranges_

_Iron Bull - some of those nuts that he had at the Winter Palace and more chocolate_

_Dorian - he’s looking for a book, and he says he talked to you about it before he left. He won’t tell me the title. I get the impression that it… may not be appropriate. Is Dorian making you purchase dirty books for him?_

_Cassandra - also books, because the Randy Dowager apparently has published her next round of reviews and the sequel to ‘Magic and Mercy’ is out. It’s called ‘Templars and Tempests’ and I now know way more about that series than I ever desired to know. What is it with the sexual fascination with Templars? It seems most of these books just throw a random woman at a random Templar and watch him break his vows for love. It’s all the same plot! And unrealistic - most Templars don’t take those kind of vows!_

_Not that I’ve read them. Moving on._

_Sera - arrows. I don’t understand why Harritt’s arrows aren’t good enough. I’m not going to pass on the rest of her requests, because they also involve inappropriate subjects. Peaches, indeed. She says she’ll just have Josie order the other stuff for her. I wished her luck._

_Leliana - is looking for a traveling cloak, apparently. I asked why she couldn’t just have Bonny Sims make it and she gave me a look like she would murder me in my sleep. So… silk lined. Preferably blue, August Ram Leather outer, with frog claps and throwing dagger straps. She said you would know where they needed to go, and you’d know which clothing shop has her measurements. She said that if you saw any boots in her size that she’d like she would pay you back. Preferably to match the cloak - and maybe tassels. Women’s clothes are confusing. What is the point of tassels on boots?_

_Solas says he requires nothing and I couldn’t find Cole to ask._

_For myself, I’d just like you to return safely. There is nothing Orlais holds that I need, except for you._

_Don’t buy too many books. The librarian is starting to suggest expanding the library. Says that the shelves are holding too much weight._

_I miss you, too._

_Cullen_

***

_Dear Cullen,_

_I hate to say this, but Vivienne needs bereavement leave. That potion was for her Duke. And whether it was because we took too long or he was too far gone for it to help him - he didn’t make it. Tell Leliana that there is an empty seat on the Council of Heralds. We’re going to need to monitor that situation._

_She has requested that a service be held for her Duke at Skyhold. I was a little surprised, but as there is no Divine, I suppose it would be difficult to arrange at the Cathedral. Tell Josie to make the necessary arrangements? And to expect the Ghislain relatives for a short stay. Vivienne says she’ll handle most of it upon her return, but Josie can at least get started._

_I… hope I never have to watch you die. I’m all shook up about this._

_I love you. I hope I never forget to tell you - every day. Every letter. Maker, don’t let me waste a single moment._

_We’re on our way back - I think I managed to get everything. The books are being shipped separately. As well as further bookshelves. We’ll find space somewhere. Perhaps the basement?_

_Asta_

***

Cullen folded the letter and rubbed the line between his brows. He had a headache, of course, but it was still minor, and his vision wasn’t affected yet. He made his way up to Leliana, crossing Solas’ rotunda and up the stairs to nod at Dorian who barely acknowledged him over his book.

Leliana glanced at him at the top of the stairs. “Already taken care of, Commander,” she said, and walked away. “I’ll be ready to leave for Valance as soon as the Inquisitor is ready.”

“Did you tell Josephine…” he started.

“Of course,” the spymaster rolled her eyes. “It takes weeks to prepare something like that. Josie will handle it, Commander.” She eyed him closely, “How are you holding up?”

“Just a headache,” he explained. “I’m fine.” He rubbed his brow again. “It comes and goes.”

“The Inquisitor should be back the day after tomorrow. They are making good time on good roads, according to my scouts.” Leliana’s attention was drawn to one of her ravens flying in and cawing for her attention. “Pray excuse me.”

So without anything else to do for once, Cullen was left alone in the tower. He was… lonely. And possibly bored. Their scouts were searching for Corypheus, he had managed to catch up on his paperwork, and he had already drilled the recruits and trained for several hours.

He was confronted at last with the fact that he needed a hobby - just as the blasted dwarf had told him so long ago. He made his way down the stairs to see about a book. Dorian raised his eyebrows at him, but said nothing as he spoke to the librarian. “Something Fereldan.  Perhaps something about Mabari?” The librarian nodded thoughtfully.

“I think we have something…” the librarian crossed the tower quickly and scanned a shelf just next to Helisma’s table. “Surely it was here… Ah!” he pulled back with a slim volume. “It’s not a story, Commander, but a history?”

Cullen blushed. Apparently the tales of what he had been reading lately had made their way through the Keep. “History is fine. Thank you.”

Dorian’s eyes followed him as he crossed back to the stairs. “Reading about dogs, Commander?” The mage’s mocking voice trailed him. “Considering an investment?”

“Not really,” Cullen admitted. “Just… a little at loose ends. I don’t have much to occupy my time until we find Corypheus. Skyhold’s defenses are as good as I can make them. I’m caught up on paperwork, I refuse to drink with Bull - that stuff is deadly - and I was out of reading material. And I feel a little…”

“Homesick?” Dorian shifted in his chair. “Likewise.” He showed the title of his book to the Commander. The Ancient North by Sister Petrine. “I’m beginning to think I’ll have to go back, to try to set things right. Asta… is very inspirational.” He sighed. “It’s ridiculous. They hate me there, and yet I’ll try to save them, all the same.”

Cullen snorted, “They’ll never thank you for it.”

Dorian laughed, “I said that to Asta once. She told me she wasn’t doing this for gratitude.” He smiled, looking at his book. “I truly began to respect her when she told me that.” He looked back up at the Commander and the smile twisted. “It will be very hard to leave my… friends here. Back home, I don’t really have any. Maevaris, perhaps - she‘s the widow of Varric‘s cousin - did you know? She might stand alongside me. But we’re two people against an entire country riddled with corruption. Still, if we could manage…” he sighed. “Well, time enough to think of that in the days to come. Any sign of Corypheus?”

“No,” Cullen creased his forehead. “None. Morrigan seems sure he’ll attack, but there’s been no sign whatsoever. It’s a reprieve he shouldn’t have given us, but I can’t foresee what he’ll do next.”

Dorian nodded. “Well, I’m sure you’ll keep the soldiers drilling, the scouts hopping and the sentries on full alert. That is what you do best, after all.”

The Commander nodded, and walked away. Was that what he did best? Did he even know? His entire life he had been a soldier, first for the Chantry and then for the Inquisition. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to figure out what he really wanted. After all, sooner or later Asta would ask for specifics, and it would be nice if he could give a real answer.

　

 


	61. Falling Down

Asta folded her arms against Josephine’s pleas. “I said, no, Josephine. I’m not going to rush in and judge him when I haven’t made up my mind how to treat the situation. For now, Samson has been largely cooperative, if rude, and I need to think about it.”

The War Room was hot, and it was making all their tempers fray.

“I still say we should just kill him,” Leliana muttered. “One less enemy to battle. One less link in the chain.”

Cullen spoke up, “He’s too valuable to kill out of hand. There might be a way to reverse the corruption, Inquisitor. Perhaps Dagna could study him?”

Josie and Asta shuddered. “Cullen,” Asta said hesitantly, “Dagna’s favorite mode of research is to cut things up and set them on fire, or freeze them, or… he‘d still end up very dead, but slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.”

Cullen blanched. “I… see.”

“Yes, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Asta smiled. “She wanted me to give her samples not long ago. After Adamant.”

“Maker’s Breath, is that why we were…” Cullen turned green. “Why my soldiers were looking for… remains?”

Asta nodded. “The alternative was letting her cut pieces off of me for her to test. I politely declined.”

Everyone shivered in unison despite the heat of the room. “So, needless to say, Dagna is out,” Asta summed up. “Anyone have any other options? Josephine? Cullen?”

Cullen hesitated. He didn’t want to speak. He didn’t want to take charge of his old comrade. He didn’t want… “I could…” the words came out before he could stop them. “I could take him into my custody. Get the information about red lyrium we seek, and about Corypheus.” He closed his eyes and listened to the silence of the three women breathing, and tried not to panic at the thought of being around Samson that much. So much lyrium was in the other man’s system that it _sang_ to him when he got too close. It was his other reason for leaving the caravan early and riding back to Skyhold instead of stopping at the inn. He had been running away. Again.

“Cullen, I can’t ask that.” Asta replied in horror. “I’d almost rather kill him outright than ask such a thing of you.”

Josie spoke timidly, “It does make sense in a fashion. If you aren’t going to… execute him, Inquisitor, then he should at least be useful.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed, “This man is responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of innocent lives, mage, Templar, and ordinary people. And you want to stick him in a cell and let Cullen ask him questions?! Why not serve him tea? Or invite him up to your rooms for a friendly chat?”

“Leliana!” Josephine scolded. “This isn’t…”

Asta leaned against the table. “I would if it meant that we would get information that would defeat Corypheus, Leliana. But I seriously doubt that giving Samson tea would help in the least.” She thought quickly, “though giving him lyrium might. But either way, Cullen isn’t going to be doing it.”

All three advisors protested this claim immediately, for different reasons. Josie got in first. “Who else, Inquisitor, if not the Commander?”

Leliana spat, “I would interrogate him. Let me.”

Cullen protested, “I am perfectly capable of resisting…”

Asta slammed her hands on the table. “Stop it! All of you! Leliana - you will not be in charge of Samson. We leave for Valance tomorrow. You can’t make the necessary preparations in time. Also, in the mood you’ve been in since you received the Divine’s posthumous letter, you aren’t making good choices.” She turned to Josie, “You know why not, Josephine. You were traveling with the Commander for most of the way back from the Arbor Wilds, were you not? Then you could see how the pull of the red lyrium - any lyrium - affects him. He cannot be responsible for a prisoner when that prisoner has such an effect on him.”

Josie looked chastened. “I hadn’t noticed, Inquisitor. I merely thought he… was worried for your person.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” Asta grinned tightly. “But no. My companions all noticed it. If he spent any time in that man’s company, the Commander had symptoms for hours afterward. It’s out of the question.”

“Then what else can we do?” Cullen asked. “He really is too valuable to kill outright.”

“That’s why I am delaying his trial,” Asta sighed. “We need a better solution. In the meantime, he gets food, water and lyrium - but not as much as he wants. He‘s a prisoner, not an honored guest. I am ordering you to stay away from him, Commander.” Cullen responded with a curt nod and an involuntary sigh of relief. “We’ll figure something out. Put your heads together while Leliana and I are gone. What would normally be done with high-ranking prisoners in Orlais? In the Free Marches? In Fereldan? Andraste’s Ass, ask Cassandra what they would do in Nevarra, if she’ll talk about it. Is there a prison we could send him to?” She winced, “No, Cole would never forgive me. You two, work it out. There has to be a better option.”

***

_Cullen, my love,_

_Valance was a lovely Chantry, smaller than I was expecting - definitely smaller than Ostwick, which boasts a large foyer, an enormous sanctuary with a massive gilded statue of Andraste, a fabulous library, and is largely paid for and maintained with the financial assistance of my parents. They have no taste and too much money._

_I almost liked Valance with its more subtle art and round shrine room. It seems warm and intimate instead of large, cold and forbidding. It smells exactly the same though - incense and candle wax, wood polish and prayers. Do all Chantries smell like that, I wonder? Kirkwall’s did. Valance doesn’t have a library at all, though, and I missed the smell of old books. Haven’s Chantry smelled of old books and I liked that._

_Don’t get me wrong, I definitely still resent the Chantry, but as Chantries go, Valance isn’t so bad. If my parents had sent me here instead of keeping me close to home… but ugh, I’d rather not think about that. Then I would never had met you. And no library - perish the thought. Besides, then I would have been buddying around with Leliana - and does she have some wild stories! Being a Sister hardly slowed her down._

_As this is one letter I’m fairly certain Leliana will not be able to read, as she is already fast asleep on the bed, I can be rather forthcoming about what happened today. Namely, my former Revered Mother Victoria sent a sycophant, one Sister Natalie, to investigate what the Divine had left for Leliana. I found the secret without trouble. The cipher in the letter was pretty easy, Leliana agreed. The problems occurred when Leliana tried to kill Sister Natalie out of hand, just for being an informant for the Revered Mother._

_Maker, Cullen, it was tempting. With one slash of Leliana’s blade I could have declared my independence of Mother Victoria and the Chantry forever. Instead… I let her go. I convinced Leliana to let her go. And now, Sister Natalie is reporting to the Inquisition on behalf of my old Revered Mother, and I… am at sea. This… forgiveness, if that is what it is, does not come easy to me. I don’t particularly want to forgive._

_I know we differ on this, love. I know that you see good in the Chantry. All I see is how much better it could be without the power hungry and the posturing. How it could be charitable, supportive and helpful. And yet any institution will have it’s corruption, those who will take advantage of the power they are given. Even the Inquisition… Sister Natalie says we have enemies. More than we know. That shakes me. I wonder that Leliana can sleep, knowing that. But it was a very emotional day for her._

_You see, in the end, her Revered Mother Dorothea, her Divine Justinia, let her go, just as we released Natalie. Released her from her service of dealing in death and secrets. She told me in the Fade to tell Leliana that she failed her too. As she did Thedas? Leliana didn’t understand then, but now, I think she does. She is softer now. I don’t know if it will continue._

_I find more than ever that I need to figure out a way to resolve in my mind what the Inquisition and Chantry should be rather than what they currently are. When I get back, I want you, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, Dorian, Varric and myself to all sit down and really hash this out. This will link into the ideas we discussed on the way to Val Royeaux before - but we need a plan. A real plan, not just a vague idea of what should work. I think it’s time to let the others in on my - what I hope is our - goals._

_Tell me now if you cannot back me in this, Cullen. From here on out there will be no return. If you doubt me… I need to know. I need your strategic mind, your brilliant tactics, or most assuredly we will all fall into the proverbial abyss. And I need your faith that I am doing the right thing. I have so little in myself or anything else_. _But I believe in you, and in the good you see where I cannot, in your strength and fortitude and in your unerring desire to protect those who need it. I believe in Cassandra’s faith, Varric’s insight, Josephine’s diplomacy, Leliana’s grace, and Dorian’s unique perspective. Help me lead them, or I shall fall._

_I love you. Never doubt that. When the Inquisition defeats Corypheus, as we must, I hope you will remember first how I loved you._

_Your Inquisitor,_

_Asta_

***

_My Asta,_

_I will not back you. I will be in front of you, with my shield, and my sword if you need it. If you cannot believe in yourself, than I will. I will help you forge your way, cutting a path, like I’ve done before._

_The others will be scared. They will fight against you at first. All of Thedas may fight you. You know this, you expect it. But I will guard you, if you’ll let me._

_Rylen accused me of clearing every stone from your path in the Arbor Wilds so that you wouldn’t trip. That was more true than even he expected. I would carry you, if you would allow._

_My sword and shield are yours, to use as you see fit. My brain and brawn are yours in kind._

_Once again I tell you, I am at your complete disposal. Use me as you will, my love._

Command me,

_Cullen_

_***_

_Holy Andraste on a piece of flatbread, Cullen, how did you make your political support sound so… sexy?!_

_I’m pretty sure at this point that all we’d have to do to get exactly what we want in Val Royeaux is send you in there half-naked and let them fight it out. They’re Orlesians, you know they would._

_I’m joking, so don’t panic. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’d let you have your armor._

_All facetiousness aside, my love, I appreciate your support. We will be back in Skyhold shortly after you receive this letter. I’ve discussed a few things with Leliana, and she agrees at least on the key points. And has recommended that everyone be present for the meeting - something that gives me some trepidation, but I suspect there are worse things than telling your friends what you really think about their religion. Right? Maybe? Surely they all kind of suspect by now, anyway?_

_Thank the Maker that Bull isn’t Andrastian. Or Solas - though he did tell me once that he, like me, didn’t believe in her divinity, but believed she existed. Something he saw in the Fade, I suppose._

_Sera is going to lose it. We’ll have to bar the doors to the balcony, and set guards on our room. The Jennies are everywhere._

_Now I am scaring myself, like a child with a ghost story at bedtime, and Leliana is laughing at me. She managed to find your letter while I was preoccupied with this one. She is an excellent mimic and an all around sneaky bastard._

_I love you, and thank you, and am pretty sure there are no words in Common for how I feel about you. Maybe ancient elvhen. I will ask Morrigan._

_Your Asta_

***

Asta faced her advisors and inner circle and waited for the shoe to drop. She had just confessed that she didn’t think that the current situation of the Chantry in Southern Thedas was viable, and their reactions ranged from unsurprised to despair. Only Cullen stood directly behind her, with a smile on his face, because he knew exactly where this was going.

Cassandra broke the silence. “So what can we do, Inquisitor?” Cassandra slumped forward against the War Table, defeated. Asta wondered whether or not she should have brought wine to break the news.

The news couldn’t be broken gently, though, so Asta decided to pull it off swiftly, like a bandage. “We are going to let it fall.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there! It's going to get a little... complicated. Maker's Breath, I hope this part of the story comes through as I intend. Let me know if you get confused. Next chapter should be up sometime today - I am trying not to leave you hanging.


	62. Falling In

“We are going to let it fall.”

The uproar from about half the room was instantaneous, Cassandra and Leliana slamming their hands against the table and protesting in turn, Josie’s eyes widening as she took a step towards the door. Cullen stepped forward, hand to his sword in case anyone was so blighted foolish to attack her in his presence. He wasn’t surprised, Dorian realized, from his perch on the wall across the room, and so he decided to trust Asta, as he had nearly from the moment he met her.

Slowly the group calmed as Asta waited patiently. No one had left, she was pleased to note. That was a very good beginning, though Vivienne was looking extremely stiff looking, and Sera was holding her breath, as if wondering if Asta would be struck by lightening.

This time Bull, the one with the least in the game, broke the silence. “So what do you have in mind, Boss?” he asked, fingering his dragon tooth.

Asta took a deep breath and plunged in. “Leliana, I’m going to support you as Divine,” Asta looked at her, Cassandra, and Vivienne, wondering whether or not either of them would immediately exit the room. Nothing happened. “Knowing that the reforms you wish for are too drastic a change. I am going to support you so they will go through, all the same.”

Leliana found herself surprised, but nodded, “I thank you, Inquisitor,” she said wryly, “I think.”

“That’s the first step,” Asta sighed. “Before Leliana takes power, I’m dismantling the Templar Order - with a massive caveat. Any current or former Templar who wishes to serve will remain on lyrium, if they wish, under the Seeker order that Cassandra, I hope, will rebuild. We will not abandon them again. They deserve more than that.” Asta held up a hand to forestall comments. “Any new recruitment will depend upon lack of lyrium addiction and _thorough_ background checks by both Inquisition mages and spies. We will not accepting just anyone into either order. The Seekers were successful for a long time because they were so selective about candidates. The Templars need to be the same.”

Vivienne’s eyes were narrow and cold. “And the Circles?”

“Mages need training, it’s true,” Asta admitted, “but a gilded cage - or not so gilded - is not where to find it, Vivienne. I’m not sure the College of Enchanters is ideal either, and it speaks a great deal to me that Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall - a home taught apostate.  Not to mention our own apostate is one of the most brilliant mages I've ever met. That was the sort of person that held that doomed city together. But we will not be leaving mages vulnerable either.” Asta stood straighter when Vivienne didn’t blast her into next week immediately. “Vivienne, mages have been known to assist the Seekers - Cassandra traveled with one for a time. You know they still serve the Divine as Knight-Enchanters. It strikes me that you would be an excellent fit for the Right or Left Hand of the Divine or even for a Seeker team of mage and Templar-like knight. You need not fear irrelevance. Don‘t limit yourself to the College or the Circles.”

Vivienne was visibly shaken, but had a small imperious smile starting on her face.

“But the Chantry itself will be rebuilt by Leliana, not I. I will not be Divine. I will not be involved.” Asta took a deep breath, waiting for the next question.

It came from Dorian, “What will you be, then?”

Asta smiled, “The Inquisitor,” she sassed at her friend. “This world needs people asking questions. Independent of the major religions and mostly from the politics, trying at least to stand apart from bias, challenging mores, finding facts and digging up lies. I’m good at that. It also needs people who are good at fighting simple injustices. The Blights will come again - who will stop Crestwood from happening all over again? The Wardens couldn’t. We won’t be an army, though we will have some forces, I hope,” she looked at Cullen, who nodded.

“Where you go, I go, Inquisitor.” Asta smiled and reached back to squeeze his hand, careless of the propriety of the action in such a setting.

“What we will be is a dedicated independent structure, standing alongside Thedas’ rulers and the Chantry, in order to protect the people who need it. We’ve been doing that all along.” Asta shrugged. “I’m not happy about making the job permanent. I’ve been ready to move on from this for a long time - possibly since I woke up in a dungeon with my hand glowing. I want to travel, see the world, and not have to kill everything and everyone I run into. But for once I will admit - I have a skill set Thedas needs. I’ve served the Chantry, been a scholar, been a scout and soldier - though not a good one - ruled and judged my own little fiefdom. I’ve saved the lives of-” she looked at Cullen, “four?”

“Four,” he confirmed.

“Sovereigns from being assassinated at the hand of the Venatori. I’ve mostly learned when to march and when to negotiate,” she said nodding at Josie, who chuckled. “All that I lack is a replacement for Leliana, though Sera, if you would consider it…”

“Fuck, no,” Sera snarled, “I don’t do nobles.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Asta sighed. “You’ll stay though?”

“Pssh, as if I’d go anywhere else. You’ve got your head on right, and need me to keep it that way.”

“Varric, I assume your plans are to go back to Kirkwall?” Asta turned to him.

“I want to help rebuild, it’s true,” Varric hesitated.

Cole spoke up, “Torn apart, Hawke flying north, Home… where is home?”

“Thank you, Cole,” Asta interrupted. “Varric will tell me in time. We still have time to plan, after all. And eventually we will have to deal with the fallout of the failure of the Qun alliance and with the inevitable death of King Markus. Nevarra will be weak following his death, and they are close enough to Tevinter for them to try to take advantage.”

“Not your best friends at the moment, it’s true,” Dorian spoke up. “Lucky that you have a friend to help out.”

“Dorian,” Asta murmured, “I can’t ask that of you and Bull.”

Bull spoke, “Kadan is my heart, no matter where we are. If he goes to Tevinter, if I deal with the Qun. It’s all good, Boss.” Asta smiled at both of them.

“You two,” she smiled, relieved. “You make my job easier.” She swallowed, “I hope.”

Bull roared, “Just don’t send him to the Qun and me to Tevinter and it’ll be good.”

“I want to help,” Cole said, silently appearing by her elbow.

“Cole,” Asta’s smile was tender. “I know exactly how you can help. You can be a friend. There’s a lot of people in Thedas that are hurting, that the Chantry should have been helping.”

“You need to _know_ ,” Cole breathed in understanding.

“Like you showed me that day in Skyhold, and a million times after,” Asta confirmed.

Cole tilted his head, “A million is a lot of times.”

“Well, I exaggerate,” Asta admitted.

“No, I think that’s about right,” Cole nodded his head, thinking. “You don’t remember a lot of them.”

Cullen snorted, but regained his composure quickly.

“So, the plan is to save Thedas by letting the Chantry fall,” Varric clarified, “Only to build it into what it should have been in the first place?”

Asta’s face cleared, “Pretty much. We’re going to dump the whole ‘church of power’ motif and go for ‘succor of the masses’.” She sighed, “I’m pretty sure that’s what Andraste, if she had been involved with actually building the Chantry, would have wanted. Making a large assumption about her divinity, mind you.” She held up her hand again, “I don’t want to hear it, loyal Andrastians. I know I’m outnumbered and I’ve had a go at convincing all of you at one time or another. We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“On the contrary, Inquisitor,” Cullen inclined his head, “I, for one, would describe myself as ‘Astian’.”

Varric groaned, “Curly, that was horrible. Keep working on your punch lines. But, Your Inquisitorialness, you do make more sense than huge portions of the Chant of Light.”

Cassandra nodded firmly, “I think your plan is sound. There will be much resistance, but those opposed will show their hands.”

“And if they do, arrows!” Sera sang out.

Bull hesitated, “You know the directions of your weaknesses, but there is one I must point out, Boss.”

Asta raised her head, “Cullen.”

“Damn, you are good, Boss.” The former Ben-Hasserath nodded in approval.

“What?” The Commander in question was confused.

“You are my weakness,” Asta admitted. “I would let the world die in ashes to keep you safe. And I won’t change that, either.”

“That’s very romantic,” Cassandra sighed, dreamy eyed. Varric blinked, but didn’t comment.

“And very dangerous,” Asta said. “At some point both you and Leliana will have to break away from the Inquisition. I and the Inquisition will diminish, thank the Maker, and the Chantry, as a charity and place of worship, and the Seekers, as enforcement against both Templar and mage abuses, will increase. You will know my weakness and I will expect you to exploit it. You could offer Cullen a place as a Seeker-”

Cullen interjected, “I would decline.”

Asta rolled her eyes, “We will have that discussion later, Cullen.” She continued, “Or Leliana could offer him a place as her Right Hand. He would be well suited for it.” Asta shrugged. “I’d have to be blind not to see where this could lead. If we don’t all hang together, we will splinter apart. And I don’t want to run the Chantry, or I’d still be up for Divine right now. Nor do I want to be a Seeker, not that Cassandra would offer. A spirit of Faith would never find me.” She flashed a grin at the Seeker who smiled back dryly.

“If I were a mage I’d do well with Fiona at the College, but I’m not,” Asta sighed, shoulders drooping. “Maybe I can start a University of the Frostbacks so that good Fereldan boys and girls don’t have to become Templars to get their learning,” she joked.

No one else laughed.

“Why not?” Cassandra asked.

“Asta, I mean, Inquisitor, that’s a great idea.” Cullen beamed at her.

“Merciful Maker, Cullen, it was a joke!”

“It shouldn’t be.”

Asta rolled her eyes again and dismissed the comment, “Whatever. Another thing to talk about _later_. My whole point is that you both would be fools, and you are not fools, not to hit me where I’m weak. Like Andraste and Maferath. Tevinter corrupted him and she fell to his pride or envy. Or so the story goes. I think there is probably more to it than that.”

“I would _never,_ ” Cullen protested.

“Love, I know,” Asta abandoned all pretense at professionalism, soothing him, “but I have to admit I’m… weak with you. And with all of you, to some degree. I’d do a great deal to keep Cole from injury or binding, to give an example. I said once that I should be the leader of this organization, not everyone’s best friend, but I’ve failed miserably.” Asta smiled ruefully, “I’ve always had a problem with maintaining professional distance.”

Cole hugged her then, and everyone laughed but Sera and Vivienne. “You needed that,” he said, confused. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because, Cole, you helped,” and Asta hugged him back.

***

Cullen paced his office after the meeting was over. Asta had stayed behind to comfort Sera, who of all her companions was having the hardest time with what happened in the Arbor Wilds and what Asta had planned. He had already been up to their room in order to try to bar the balcony doors - it seemed that Asta had correctly predicted Sera’s response. When he had left, they were talking gently about ‘pride cookies’, whatever those were, and Asta was going to take her up the battlements to spit off the edge and talk. He shook his head irritably.

How could she think… He was _not_ Maferath.

Asta slid into the room quietly, and he glared at her, and then softened. “Are you ready to talk?” Asta asked gently.

“More than,” Cullen crossed the room and pulled her to him. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, how could it even cross your mind that…”

“Cullen,” Asta kissed him and leaned her forehead against his. “Do you remember the Envy demon that the Chargers hunted across Fereldan?”

“What does that have to do with…” Cullen’s face cleared. “Maferath.”

“It’s only a suspicion. I have no documentation, no proof,” Asta pursed her lips. “But from him to go from her lover to her betrayer… that sounds like the Lord Seeker. And then for him to repent so completely and have a dream of Andraste forgiving him… well, it seems out of character, preying on him where he was weak and questioning. I don’t know, I’ll probably never know.” She looked up at him from within the circle of his arms, “but Envy as a demon is rare and a coward. And for one to attempt to prey upon the Chantry and the Seekers and so many others in this time… well, it makes me question. And I wanted you to know, so that you could guard yourself. I will tell Leliana and Cassandra as well - though Cassandra cannot be possessed, she should still be aware.”

Cullen nodded, understanding, “So it wasn’t that you questioned…”

Asta laughed, “Oh, Cullen, at this point you are the one thing I am sure of. I could end up in prison or dead at Corypheus’ hand, but you, I believe in.” She kissed him again, pulling away when it started to get out of hand. “We both have things we should be doing. Cassandra, Leliana, Dorian and I… we need to start doing some serious research. Will you join us?”

“Do you even have to ask?” Cullen kissed her again, promises behind his lips, and sighed. “To the library?”

“To work!” Asta beamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this is plausible. There isn't enough information on Envy demons, but the Therinfall Redoubt Envy demon showed both Leliana slitting Cullen's throat and Josephine imprisoned. Seriously grim stuff. And Maferath... yes, humans are vulnerable to a quest for power, but... well, I wonder. What if it wasn't him that betrayed Andraste at all but something more sinister? It's my pet headcanon at the moment.


	63. Wisdom and Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Blah blah blah, usual disclaimers. You've heard it before. Cuts off about halfway through, if you want to skip it. But read the first section, and just quit after they depart the library.

“Ugh,” Asta channeled Cassandra, much to the Seeker’s amusement, while she slammed yet another book down on the library’s table. “I love research, really. It’s one of my favorite things. But I _hate_ lyrium. Isn’t there anyone else that we could ask about this stuff? Dwarves? I’m going to ask Josie. It’s just the most pernicious stuff. And is there any one that the Chantry hasn’t chained? The elves reduced to slavery, slums and servitude or nomads at best, Templars to addicts, unmarried women to a pointless rendition of an inaccurate Chant, mages to Tranquility or to facing their own worst fears in the Fade…” she sighed, “This is impossible. Suddenly I am questioning my own sanity at even attempting to preserve this, much less fix it.”

Cassandra turned the fragile page of her book on the early days of the Seeker order gently, “Just yesterday you told me to make the Seekers better. Throwing the baby out with the bathwater won’t help anyone, Inquisitor.”

“Cass, you had a mage lover…”

Dorian perked up at that knowledge, “Did you really? How unexpected!”

“Ugh, Inquisitor!” If looks could kill Asta would have been dead.

Asta was unaware, as she was focused on the question at hand. “Do you really think that mages are incapable of leading normal, public lives? How different would your life have been if you’d been allowed to marry Galyen?”

“That was never an option. My status as a Seeker, my unfortunate rank in Nevarra, my eventual service to the Divine, and he was a _mage_ …” Cassandra brushed aside her heartbreak, with the ease of constant practice.

“But _what if_ , Cass?”

Cassandra’s eyes dropped. “I do not know. Before the conclave we hadn’t seen each other in years. I don’t know if he even still had feelings for me.” Her eyes closed in pain. “Can we discuss something else?” Dorian and Cullen both looked relieved.

“I just want people’s lives to be better, and the Chantry to stop fucking them up!” Asta ran fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the messy bun she had pulled it back in to keep it out of her mouth while reading. Cullen noticed it was getting longer than usual. “What I need this endless research to accomplish is how we can make it happen. We need to find out if Cullen’s success is unusual, or if other Templars have stopped taking lyrium with similar success. Perhaps lyrium isn’t as crucial to Templar abilities as the Chantry would have us believe… wasn‘t King Alistair a Templar recruit before he was a Grey Warden? Perhaps Leliana could write to him…”

Cassandra looked up from the notes she was laboriously taking. “The Seekers have never used lyrium, but becoming Tranquil during our vigil - that hardly seems like a good trade, Inquisitor. Not to mention the cure is… questionable.”

“And we need a Seeker order - because we will have maleficar and abominations,” Dorian added sadly. “Not quite to the level that your Southern Templars believe is inevitable, but enough, all the same.”

“Maybe I should include Vivienne,” Asta mused, “I didn’t want to deal with the Game during the initial research, but she is quite good at listing the positive aspects of Circles. Montsimmard was apparently quite lax as Circles went. There may be a reason…”

Cullen unpinched his nose and looked up from his massive tome on Templar training. “You will find that her experiences were far from typical. Our conversations have indicated that she had many personal freedoms not allotted to other mages within the Montsimmard Circle. Her status as Ghislain’s mistress afforded her many opportunities in Orlais.”

“Very well, I doubt she would be interested in rebuilding Southern Thedas from the ground up anyway. She’s too involved in maintaining the status quo.” Asta sighed in disappointment and rolled her neck, groaning. Cullen reached over absently and rubbed the base of her neck, flipping his page over and not looking up while she arched under his fingers, nearly purring.

“Maybe we need a new tactic,” Cullen frowned at his erring book. “We aren’t looking at this from the right perspective. Everything we’ve read, everything we’ve experienced… maybe we should be asking what did Andraste hope to accomplish with the Chant? Just freedom from Tevinter? What did Ameridan hope to accomplish but disappeared before he could? Was Drakon even the imperialist that he’s made out to be? When you go to war, you don’t send in the army without sending in scouts first. They map, explore, count the enemies troops - you prepare so that you know what is coming, or your army loses their way.”

Asta perked up under his hands now stroking her neck with his thumb and his pertinent words. “The Chant says nothing of Circles, just of service to man. It says nothing of Tranquility, or chaste Sisters, and the first Divine was Drakon’s sister! What he created is hardly the most unbiased version. It‘s rife with cronyism and nepotism… not that what I‘m doing is much better, perhaps.” She blushed suddenly when Cullen moved his hands up under where she had it pulled back, pressing in with his fingers, still preoccupied, while Dorian grinned. “Cullen is right. Completely right.” She reached over and ran her fingers gently through his hair, nails against his scalp. He stifled a groan and Dorian grinned even wider at her while Asta frowned at him quellingly. “Dorian, do you have a copy of the Chant that they use in Tevinter? I know they have to be different. I know there is a copy of the Dissonant Verses around here somewhere. I know I have one in my room. Cullen, can we use your copy of the Chant for comparison purposes?”

“Of course,” He rose from his seat at the table. “I’ll return shortly.”

“I’ll come with you,” Asta smiled and stood, chipper again. “Dorian, if you don’t have the Northern version could you find one? Have Josie order it if necessary. Cassandra, we will need the book of the Seekers. Also, perhaps Mother Gisele. She can be manipulative, but is also surprisingly open-minded about elves in the Chantry, at least according to Sera. Could you fetch her? Or arrange her to visit us tomorrow?” Cassandra nodded, and turned back to her book with a annoyed sigh.

“Tomorrow?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are we done for the day?” He couldn’t let her escape without a little teasing, after all.

Asta winked at him. “It might take us a little while to find Cullen’s copy of the Chant of Light.” Cullen looked confused, and Asta shoved him out of the room before he could protest and ruin her ruse. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let us stop you from continuing! Don‘t wait up!” Cassandra’s disgusted noise and Dorian’s laughter chased them from the library along with the librarian’s imperious shushing.

Cullen and Asta barely made it into their room before Asta was against him, pulling her fingers through his hair and cupping his ass, pushing herself into him. “Asta, what about the Chant?” He gasped as her teeth fastened over his pulse.

“Couldn’t find it,” Asta tugged his hair so that his face was drawn down to hers. She tried to bite his lower lip and Cullen, still a bit oblivious, protested.

“It’s right by the bed. It’s always…”

“Oh, then we don’t need to go to your office! Excellent!” Asta immediately started unclasping her tunic. “Have I ever mentioned that I’m attracted to your intelligence, Cullen?” Cullen raised his eyebrows, feigning detachment, but couldn’t take his eyes off her now. His mouth went dry as she shucked the top off and started on her laces, her arms pressing her breasts in on either side while she focused on the strings. “Oh yes,” she added, “That day in the garden when you let me beat you at chess - I could see how you were trying not to let me know.” She stepped out of her pants, and started back towards him, a predator in smallclothes.

“I did not let…” Cullen protested to no avail.

“Oh, yes, you did. There is no denying it, so don’t. It just made me fall harder, though. Because you were intelligent and kind.” Asta grabbed the back of his head again, and Cullen lowered his lips to hers, finally caught. “Irresistible.” Her tongue swept across his lips, and he opened in surrender, and then forgot why he was reluctant in the first place as he was pulled under by the undertow of her kiss. “How much of that was set up ahead of time with Dorian, though, I wonder?” She bit his neck right below his ear again and licked it slowly to soothe the mark she left and repeated the action a little lower, grinding her hips against his in aggression.

Cullen held her close in self-defense, moved his hand lower, intent on bringing her closer yet, pulling her into him. The encouragement coursed through her body, straight between her legs, and Asta, ever-enthusiastic, leapt at him. Cullen found himself supporting all her weight, and he staggered slightly backward, hardly knowing where he was headed, and too dizzy from lack of breath and the blood rushing to his cock to care. With divine luck, he stumbled back into the little table by the impossible bed with his hip. Shifting slightly, he took a risk and fell backwards, pulling Asta’s legs up so that she was straddling him. She made a sound, an approving sound deep in her throat, and took advantage of her position to grind herself into him further while trying his buckles with shaking hands. She managed, and stripped it away, sitting back just enough to encourage him to sit up while yanking his shirt off over his head.

Her breastband had disappeared, Maker knew where. Maybe He cared, she didn’t. Because right now, her lover was beneath her, trying desperately to unfasten his own laces, bumping her core with his own shaking hands and she could feel the heat through his pants and her smallclothes. All she really cared about was him, and getting his mouth on her and his cock inside as soon as she conceivably could. The laces undone, with a muttered curse, he slid himself out and she ground back down into his cock and convenient hand, still too much cloth between them, but improving all the time.

“Put your mouth on me,” Asta begged, panting. “Please, Cullen.” He obliged, and she pushed down and arched back again at the contact of his teeth with her nipple. This was what was important. The feel of his skin, and the warmth of his body. They were still wearing _too many clothes_ , and when Cullen chuckled, she realized she had said it out loud. Unfortunately, getting naked would mean removing herself from his lap entirely, and she cussed at the realization, making him laugh slightly again.

Approving her eagerness, Cullen lifted her to one side and shimmied out of his pants. He hadn’t bothered with smallclothes today, either, Asta noted in approval, and so he was ready far sooner than she was, since her smallclothes were a little tighter than his trousers. She sat on the bed, still panting for a moment before she lunged back at him, and pulled him against her and slung him against the bed in the same movement, resuming her distracting position from before as soon as she could manage it.

His hips raised into hers slightly, meeting her downward thrust, and they both groaned and leaned in to take advantage of each other’s tongues, tangling around each other even as he aligned himself with her and slid home and finding it impossible to resist, home again. His mouth fell away from hers, and he pushed her up to reach her breasts with a hot tongue and cool breath. She shook against him and he reached behind her to hold her and start her rising up and over him.

They found their mutual rhythm, a melody of moans and pants and bitten off words of encouragement, pressing, pushing, trying to pull the other along with them into a chorus of love that peaked and fell and pulled their voices into each other throats when their mouths met again, drawn together in a perfect harmony of lust and affection. Cullen found his voice and cried out, the sound finding a home in her chest and breaking her open around him, her head thrown back and driving against him, pushing harder and more insistent.

“Cullen, Cullen,” she moaned at the end, just as he pulsed into her with a final thrust, his lips still pressed to her neck, marked in several places with the signature of his mouth.

They held each other until the shaking stopped, kisses and caresses and little murmurs building a ladder back down from the heights of their passion, wild haired and sweaty, but completely, utterly spent.

“Attracted to my intelligence?” Cullen laughed. “That’s a new one, Asta.”

“Not so new,” Asta’s eyes were closed, and she flung herself back across their bed, off of him. “I mean, yes, I definitely noticed you physically first, on the battlefield, but that lecture you gave me at Haven… Merciful Maker. You could have talked for hours, Cullen, and I would have lapped it up like a dog and begged for more.”

Cullen rolled over to face her, and stroked her side. “I thought I was boring you.”

“Enthusiasm and conviction are never boring, love. You believed, and it made me believe.” She sat up to peck his lips again. “You still do that.” She laid back down. “Are we doing the right thing? Even with a strong Seeker order and the College of Enchanters to enhance it, with a weak Chantry fumbling to right itself, to recreate itself - am I destroying Thedas? Are good intentions enough?”

Cullen shook his head. “No. They aren’t. But even as you destroy the Chantry, I have to admit I think it’s necessary. It can’t go on the way it has.”

“I hope Leliana understands that it’s not that I want her to fail,” Asta worried aloud. “I hope she understands that I want what she wants but know at the same time that it will never work in the current climate. There is too much prejudice, too much power-grabbing. Her plans are too idealistic, too implausible.” Asta laughed bitterly, “What does it mean when I say a plan is too idealistic?”

“And that’s why the Inquisition will remain for a while, until she finds her bearings and cleans out the corruption,” Cullen wrapped his arm around her waist. “Leliana is resourceful, and has plenty of experience in taking care of difficult and sensitive Chantry matters.”

“And if it fails entirely only to be replaced by something even worse?” Asta turned her preoccupied eyes to his, forehead creased. He rubbed the lines out of it, as she had for him so often. “I’m scared I’m going to cause another Exalted March!”

“All we can do is try,” Cullen leaned against her head, praying that it succeeded. “All we can do is try.”

***

The next morning Asta started to wander back to the library only to be confronted by Solas. She sighed, and prepared herself for a lecture. For once she was pleasantly surprised. They walked together, ending up on her balcony and they looked out on Skyhold and everything the Inquisition had built, Infirmary and mage tower, gardens and tavern. It made her smile, and hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she wouldn’t make everything end in fire and death.

Solas was positively loquacious. “Do you think the mark changed you?”

Asta laughed outright at the possibility. “No, I have always been a know it all, stuck in the past and preferring it to the present. I’ve always been a smart ass and impatient and too easily angered and overly sensitive about foolish things.”

Solas nodded gravely. “It’s just… you are all those things, my friend, but I also haven’t seen such wisdom since…” he bit his lip, his mask slipping ever so slightly and Asta honed in on it, suspiciously, “since my deepest journeys into the oldest memories of the Fade,” he concluded, and Asta sighed, disappointed. “Tell me,” Solas was as serious as ever, “What will you do with the power of the Well?”

Asta snorted. “It’s not mine, it’s Morrigan’s, but as she has pledged herself to our cause, I suppose that I’ll encourage her to bring back what was lost. Thedas was once so much more, only hinted at in our older texts and stories. If I could do anything… it would be to know, really know what it was like, and I would try to guide us back to that. If it happened once, it could happen again, correct?” Then Asta sighed, “But almost anything is better than what we have now. If my legacy is just to make it a little better, well, that might have to be enough. As long as it doesn‘t end up worse because of me.” She laughed bitterly, “That is my greatest fear, lately. That I’m fumbling in the dark playing with things that I barely understand.” She braced herself against the balcony railing, “I just don’t have enough _knowledge_.” She confessed, “I wish there had been time to talk to the Sentinels at the Temple. Their perspective… it would have been invaluable. If they would have spoken at all to a dirty ignorant shemlen.” She turned back to the elf, “Solas, I noticed they were speaking to you, in the petitioning chamber. Was it just because you are an elf?”

Solas’ eyes were deep and thoughtful, but guarded and still a bit on the steely side. “I don’t know what you mean, Inquisitor. I saw them making an alliance with you.” He straightened, “I see. I hope you realize, Inquisitor, that you have my deepest respect.” He stood, his body language suddenly so much less confident, almost apologetic. “And I have taken too much of your time. Pray, excuse me.” And he left Asta off kilter and even more confused by the enigmatic apostate she had known for so long and yet barely knew at all.

Later that afternoon Asta made her way into the garden to tend her plants, enjoying the late sunlight and peaceful atmosphere, still disturbed by the strange conversation and her own doubts. She greeted Mother Gisele who was uncharacteristically agitated, directing her to the alcove that housed the Eluvian. Leliana was pacing in front of the mirror in a panic. “Kieran, Morrigan’s son! He opened the Eluvian,” Leliana wrung her hands. “How could he, Morrigan said only she could open it…”

Asta didn’t try to calm her, just dove in through the Eluvian in an instant, with little armor and no weapons beyond the mark on her hand.

Leliana collected herself and ran out to the garden, “Someone, get the Commander, NOW.” A scout ran off into the keep in the direction of the Commander’s office, and Leliana fell to her knees to pray that this third time wouldn’t be the death of their Asta.

***

Asta glared around her, furious. It wasn’t fair. She had never asked for any of this, and yet here she was back in the Fade, again, this time to rescue a recalcitrant child from his own foolishness, and hopefully his mother as well, assuming she could find either of them. She calmed herself with difficulty, recognizing that if she could still alter the Fade around her like she could at Adamant that she would have to stay fucking calm, or risk Rage demons being drawn to her like bees to honey. She cursed aloud at the thought. Here she was in the fucking Fade again, and without even a jar of bees to give her an advantage. Her hand sputtered and glowed and she swallowed the discomfort.

Damn it, she was _angry._

She started walking, thinking of Morrigan, wondering if thinking about the people she was looking for would help draw them to her. If she could alter the Fade, perhaps it could… she turned the next corner and found Morrigan, calling out for her child, and running deeper into the Fade seemingly at random. She grabbed the woman and slapped her, enjoying the release that hitting the fool gave her. “Collect yourself!” she hissed. “Calm down, mage, or you’ll call every Fear demon within miles, assuming there are miles in the Fade.” Morrigan raised her hand to her cheek and narrowed her eyes. “Good. Between you and I we can probably tackle a rage demon, but Fear is beyond me alone,” Asta pointed out. “Stay calm. We’ll find Kieran and get him back, Morrigan, but we have to stay fucking calm!”

Morrigan nodded, for once slightly less smug. “I don’t understand how he could do this,” Morrigan claimed. “He shouldn’t be able to…”

“Is he a mage?” Asta asked blankly. “No one ever asked, but I assumed with all the studying he did that he is.”

“Yes,” Morrigan admitted. “But he’s young, he shouldn’t have been able to…”

“Shh,” Asta calmed her, a little more gently. “Let me think. I found you by thinking about you, maybe… maybe if I think of Kieran. Tell me about him, anything you can think of.” Asta barely knew Kieran - had only spoke to him twice that she could think of. He was quiet, a little odd, but very, very polite. She knew nothing about children.

Morrigan started to babble about him and Asta tried to listen, and they kept walking. Asta thought she saw him once but he disappeared. “How old is he?” she asked when the woman paused.

“Just about to turn 10,” Morrigan wrung her hands. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we don’t find him, Inquisitor, he’s my son!” Asta nodded in comfort and made soothing noises. “I can’t lose him, I have no one else!”

Whether the constant talk helped or not, they turned another corner and found Kieran talking to an older, white haired woman calmly, flashing a bright smile at his mother when he saw her, in that annoying way bright children do when they know they‘ve done something they are going to get in trouble for. Asta remembered giving that look to her Revered Mothers several times growing up, and sighed. Morrigan sunk to the ground in shock. “Mother?”

“Mother?!” Asta’s eyes grew wide. “Morrigan, is this your mother? Is this a… family reunion?”

Her incredulous look apparently tickled the older woman with the elaborate hairstyle, because she laughed. “Mother, Daughter, Grandson…” the woman laughed again. “It all rather warms the heart, doesn’t it?”

“Kieran is _not_ your grandson,” Morrigan gritted out. “Let him go!”

“As if I were holding him hostage,” the woman scoffed. “She’s always been ungrateful, you see.” Asta rather liked the woman, strange as she was, and found herself smiling.

“Ungrateful?!” Morrigan flung her arms wide in her anger, “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have me, and you will NOT have my son!” She tried to cast a spell, but the older mage diffused it effortlessly.

“That‘s quite enough,” the woman said. “You‘ll endanger the boy.”

“What did you do? What did you DO?!” She raised her eyes from her shaking hands to her mother, panic welling up.

“I have done nothing. You drank from the Well of your own volition.” The woman smirked at Morrigan, and Asta liked her a little bit less. Like Mother, like daughter, apparently, and these two seemed two peas in a pod.

“You are Mythal.” Morrigan’s face was paler than Fereldan cheese, and Asta pitied her even as her mind reeled with the knowledge.

“Are you really?” Asta’s manners kicked in, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.” _Never be rude to strange mages,_ she told herself. _I think that probably applies to people claiming to be old elvhen gods, too._

Mythal seemed to approve, chastising her daughter for her lack of manners, and reminding Asta a little too much of her own mother at the same time. But instead of laughing maniacally or acting like a villain, she sent Kieran back to his mother to give her a hug. Asta was confused.

“I apologize for any confusion,” Asta started, “but Kieran shouldn’t have been able to activate the Eluvian, and Morrigan was worried.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Kieran told her, lightly. Asta recognized the tone again, a child expecting an apology to mend everything as if it weren’t broken at all, “but Grandmother told me I had to come, that it was time.”

“No!” Morrigan clutched her child to her. “You can’t have him!” She glared at her mother, and explained. “She extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. She can’t have me, and she can’t have my son! I won‘t let you use him!”

Mythal was amused, “My dear, wasn’t that the reason that you agreed to his creation? Have you not used him yourself?”

“That was then,” Morrigan broke down, the broken heart of a mother losing her child, “now, he is my son!” The tears ran down her cheeks unchecked, and Kieran wiped them away gently with his fingers.

“Don’t cry, Mother,” the boy said, upset. He looked back at his grandmother, communicating wordlessly, and Asta wondered at the abilities of this strange family. Then she remembered her mother carrying on whole conversations just with flowers, and decided she had no right to judge.

“Families are weird,” she said aloud. “But are you really going to take a child from his mother? He’s not even a decade old!” Her memory flashed back to waking up in the Chantry at the age of four and wailing for her mother, long gone back home, and crying herself into a sleep that was filled with grayish spiders trying to tangle her in their threads, and she caught her breath. “Please,” she asked bluntly. “Don’t take him. He needs her.” Asta sighed. Perhaps she needed to write her mother and father a letter. Disowned or not. She mentally cursed. She was really starting to despise forgiveness. There had been a little too much of it lately for her taste.

Mythal nodded, “Very well, I’ll offer you a deal, Morrigan. I’ll either let you go, and take the boy, so that you are safe from me forever, or I will let him go with you, and you will never be safe from me.” The older woman’s mouth twisted. “Choose wisely, my dear.”

Morrigan didn’t even hesitate. “You can have me.” Mythal nodded, and pulled a blue glow out of the lad’s chest. The child looked more relaxed instantly.

“No more dreams?” He looked excited.

“No more dreams,” Mythal said tenderly. She stooped and kissed him on the forehead, and the boy ran back to his mother. “A soul is never bestowed upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me.” She started to walk back further into the Fade. “Listen to the voices, Morrigan. They’ll help you against Corypheus.” She tossed back behind her, and then disappeared.

Asta swallowed. This had not been an ordinary day. “Come on,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let’s get out of here. Now. Before a spirit of Motherhood finds us, or Forgiveness, or Sacrifice, or one of Bewilderment.” She spun and started to walk, not checking to see if Morrigan and Kieran followed. “Every one of those seems incredibly likely right about now.”


	64. Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW towards the end.

Asta sent Morrigan and Kieran back out through the Eluvian first, relieved that they had been able to find it after all - whether because she was so focused on getting back to Skyhold helped her or not she still wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem to be anything she could control and she sincerely hoped she would never have to enter the Fade again to test Solas’ suspicions.

She stepped out and tumbled into Cullen’s arms. “Inquisitor!” He held her back, eyes roaming. “You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine, other than being pissed off about the fact that Morrigan apparently wasn’t keeping a close eye on her son. So naturally, being a precocious child, he tripped off into the Eluvian and the FADE,” Asta gritted out between clenched teeth in Morrigan’s general direction, “causing yet another ‘unique experience’ for yours truly. I want a guard on the Eluvian now at all times, Commander. We met Mythal in there, and I don’t want to know what else could come falling out of that… thing.” She pulled herself out of his arms. “Access is restricted to Morrigan, Solas, and myself and that is all. And if you intend to activate it, Morrigan, you must have one of us with you.”

The Commander nodded curtly, “So shall it be.”

Asta turned to Morrigan, whose arms were still around her child. “Morrigan, this is twice that you have put me in danger. I’m keeping track. You’d better hope that there isn’t a third.”

Morrigan nodded, shaken. “Thank you for my son, Inquisitor. I… you have my thanks.”

Asta turned to Kieran, “Are you still a mage? You asked your… grandmother if you would still have dreams.”

Kieran turned to his mother, “Mother?”

“She wants to know if you still have a link to the Fade,” Morrigan explained. “You may answer.”

“But the Commander is a Templar, and you said…”

“I know, my son, but I’m giving you permission. Go on, answer the Inquisitor.”

Kieran looked down at his feet. “I am still a mage.” He looked up at her. “You aren’t going to send me away, are you? I don’t want to leave Mother.”

Cullen answered, “No one is going to send you away. The Circles don’t really exist any longer.” He turned to Morrigan, “But you will have to keep a closer eye on your child.”

Morrigan nodded, face lined with new stress. “I understand. Thank you.”

“Thank the Inquisitor. She doesn’t believe children should be removed from their parents,” he bit out. He caught Asta’s sigh, and echoed with his own. “I’ll go see to assigning guards here.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Asta stated crisply. “I will stay here until they arrive.”

***

Asta had been sitting at her desk, quill poised above the paper for what seemed like ages. The words wouldn’t come. How could she write to them, what did she even want to say? “I forgive you for giving me away,” she muttered, “like they even care.” She couldn’t forget, and didn’t particularly want to forgive, and yet… something in her needed to speak to them all the same. “Closure,” she sighed.

She tried again.

_Lady Trevelyan,_

_Since you have disowned me, I will no longer call you mother. I imagine that is agreeable to us both. And do not worry - I have no intention of begging your forgiveness or offering any entreaties for help, funds, or seeking any relationship from you._

Asta’s shoulders sagged. This was very difficult. “Just let it out,” she muttered, “Get it over with and then give it to Max to deliver. Then Leliana won’t ever read it and it will be over.”

_I wanted to let you know that despite my unbelief, I do appreciate the opportunity that the Chantry provided me for learning. I was very young when you left me there, and I don’t think I will ever forgive you for that, but… it served a purpose. I would not be who I am today if you had not. If you had raised me, I imagine I would have been far more like you, and so I thank you sincerely for abandoning me as a child._

That was more bitter than she wanted, but it still needed to be said. “I am strong,” Asta clenched her jaw. “I am not helpless.”

_I will never contact you again, so let this be the last communication between us. My Ambassador has drafted up a legal notice that will release me from the Trevelyan name. I will make no claims upon it, and any contact with the extended family will have to come from them. Be glad I did not send assassins. My Spymaster offered, but I do not want this Inquisition’s legacy to be bloodshed and horror. I will assume you are grateful for my mercy._

_I will tell you that I have not so recently become engaged to Commander Rutherford. Any children we have will also never have connections with you. That is something that the Ambassador will indicate in her future correspondence. I don’t imagine that we will move in the same circles, Thank the Maker, as our social status is so much higher than yours. Ask Max if you don’t believe me - he was present at my recent talks with Empress Celene._

Asta allowed herself a bitter smile, “Speak the language she understands,” she bit off. “That should just about do it.”

_Enjoy the flower. It is the last thing you or Father will ever have that came from me._

She slipped a trumpet flower into the envelope. “Separation,” she sighed. “It’s done.”

_Sincerely,_

_Her Worship, the Lady Inquisitor Asta of Skyhold, The Herald of Andraste, Vanquisher of the Mage Rebellion, Dragonslayer, formerly of the Ostwick Trevelyans._

Her hands shook as she folded the parchment and placed it into the envelope. She laid it down gently, as if it would explode. Now she just had to be brave enough to send it. She stood, and went to find her brother and Leliana. She needed speed, and she needed discretion. “Well, Maxwell is fast, at least,” she sighed.

***

Her brother nodded as Bernadette peeked out behind him, still shy after all these months. “Of course, Little Sister, I’ll deliver it. I need to pick up some of my things anyway. I don’t need much…”

Bernadette let out a very unladylike snort behind him, and then slapped her hand over her mouth, “Inquisitor! I’m so sorry!” Her humiliation consumed her face in a ruddy blush.

Asta grinned at her. “We both know my brother is spoiled rotten. I’m shocked you’re still with him. We still haven’t had that drink. Will you travel with him? I can arrange it, if you’d like to meet our horrible parents.”

Bernadette blushed deeper, almost purple. “I would… like that, your worship.”

Asta groaned, “Little Sister, Your Worship… for Andraste’s sake, please call me Asta.” She looked a little wistful. “You two and Dorian are the only family I’ll have after this letter is delivered, and I… would like it very much if we could be, if not friends, then… friendly?” She reached out her hand to shake Bernadette’s, and the dwarf took it.

“I will try, Your Worship.” The dwarf’s eyes dropped with awe to her left hand. “May I?” Asta raised her palm and flipped it over. “It doesn’t break the skin. That’s… not what I expected.”

Asta nodded ruefully, “Still hurts like a fucking son of a bitch when I close rifts, though.” The dwarf snatched back her hand, blanching at the Inquisitor’s curses, and then laughed.

“Perhaps we will get on after all, Your Worship.”

“Asta,” she prompted gently.

“Asta,” the dwarf agreed. “Tell me, do you like Orzammar Stout?”

Three hours later, the dwarf was complimenting Asta on her fabulous tits as Bull roared his agreement and poured them both Maraas-Lok. Max and Cullen looked down on the two from the second floor with resigned looks on their faces. “Maker’s Breath, she’s going to hurt in the morning,” Cullen shook his head. “Thanks for getting me, Max.”

“She has no idea. How did Bull even get her to try that stuff?” Max coughed in memory. “It was like acid! I woke up in the infirmary the next morning with no recollection of how I got there, and Bernadette shrieking at me and threatening to behead me with her war axe if I ever pulled that shit again. At the time beheading sounded pretty good.”

Cullen nodded, wincing at the memory. “My head hurt for three days.”

Max choked, “Only three? I wasn’t the same for a week! And Bernie wouldn’t even give me an elfroot potion because she said I wouldn’t learn otherwise. She’s a cruel…” he noticed his lady’s eyes on him, narrowed menacingly, “and delightful woman. I’m a lucky man, Commander.” The dwarf nodded in approval and went back to drinking. He leaned towards the Commander, “I think we should try to get them out of here.”

“Agreed. Any ideas?”

“None. You?”

“Got any bees?” He joked, and then horror moved over his face when they both heard Sera cackling behind them, and he knew he didn’t have a chance of stopping her. “Sera, NO!”

The jar smashed into the bar floor and chaos ensued. Bull kicked back his stool and started swinging his axe madly around the room, as if he could possibly hope to cleave the bees in half. Cullen jumped the rail to the stairs, and dove under the swarm, grabbing Asta and barely feeling the impact as he hauled her out the front door. The other patrons poured out, followed by clouds of bees and wasps, cussing and screaming.

Cullen cursed in turn, holding his arm. He’d been stung at least once, but Asta… Asta was laughing, rocking back and forth on the ground watching the mayhem from the safe distance. He shook his head in resignation, picked up his impossibly inebriated Inquisitor, and went to find someone to treat his stings.

***

Asta entered the garden, hand to her head, to harvest some elfroot for the mother of all headaches. She nodded to Elan and again to Mother Gisele, wincing at the movement. Cullen had been stung twice in his heroic efforts at rescuing her, and she had cussed Sera thoroughly and fussed over him drunkenly while Stitches removed the stingers and applied his famous poultice. She stood up, chewing the bitter leaves, forehead pinched tight with pain. Maker, she was stupid. Bernadette could obviously hold way more alcohol. It must be the dwarf constitution. Cullen had accepted her fussing unusually meekly, as if he felt guilty. Ridiculous - he was the one who got stung, after all.

As if thinking of him brought him near, she heard his voice in a gentle, rhythmic drift from the little shrine off the garden. She walked that direction with reluctance - she didn’t really go there at all, not since her last disagreement with Mother Gisele, but the Mother was talking with some recently returned scouts, and Cullen sounded… impassioned. His voice drew her to the room, a pull she couldn’t resist.

She watched him silently, a new hesitation combined with a plea in his voice as he recited the ancient words. She didn’t want to disturb him, but it was… moving. She regretted her own lack of faith - she wished she could have found the comfort he did in the prayers. The Chantry was still run down, though Asta had made a point to have people move the pews back into straight lines, and renew the candles regularly.

Just because she didn’t believe didn’t mean that she didn’t have respect for those that did.

“’Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.’” He finished his prayer and lifted his face to the statue of Andraste, worry and concern creasing his face with indelible lines.

Asta spoke, very gently. “A prayer for you?”

Cullen stood, not meeting her eyes. “Yes,” he said curtly. “A prayer for those we’ve lost, and those… I am afraid to lose.” He spoke the last in a low undertone as if he was afraid she would hear it and challenge him.

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your faith,” Asta was even softer now. “I only wish I had the same comfort.”

“Yes, well, the Chant… I found comfort in faith when my life offered little,” Cullen confessed. “It’s not surprising that I turn to it now, when…” He closed his eyes. “Corypheus will retaliate. It’s only a matter of time! I have to… draw strength from wherever I can. I… When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path, _again._ ” He choked slightly, and found his voice, though deeper, with difficulty, “Andraste preserve me - I must send you to him.”

“You’re afraid,” Asta’s face creased as well, and she swallowed the lump suddenly in her throat, “afraid for me.”

“Of course I am,” He still wouldn’t meet her eyes and he leaned up with his forehead against the wall, his heart on his sleeve. “Corypheus possessed that Warden at the Temple of Mythal. What else is he capable of?!”

“I don’t think he’ll possess me,” Asta thought. “Morrigan seemed to think it was only blighted creatures.” She walked up to him. “Cullen… what if I can’t? Cullen, if I don’t…”

“NO!” He spun away from the wall and grabbed her to him, burying her face into his cloak. Asta relaxed against him. “Maker, no,” he said more gently. “Whatever happens, you _will come back._ ”

Asta closed her eyes, feeling safe, loved, protected. “I certainly hope so. I do have luck on my side.”

Cullen choked again, and a single tear fell even while a strangled laugh slipped from his throat. “That is less comforting than I hoped.” He swayed with her a little, “Allow me this. To believe anything else… the thought of losing you… I _can’t_.” He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed it lightly. He lifted her marked hand and kissed the fingers and the palm of it, over the mark, and then shifted slightly and took her lips for his own. Asta gave him hers in turn, and the kiss turned heated quickly, more passionate than appropriate for the shrine they stood in.

Cullen broke away first. “Maker’s breath, I cannot touch you without wanting more than I can have.” He braced himself away from her, hands on her hips, even as she pulled him in with hers around his neck.

“Cullen, I am yours. You know that. You can have -” and Asta found herself slammed up against the wall, a candlestick knocked over and spreading a pool of wax on the floor in his haste to have her. “I don’t want you to have any… regrets…” she moaned out while he all but devoured her.

“My only regret would be not having you now, before it all goes mad,” he spat out between frantic kisses and moving hands, parting her jacket and running his hand over her stomach impatiently to the small of her back and underneath her ass.

“That’s imminently practical,“ approved Asta, “but in the _Chantry_?” Asta found herself wondering if she did have scruples after all, but with the first brush of his hand on her breast, decided she didn’t. “Andraste would understand, I’m sure.” Asta gasped, abruptly ending her thought as Cullen hotly kissed her neck and pulled her laces loose. “We’ll have to be fast… Mother Gisele is in the garden.”

Cullen slammed the door with his foot and pulled down her trousers just as emphatically. “Fuck Mother Gisele,” he said under his breath, against her chest, lifting her up against him.

Asta laughed, “And now cursing in the Chantry!” He pulled her closer. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You have,” he growled out. “Tell me if you don’t want this too. Or we could adjourn to your room. But…” a slim remnant of his former fears crossed his eyes and mated with his desperation. “I don’t think Andraste would mind either. If she is divine, and at the Maker’s side, she _knows._ Knows it all. How I cannot lose you, how I love you, how I cannot live…”

“Shhh,” Asta bent her lips back down to his. “This is fine.” He slowed down, but left her against the wall. “In a way, this is a prayer of mine.” Her voice dropped, “A prayer for _you_.” He shook against her, still hesitating, and then entered her slowly, carefully. She wrapped her arms around him and he braced himself better, using the wall as a support.

His movements were purposeful, tender, his head buried in the crook of her neck while she panted in his ear and moaned his name, clenching around him. He sped up a little, pulled from his tenderness by her desires and breathy encouragements. “I won’t lose you,” he punctuated with kisses and glides into her, lifting her hips up further to wrap around his waist. “I will be yours.”

“You can’t,” Asta panted. “I’ll always be yours. Forever.” She shook with the effort to hold herself against him and released his neck to lean back. “Cullen…” she warned and shuddered, closer than she realized.

“Asta,” he thrust into her with more power, not bothering to restrain himself. Asta didn’t care, and fell away from her words into a sea of moans. She drifted away into the roads of the beyond, and Cullen surrendered with her. “Nothing He has wrought will be lost,” he spoke against her neck, still lost in her.

They pulled apart - more than a little embarrassed in the aftermath of what they had just done - and redressed quickly, aware of noises just on the other side of the door. Asta threw herself back at him and buried her face into his shoulder before they could get too sheepish, giggling.  “Cullen Rutherford, from the day I met you I never once thought that you would ever be making love to me in the Chantry. You will never cease to surprise me.” She kissed his cheek. “I think I may have skinned my back. These stones are rougher than I would have thought.”

Cullen laughed in turn and rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have pulled something. You’re heavier than you look, Asta.” She hit him, but giggled again and wrapped her arms around him tighter. “I love you.”

“And I you,” she breathed. “I will come back.”

“And I will be waiting,” he sighed, but a little less tense. “Andraste watch over you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, from what I could tell, no one really knows if Kieran is a mage or not. But the studying, not to mention the Old God soul - well, I'm making an educated guess. Correct me if I'm wrong. Besides, he has magic on both sides of his family tree.
> 
> Also, Beepiary is responsible for the 'Imminently practical sex'. Thank you. That line was exactly what was missing from this scene. :D
> 
> This one was one of the first ten or so I wrote. I hope it wasn't out of character, but by this point, while Cullen still very much believes in Andraste and the Maker, he's... relaxed a little bit and realized that sex in itself isn't sinful or something to fear. While I don't think that they'll make a habit of getting it on in the Chantry, I think in his desperation and worry he was overcome.
> 
> I hope the bee scene was funny and not just horrific. I hate bees - they are useful and all that, but I swear that one comes near me and I want to react like the Iron Bull. If I only had a war axe.


	65. Judge Not

Cullen looked up as Asta slipped into his office during work hours, biting her lips and sighing. He instantly had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like this.

“Did you need something?” He was more curt than usual. Samson was still sitting in the dungeon, Corypheus was nowhere - as if he had just fallen off the map, the soldiers were still encountering resistance in the Arbor Wilds from Red Templars, a Professor Kenric was requesting troop reinforcement for Asta’s pet project amongst the Avvar, he had had to argue with a dwarven engineer about tree houses as viable camp accommodations, and his head hurt. It wasn’t a good day.

“A couple of things. Do you have some time?” Her meek voice made him sigh with guilt at snapping at her. “I could come back.”

“For you, always,” he smiled in apology and set his paperwork down. “Is something on your mind?”

Asta relaxed, “I know you are busy, but… will you walk with me?” Cullen came out from behind his desk and offered his hand. She took it, and they strolled out to the battlements. The mid-day sun glared off the mountains making them too bright to focus on, and Cullen squinted to make his head hurt less. “You should know that I wrote to my parents.” She looked at her feet instead of at him.

“What did you say?” He held his breath. Was this when she told him she was done?  The day seemed to be going that way.

“I told them that I had no regrets how my life turned out, and thanked them for providing me with the learning opportunity at the Chantry. And then I told them I never wanted to hear from them again, flaunted my titles, superior social standing and amazing fiancée in their face and slipped in a trumpet flower for good measure.” She laughed, more than a little bitterly. “That’s one of the reasons I got so incredibly drunk with Bernie, before she left with Max. He left because… he’s delivering the letter. I didn’t want Leliana to read it, though I told her I sent it. She needed to know because… well, I hinted at the possibility of assassins. They could retaliate,” Asta confessed.

“Maker’s Breath, Asta! What were you thinking?” He pulled her in and hugged her, resting his head on her forehead. “Are you okay?” He marveled at her bravery.

“Yes,” Asta said, enunciating the word clearly. “I feel… free. Like this was something I should have done all along, and would have if I was brave enough,” she leaned back. “Brave like you, to break away from the only thing you had ever known.”

“Not until I had an opportunity,” Cullen pointed out. “Seems to me that you did the same.” Asta nodded thoughtfully, still preoccupied. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Asta sighed, resigned and chagrined. “There isn’t a better option.” She didn’t even have to say the name.

Cullen closed his eyes. “Samson.” He knew it would come to this. His arms dropped to his sides and his hands balled up into fists.

“I won’t render the judgment unless…”

“I’ll do it,” The words came out, and he pulled away, and marched back to his office, Asta trailing behind.

“Talk to me, Commander.”

“There’s nothing more to say. However, I request to take Josephine’s place during his trial, Inquisitor. Give me that, at least.” He reached his office and paused to let his eyes adjust between the near-dark and the brightness of the outdoors.

Asta painfully closed her eyes.  This wasn't going well.  Not that she had expected it to, really.  “Granted.” Cullen leaned up against his desk, bracketing it with his arms. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to… “I’ll judge him this afternoon. I’ll send the runner with Josephine as soon as she arranges a time.”

“Very well.” He nearly grunted the words. Asta sighed again, and slipped out of his office wordlessly as he grabbed his set of throwing knives out of his desk drawer, slammed it shut and started tossing them at the dummy, one after the other. The rhythmic thuds of the knives slicing into the dummy was not violent enough, and he ran out of knives too quickly. He crossed over with two long steps to the training dummy and yanked them out impatiently, to walk back across the room and start again.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. It went on, minute after minute. Runners came in, took one look at him, dropped their papers on his desk and disappeared without saying a word. The dummy was shredding slowly with every jerky pull of the knives. It wasn’t helping.

Thud. Thud. Thud… Crash. He dropped his knife with a curse as his office door flew open and Dorian strode in with a determined look. “What have you been saying to Asta?”

“Nothing,” Cullen bit off.

“Obviously. She’s been in the library since lunch, crying something about Samson and how she can’t give him to Dagna to carve up, and how now you won’t speak to her, and she’s messed up everything.” Dorian narrowed his eyes. “It’s a good thing her brother is gone, or he’d be in here threatening your life. So instead, I am.”

“ _You_ are threatening my life,” Cullen sneered. “Have a good try, _mage_.” Even as he said it, he paled. He couldn’t use his Templar abilities any more. He had proved it at the Shrine of Dumat. “Oh, damn,” he said, seeing the arcs of lightening cross Dorian’s fingers. His fingers drifted towards his sword.

“I’m hardly incapable, Commander. Now, talk, before I start setting your hair on end and frying you in your armor. Amazing conductivity, Silverite.” The aura in the room grew darker and Cullen felt a subtle spirit magic touch him. “That was a Spirit Mark. Now, if I kill you I can bring you back and _kill you again._ Talk, Commander!”

“She asked me to make Samson my charge. I told her I would,” Cullen knew there was no point in bravado, but couldn’t really help it. “That’s all.”

“No, it’s not.” Dorian increased the miasma and Cullen assumed a more defensive stance. “I’m going to start making your nightmares even worse, Commander, if you don’t talk.”

The Iron Bull slammed in from the door on the tavern side of the battlements. “What the fuck have you done?!” He grinned, full of teeth, “Hey, Kadan, you got here first?”

Dorian nodded, “Amatus. Asta came to you, too?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Bull growled. “Seriously, Cullen, you have blown it big time. What’s going on? She’s in the tavern right now, crying into Krem’s shoulder. Cole is freaking out on the third floor at the top of his lungs - and ain’t nobody making sense of him.”

Sera slipped out of stealth through the same door. “Fuck, Cully-Wully, this calls for arrows!” She said emphatically. “That… thing is fucking my tavern time, and he won’t shut up! Lady Tits and Bits is a snotty mess, Cabot is snarling, and I just want normal back! This means pincushion!”

Cullen blanched, and put his desk between himself and the group. “Honestly, I just told her that I would take charge of Samson.” This was the crack team of the Inquisitor. Even if he was still taking lyrium he’d never stand a chance against…

Varric strode in, followed by Cassandra. “Right, just told her that and then spent the next four hours flinging daggers into dummies and cursing under your breath.” His jovial attitude was tempered by the protectiveness in his tone.

“How did you know…”

“Do you really want to ask that, Curly?” Cullen sighed and shook his head.

Cassandra scowled at him, “This is not right. You have to fix this.” She had already loosened her sword.

Cullen was breathing fast. He wouldn’t be able to take Cassandra alone, with lyrium. She was lethal! “Well, Shit,” he muttered, still under his breath.

“You said it,” Varric agreed. “You fix it or Bianca will fix you.” He fingered his crossbow. “She isn’t gentle, are you, baby?” He crooned. “But we both like it a little rough.” His eyes narrowed at Cullen.

Cullen surrendered. “She told me she had no other solution. She asked if I could… take charge of Samson’s interrogation and imprisonment. I said I would, and then wouldn’t talk any more, and she left. I had offered, but I… didn’t want to do it. Even though it was a viable…” He sighed. “I blew it.”

“Why the fuck did you offer if you didn’t want to do it?” Bull shoved his desk out of the way and got in his face. “Listen, pretty-boy, you…” Dorian pulled him away.

“Amatus, let the man speak. We need to hear this,” He restrained his lover gently, and added with gentle menace, “We’ll talk about the pretty-boy part later.”

Cullen protested, “She was searching for a different option. But she can’t exile him, he’ll spread red lyrium across Thedas, and he’d probably just head back to Corypheus. Dagna was a possibility, but… we all know what Dagna does to her test subjects.” The entire party paled in realization. “So I offered. But the Red Lyrium, it…” Cullen swallowed, “It messes with me. It sings. I can’t…” He couldn’t believe he was admitting this weakness. “It makes me want it, and makes me sick at the same time. I told her before I could handle it, but I’m not sure I can. I rode ahead to get away from it - from _him_ \- after the Arbor Wilds. She thinks… she thinks it‘s just because I wanted to see her sooner.”

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense, Commander.”

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Cullen confessed. “She’s right, there is no other way. He’s too valuable to kill, and we can’t find Corypheus at all. He’s just gone. Leliana can’t find him, I can’t find him. We’re completely lost, and every day… we need his information. Desperately. So it’s me.”

“Nightingale?” Varric mused, thinking.

“Too emotional,” Cullen said. “Or that was Asta’s opinion before Valance, anyway. But she didn’t seem any more willing once they got back, so I’m guessing that hasn’t changed.” He sighed again, “I am sorry, but I’m dreading this. I don’t want to have anything to do with that man, he literally makes me ill. I’m trying to leave my past behind.”

“Funny thing about pasts,” Varric said, “They have a way of catching up to you.”

Cullen nodded. They were all quiet for a while, and a runner came in behind Cassandra. “Word for you, sir,” Cullen read it and sighed. “They are judging Samson in half an hour. There’s no time to fix this before.”

“Bullshit,” Cassandra said, as the runner literally ran away from the angry Seeker. “She’s in the tavern. We will convince her to speak to you. Tell her this. ALL of this, Commander. It’s not like Samson can be judged without the Inquisitor.”

Cullen found himself on the third floor of the tavern across from Cole, simultaneously trying and not trying to hear what was happening on the first floor.  There were tears, and protests, and explanations... and too many words.  Cole was not helping.

“Singing, singing, singing, singing,” Cole chanted in the opposite corner. “It won’t stop, it doesn’t stop. Blood is too thick to swim in, drowning, drowning.” Cullen clenched his teeth. He liked the boy, he did, he reminded himself. “Wounded knight, shiny and stained. Will my choices never end?” He kept going and going, expanding on the same thing and then shifting suddenly. “Can’t let her see, fragile, fractured, broken. Splintered like the singing shards.”

“That will do, Cole,” Asta’s voice was tired and scratchy from her tears. “Thank you for helping.”  In his irritation he hadn't even heard her coming.

“Haven’t _helped_ ,” Cole looked desperate. “You’re both so loud. Why won’t you just yell at each other and SHUT UP?”

Asta and Cullen blinked at the boy and looked at each other. “You’re right, Cole. We should. It’s rude of us. We’ll take this elsewhere,” Asta apologized. “Will the bottom of the keep do? Or should we take it to the dungeons?”

“Just go,” Cole sighed with relief. “It’s better already. When you hold it in, it gets worse. Shake it loose!”

“We’ll try,” Cullen managed. “Thank you.”

They wove silently through the courtyard, through the kitchens and down to the little library - agreeing mutually without words that they wanted to avoid the main hall where the judgment would be taking place - where he had found her crying so long before. Rubbing the back of his neck, he confessed, “I’m doing it again. I still haven’t figured out how to start, have I?”

Asta nodded. “I suppose.” She hesitated, “Do you have something to say first? Or should I begin?”

Cullen shrugged, “I can’t see that it matters. You don’t have a choice. I have a lyrium addiction that is… exacerbated by contact with the prisoner I need to take charge of. There is no perfect solution.”

“True,” Asta admitted, “You realize that I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t have to?” She was angry, so angry, he could tell, but he didn’t care.

“Yes,” he bit off harshly, “but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it. Honestly, Asta, if you had any idea…”

“Then why don’t you fucking _tell me_ ,” Asta hissed angrily, “So that I have a fucking idea? Sound like a plan?”

“Oh, yes, because I’m so good with words,” Cullen sneered. “I’m sure telling you that I shook for days after merely traveling with Samson on the road will fix everything.”

Asta visibly recoiled, “So long? I… had no idea it was that bad.”

“Well, it is. In fact, it’s worse,” Cullen elaborated, hitting his stride. “And now you’re asking me to spend the foreseeable future as nursemaid to that…” He shook with rage and frustration, fisting his hands by his side. “I will do my duty, Inquisitor.”

“The fuck you will!” Asta’s eyes were wide. “Honestly, Commander, once again you prove that you won’t take care of yourself! You didn’t say anything! You didn’t tell _me._ I would have…”

“You would have _coddled_ me,” Cullen spat. “I don’t need a nanny.”

“The fuck you do! If you don’t care for yourself than someone has to!” Asta shouted. “And I don’t want to be your nanny, I want to be…” she broke off and finished quietly, “I want to be someone you can confide in. I would have helped, Cullen.”

All the fight was gone from her, and the tears were in her eyes again. Cullen drooped visibly. “I know,” he confessed, “but I was scared that you would think…”

“That you couldn’t do your job?” Asta grabbed his coat in her fist and yanked him towards her, putting her arms around his neck.  His own reached to cradle her waist, tentatively. “The only thing that ever makes me think that is when you don’t tell me you are hurting. I need to know, Cullen. Quit being such a…” her words failed her.

“Ass?” He supplied.

“It’ll do for going on with,” she grumbled, still irritated. “And I’m not going to give Samson to you. I’ll send him to Kirkwall. They can have him.” Cullen shuddered. “That’s my final decision, Commander. So stuff it if you don’t like it.”

“The information…”

“Corypheus can’t hide forever. And I told you once already that I’d let the world die in ashes to save you. So this is what it looks like.” Asta thumped his armor. “Ass. Would never have even thought about you taking custody if you hadn’t bloody offered and had told me up front what being near to him did to you.”

“Asta, I can’t let you…” Cullen started.

“Final decision, Commander,” but Asta wouldn’t look at him. “We’re both needed upstairs.”

The judgment itself was straightforward, Asta pointing out Maddox’ loyalty in an attempt to get Samson to show remorse, but failing. She sent him to Kirkwall to Varric’s wary approval in one of her least controversial judgments ever, if not her most popular.

Only she felt as if she hadn’t judged him at all - as if she had just passed the buck to someone else. When Kirkwall executed him, as she was sure they would, the blood would still be on her hands.

Cullen retired to his office afterwards and picked back up his throwing knives and half-heartedly started throwing them again. It wasn’t the perfect solution, it was barely a solution at all. He was still angry, still frustrated and…

Asta opened the door and watched him sink the knives into the dummy. This time, he started to talk. “Samson took everything from those Templars. He corrupted their souls, twisted them into everything they would have hated.”

“You’re letting him get to you,” Asta observed. “Is it the comments from a desperate man? Or the lyrium again?”

“And what if I am?” Cullen rejoined. “The red lyrium left his mind unaltered! He _knew_ what he was doing. And he dares speak as though it were a mercy? The man is a monster.”

“You knew Samson,” Asta hesitated, knowing that they may end up in another fight so soon after the earlier one. “Don’t you feel even a little sympathy for him?”

“I may have once,” Cullen admitted, “But after what he’s done my sympathies lie with those he betrayed. They will extend no further.” He pulled his knives from the dummy, put them back in their sheath and stowed it away in his desk, shutting the drawer softly. “As far as the rest of this, the Red Templars needed to be torn down. We’ve broken Corypheus’ army. This is a real victory.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression turning pained, “I might have known some of them. If my life had gone differently, I might have been one of them.” He wouldn’t meet Asta’s eyes at the admission. She sagged slightly, all her pity directed towards this man she loved, so strong and yet so fragile. He continued, haltingly, “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the Conclave?” He shifted uncomfortably, “If you’d never become the Inquisitor?” He seemed to be asking something different, something more charged.

But Asta knew her answer to that question, “A life without you?” She smiled softly, leaning over his desk. “Never.” Her smile relit the candle in his own, and he grinned at her, raising an eyebrow. It tempted her beyond words, but she straightened. “I have to get back out there. Varric is consulting with Josephine on Samson’s transport, and I have a vested interest in seeing Samson buried in cabbages on his way to Kirkwall. Wish me luck?”

“You already have it,” he laughed, and then stopped, “Will I see you later?” Again, his look was questioning, and Asta puzzled.

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’ll wait up."

　

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously I'm getting close to the fight with Corypheus. I've decided how to use the DLC chapters and Epilogue(s) at this point. I think about two weeks from today it will be wrapped up, unless I find some point where I've contradicted myself and backed myself into some massive plot hole where I have no doubt I'll languish and die. Probably of embarrassment. Thank you all for reading along on this awesome ride. Every comment is like one of Dorian's thoughts - 'a little jewel'. Every kudo is... a slightly smaller jewel, but no less shiny. And for those of you who do neither - I just have to say, I hope it entertained you. I had no greater desire.


	66. A Floating Temple!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are just... there are no words. I love this version far too much. I really hope you laugh. Tell me if you laugh. Please.

Cullen made his way into her - their, Maker’s Breath, would he ever start thinking of it as his room? - quarters very late, and naturally tripped over her boots and the bear rug, cursing under his breath while he tried to regain his balance without knocking anything over or waking her up. Asta had fallen asleep over her book, the candles had burned out so that the only light was from her fade-touched palm, casting green shadows that undulated like water through the room. It seemed unusually active, Cullen thought, but dismissed it. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason why it acted like it did, after all. Soundlessly, he pulled the book from her other hand, closing it gently and setting it on the floor. She would yell at him in the morning, he had no doubt, but right now he just wanted her to be able to rest.

Moving to the other side of the bed, he undressed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb her. He had never known her to fall asleep over a book before, he mused. She must be exhausted. It had been a horrible day, after all. It wasn’t any wonder that she had drifted off like that, even after she had promised to wait up. He was the horrible one, shutting down like that and refusing to communicate. It was a wonder that she didn’t bar the door, kick him out - she deserved better. He slid between the sheets with all the stealth he could muster, but it wasn’t enough.

“There you are,” she murmured, rolling over and curling up against him. “I fell asleep. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he whispered, kissing her head. She smelled like home, he realized, feeling himself relax. “I was very late.” He didn’t want to keep her awake, but he had to know, “You aren’t angry? With me.” he clarified.

“Was earlier. Not, now. Fights happen. Argued with Cassandra two days ago about whether Grant would end up with Peony in Magic and Mercy. She still showed up in your office threatening to geld you. We’re good.”

“Heard about that, did you?” His lips twisted in relief and something like amusement - his fear was almost funny now. Almost.

“Mmhmm,” Asta yawned. “Sleep now, talk in morning. Glad you’re here.”

“Glad to be here,” Cullen closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

Cullen woke a couple of hours later to Asta screaming next to him, her hand pulsing even brighter than before with a greenish glow that they both recognized all too well. He ran to the balcony and looked out, frantic, dragging her with him, and fell to the floor when they saw the Breach wide open and gaping again in the still-night sky.

“Armor, now,” Cullen gritted out. They dressed shakily as the hammering at their door started, Leliana demanding entrance immediately. Cullen finished first and ran down the steps to admit the spymaster and ambassador and Morrigan while Asta stood at the balcony looking pale and as green as the newly torn Breach in the sky over the mountains before her.

“Corypheus has shown his hand,” Asta stated without turning. “Commander is that…”

“Haven,” he growled. “Of course, it would be the Temple.” She didn’t move. “We will need to ride immediately. We can be there in…”

“There is no we,” Asta said, supernaturally calm. “You will stay here in case this is a diversion to pull me away from Skyhold. Your place is here, Commander.”

“My place is with _you._ ” Cullen took two steps forward and Asta turned, palm out. It was the anchor, gaping wide. He stopped, and looked up at her, tortured desperation on his face.

“I will take my inner circle. Please wake and gather them, please, Ambassador? I will leave within the hour, if possible. And have someone saddle our horses, gather potions and have them ready for us.” Josephine fled down the stairs at top speed, for once expedience trumping manners and appearance. Asta turned to the spymaster. “Do you have any scouts near Haven? Any at all?”

“Yes, but I have heard nothing,” Leliana paled. “We must consider them lost. Or too… occupied to inform us.”

“I see.” Asta looked at her blankly. “Send a raven to them anyway. Let them know I am on my way.”

“At once, Inquisitor,” Leliana stated and departed to fulfill the mission given her. Asta turned to Cullen.

“You are not leaving me behind,” he growled. “Not this time.” Asta started to shake her head, and he grabbed her shoulders. “I let you go to Redcliffe, alone. I let you go into the trap at the Winter Palace, alone. Adamant, again, alone. The Arbor Wilds - alone. I watched you fall into the fucking Fade, ALONE. It’s not going to happen again, Asta!”

“And what about the people here, Commander? What about the innocents that could die if…”

“I only care about you!”

“You can’t afford to think that way!”

“It’s too late!” Cullen punched the glass door of the balcony and it shattered. “Do you think that I am any different? That I wouldn’t let the world fall to ruin to keep you alive?! I’m going, Inquisitor.”

“And that is the reason why you are staying,” Asta nearly whispered. “Because I cannot let you make that choice. If I have to choose, there will be no question, Cullen. I would save you, and the world would be ashes and dust and red lyrium. This way, you live. Even if I don’t, you will live, and that’s what is important to me. Let me save you.” She met his eyes, blurry through her unshed tears. “Please, Cullen. If you aren’t alive, the world isn’t worth saving.” She drew a hand over her face and swiped the tears away. “I have to go.”

Cullen grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in. “You will come back.”

“I will try,” she breathed in his ear, and then pulled away firmly. “I love you,” she said, stating a fact.

“I love you.” Cullen choked out.

She walked away, tears falling against her armor, leaving little spots of damp on the leather like raindrops.

***

_Commander,_

_My friends are insisting we rest, lest we arrive without sufficient rest to take on a darkspawn magister from the dawn of time. Amusing, I thought, but I’m in a tent anyway. We have made good time anyway, should arrive at Haven tomorrow._

_Solas is tending the mark as it is trying to spread like it did at Haven before I first came into contact with the Breach. I’m assuming it will stop again once I…_

_Oh, fuck it. I can’t write like this right now. I miss you. I regret telling you that you couldn’t come with me. There has been no sign of any kind of force headed to Skyhold. It’s too late, too late. I will likely not come back from this. I wish I had a persimmon flower. If you get my body back - if there is anything left - bury me instead of burning, please. Somewhere with flowers, ‘amid nature’s beauties’, like the Dalish._

_I should have kissed you one last time. I will regret that to the end of the Fade._

_I love you. Never forget that. Live long, live happily. You are worthy, Cullen._

Dorian ripped the page out from under Asta’s fingers. “This is shit, Inquisitor. You aren’t sending this.”

“Yes, I am.” Asta grabbed it back, signed her name sloppily and fiercely, and rolled it up, careless of smeared ink. She grabbed the waiting raven, less gently than usual, attached the scroll and threw it in the air. It winged away and she faced her friend.

“He’s going to get that letter and ride like hell to get here,” Dorian pointed out. “It’s cruel.”

“Then maybe I’ll get to see him one last time,” Asta stated calmly. “I can’t hope otherwise. We both know I’m not going to live through this, Dorian.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” Bull ripped the tent’s flap open. “I’m your bodyguard. The Chargers always finish the job, Boss.”

***

Cullen left the War Council in a fury and headed directly for the stable. He was done asking permission. Dennet already had the Bog Unicorn - the unnatural thing - saddled and waiting. “How did you…”

“Do you really want to know?” Master Dennet shrugged, a typically Fereldan moment that made Cullen a little homesick. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her out of here. Elaina is a warrior, and I’m only a horsemaster, but I’ll be damned to the Void before I’d let her ride off into danger without me.” Cullen nodded and mounted up. “Maker speed you, son,” the horsemaster said.

Cullen spun the horse and rode out through the gates, ducking underneath the portico and thundering over the bridge as fast as the thing he rode could carry him.

***

This battle was _stupid_ , Asta realized halfway through. Endless stairs, and Corypheus flitting up them like some blighted butterfly as soon as they started making progress. “What, does Corypheus figure he’ll tire me out if he makes me go up enough flights?!” She yelled at Dorian. “Doesn’t he realize that I’ve been climbing fucking mountains for nearly two years, doing stairs in fucking armor and that my glutes and thighs are fucking STONE at this point?!”

“You do have a lovely arse!” Giggled Sera, firing arrows into Coryphe-shit. “Izzat the stairs, then?”

“Well, it wasn’t praying the Chant!” Asta shot back. Morrigan dipped and wheeled in a deadly dance with the other dragon above them, and Sera shuddered when she got a little too close. “What, Sera, haven’t you seen a mage turn into a dragon before?”

“That’s just unnatural!” She yelled. “Women should be people, not animals!”

“More fighting, less talking!” Cassandra hollered. “How you even have the breath, I don’t understand.”

“Getting winded, Cass?” Dorian grinned, “Feeling your years?”

“Fuck you, Tevinter,” she cursed and bashed Corypheus back particularly viciously. “I’ll show you what years of experience can do.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Dorian’s face lit up. “I’m so sorry to say that you’re not my type. Flattering, though.”

“Don’t flirt with my Kadan,” Bull bitched. “He’s taken!” Cassandra growled at both of them and kicked Corypheus in the stomach.

Corypheus flitted out of existence in a blink and the group stood, panting. Varric drank a regeneration potion and scratched his head. “You know, this whole fight would be more impressive if the Temple of Sacred Ashes was floating in mid-air. When I write about it, I’m going to add that. This is… anticlimactic.”

Asta snorted. “Rather. Maybe you can write that it was Scout Harding at the base of the Temple before it takes off into the air, fueled by the power of Corypheus’ connection to the Fade. She’s a very likable character. She could be threatened by demons and terrors, that are falling directly out of the Breach again. Take it right back to the beginning.”

“Oh, that’s good!” Varric approved. “I think I will use that, do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Asta said, drinking her own potion. “Just don’t put in so many fucking stairs. And make me a better fighter. That would be amazing. Maybe I could do some spinning shit like Bull does with his axe?”  Varric nodded thoughtfully.

Cole spoke, still confused, “What did the stairs ever do to you? They _like_ you.”

Asta snorted, “That explains a lot.” Cole nodded seriously. “I suppose we ought to climb some more.” She stretched and froze, hearing the soft thud of hoof beats. Without fanfare Cullen rode into the ruined Temple and swung off the Unicorn. “Fuck, Cullen, what the Void are you doing here?!”

“You’re alive,” he growled. “You owe me a kiss. Where is Corypheus?” He grabbed her, kissed her like she was oxygen, and pulled back. “Where is Corypheus?” he repeated.

“He’s at the top of the Temple,” Asta waved vaguely, shaken. “Cullen, this isn’t… this isn’t even that bad… you didn’t have to…”

“Oh, shit,” Varric groaned. “Cullen, you have to let her save the world. You can’t just ride in at the last second like a fairy tale prince! It ruins the whole feel of the story! SHE’S the hero, not you!”

“I don’t care who the fucking hero is!” Cullen yelled. “I’m not going to let her _die_ to make it a better story! And I’m not going to fucking wait around pining at Skyhold like a damned princess in a tower waiting for my true love to show up!”

Cassandra sighed, “This is very romantic, Varric. I think you should leave it in.”

“You’d make a lovely princess,” Asta said to him. “But you’d have to grow out your hair, I’m afraid. Princesses are usually blond with long curly hair, so you‘ve got that going for you.”

Cullen gritted his teeth. “Are we here to kill Corypheus or not?” Behind him, Morrigan crashed into the ground in dragon form and morphed back to woman, trying to stand and failing.

“Well, now we are killing a dragon,” Asta pointed out unnecessarily. “Vivienne, you’re with me, Bull,”

“Fuck, yeah!” Bull roared.

“Cassandra and the Commander,” Asta eyed him. “I suppose. The rest of you, try to save Morrigan? I’d hate for Kieran to lose his mom to internal damage. After that, feel free to join us. Cullen, Corypheus isn’t much of a challenge, but we do have to kill his dragon first.”

“Corypheus isn’t a…” Cullen shook his head, “What happened?”

“Read Varric’s version,” Asta recommended. “It will sound better. In the meantime, do you have potions?” He nodded. “Any bees?”

Cullen smirked, “Of course,” he kissed her one more time. “I wouldn’t fight a dragon without them.”

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing these scenes I wrote them about five (?) times from different points of view and - went with the parody. I'm a little sorry. I have dramatic and powerful versions with lovely imagery and some of my better fight scenes and still went with the parody. I don't even know. But at this point if you were looking for anything except a funny romp through the game with a foulmouthed Inquisitor I suppose you'd be reading something else, right? You probably wouldn't have gotten to chapter 66 otherwise.


	67. A New Appreciation of the Chant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not like that!

Varric rose his hand almost timidly in the air. “Uh, no offense, Your Inquisitorialness, but there’s nothing much I can do to help Morrigan. If the choices are fighting a blighted dragon and helping a healer, I’d rather come with you…” Varric swallowed, an audible gulp, “I think.”

“Coming too, I am,” Sera insisted. “No point sticking around for the witch. Plus, bees,” she pointed out helpfully. “And arrows.”

“Always with the arrows,” Dorian said irritably. “One word covers a multitude of sins with you, doesn’t it?” He turned to Asta, “My skills are neither useful here or there. Unless you want me to try to resurrect the dragon and try to turn it on Corypheus?”

“That. Would. Be. Awesome.” Bull got all starry-eyed. “Can you do that, Kadan?”

“Sadly, no,” Dorian pointed out. “You could look at me like that sometime though.”

“Look, people, the dragon is coming. I need someone here with Morrigan!” Asta could hear the swooping. “We’ve got to pull away from her or Kieran won’t have a mom. Solas! Cole! You stay. Everyone with me that’s coming. Bull, make some noise! Draw it away!”

Bull started roaring and Blackwall started to bang his shield loudly, walking backwards across the cleared area. “Vivienne, I’ll need your shields.”

The mage sniffed. “Darling, this is my first dragon. I’m NOT going to wilt in the background like some wallflower to cast shields.”

Asta gritted, “This is no time to argue. Dorian, shields up! Keep them up. On everyone you can manage.” She wrinkled her brow. “What am I forgetting, Commander?”

“Asta,” he asked with trepidation, “Does this dragon breathe fire or…” The dragon swooped down spitting red lyrium and lightening and Cullen cussed inventively.

“Why, Commander,” Asta was suddenly fine and in her element, “I haven’t heard those words since you…”

“Asta!” He warned, and joined Blackwall and Bull at a run, “That’s private!”

“Whatever you say, Commander. Sera, Varric - rain down arrows from above! I know there is isn’t much height to find, but do your best! Don’t get dead! Keep the bees coming for as long as you can!” Asta slipped into stealth, but they could still hear her voice. “I’m going to try to cut it’s hamstrings. Cass! On my flank!”

Cullen whispered a brief portion of the Chant. “’For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water‘,” and charged up to the dragon shield pointed up, for once, instead of angling down, the better to deflect the much larger dragon’s blows, hopefully right back in its face. He was impressed by the team’s quick acceptance of their leader’s directives, as loose as the tactics were. She made the most of what they were, even when they wouldn’t obey.

And then he saw Viv slash at the dragon with her arcane sword and saw it split open like a ripe fruit. She _danced_ around the beast, moving in and out of the Fade itself, pulling it around her like just another absurd outfit. The beast couldn’t even find her, an absurd partner in Vivienne’s skilled dance of death. She slipped out of the Fade and immolated the dragon three times in a row. Cullen suddenly had an entirely new appreciation of the Chant.

“Holy Maker in his Golden City,” Cullen yelled, “Asta! Andraste was a _mage_!”

“Told you, Commander!” Asta appeared next to his elbow slipping out of stealth just long enough to dip poison into the slashes that Vivienne had created. “And Vivienne’s abilities as a Knight-Enchanter? Based on the elvhen Arcane Warriors. What does THAT tell you?” She flashed a cheeky grin at him and disappeared again, leaving him to shield bash the dragon’s rear leg on his own.

He had to quickly refocus as the lizard tried to claw him away with her back claw, but caught it with his shield and shoved it back, throwing it off balance. Vivienne took advantage and slashed at the underbelly with her glowing sword, sending sparks of magic flying away from it like little fireflies. “Vivienne, you are amazing!”

“Well, aren’t you _precious_ ,” purred Vivienne. “I am, rather. A little busy at the moment, though, Commander.” She pulled the Fade back around her and flanked to the dragon’s tail, narrowly avoiding a swipe.

Cullen pulled back and pulled one of his jars from his belt. Sera and Varric had already run out of bees, he knew, but he had three of his own. And it looked like the dragon needed a… distraction. “HEADS UP!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, and tossed it in. “BEES INCOMING!”

Sera cheered from the ledge of rock she was shooting from. “That’s a jackboot, Cully-Wully!”

The party regrouped, the warriors heading towards the creature’s flank to deal as much damage as possible while it was panicking. “Damn, that was a good jar,” Asta said right behind him. “Look at all those wasps!” Her tone was admiring.

“Extra blood lotus,” Cullen confessed. “Dagna helped me.” Asta slapped his ass and dove back into stealth before he could do anything about it. “Asta,” he laughed a warning, just before it all went to shit.

Asta stepped out of stealth at the wrong time and the dragon stepped on her, crushing her underneath its enormous foot, still panicking from the wasps. It didn’t even register her presence. She pulled herself up awkwardly, on one arm and tried to back up, scooting on her butt. She was struggling, and seemed to not be able to stand.

And then Dorian threw something yellow at her and the air smelled of spindleweed and the ocean for a moment and she crawled away, back towards where Sera still shot from. “Stay back there, Inquisitor!” Cullen yelled, his heart in his throat. “Don’t move!”

“Fuck that, Commander,” she yelled, and raised her palm towards the dragon imperiously. And Cullen again had a flash of the Chant come to mind, watching her with her hand raised towards the sky. “Let Chaos be Undone,” he whispered, eyes wide, as Asta ripped a hole in the Veil itself to save him and their friends, and the dragon was sucked into the Fade. She held her palm afterward, wincing a bit and Cullen ran to her as fast as he could.

“Asta!” He fell to his knees and pulled off his gauntlets. She was breathing hard, but not wheezing or whistling. “Where does it hurt?”

“I’ll do,” she whimpered. “Just get me out a potion?” Cullen pulled out one of his own and passed it to her, still cradling her palm in her hand. “Hate doing that. It fucking hurts every time. Worth it, though.” Her eyes scanned him critically, worry behind them. “You’re all right?”

“Barely even scratched,” Cullen assured her. “Vivienne is truly…”

“I know, right?” Asta smiled and winced again. “Help me up. Have to get up those stairs. Corypheus…”

“You’re in no shape,” he pointed out. “Corypheus started this. Either he’ll come to you, or he’ll wait for you to come to him. For that matter, if he flees, he knows we’ll hunt him down.”

Asta shook her head. “I have to end this today. I will be FUCKED if I give that bastard magister one more minute of my life. He’s taken enough.” She hoisted herself to her feet, testing her legs briefly and then standing firm. “I’m fine.” She looked up at the stairs up to the top of the Temple and sighed. “How many stairs do you think I’ll have to climb to reach him?” She came back to herself and surveyed her friends. “Is everyone okay?”

They reported back in favorably, and she sighed. “How many potions do we have left?” Their stock was small - enough for four, not nine. “Well, shit.” She sighed. “Who is going with me?”

Bull shifted forward. “Chargers always finish the job, Boss.” She nodded, more tired than she cared to admit. Cullen’s brow creased. He opened his mouth.

“I’m coming,” Vivienne stated simply, as if she were talking about shopping in Val Royeaux.

“Then I’m the last,” Cullen bit off. Asta sighed, and shook her head. “Why not?”

“You know why not,” Asta clenched her jaw. “If you hadn’t ridden Saber into the ground…”

“Saber?”

“The Bog Unicorn,” she hissed. “Her name is Saber!”

“Right…” Cullen shook his head in confusion. “I didn’t realize it - she - had a gender.”

“If you hadn’t ridden her like death himself was following you, you wouldn’t be here! We’ve barely had an opportunity to fight together, and though you fight similar to Cassandra, it‘s hardly the same. I don‘t know how to direct you, and I can‘t afford to just let you just do your thing hoping it will work out! Too much is at stake!”

“I am your shield!” Cullen forced out through his teeth.

“Then come after me when you find another stock of potions,” Asta hissed in fear and anger. “Otherwise, you’re a liability! I only have enough to take four! And I won’t risk you or the others just for the comfort of having you along.” They stared at each other in frustration for several long seconds and Varric started to laugh.

“Maker, you guys need to get a room.” They turned their glares on him and he raised his hands in surrender. “Right. Not my business.” His smile went wicked. “Maybe I’ll put it in the book though.”

“Shut up, Varric, now is not the time,” Asta spat out and turned away to face Cassandra. “Would you mind, Cassandra?” The Seeker nodded. “All right, let’s go see some stairs about a Magister,” and Asta started walking.

Cullen watched her leave like half of himself was ripping apart with every step. Varric watched him watching her. “You know, Curly,” he looked Bianca over, “Solas and Cole had more grenades and potions.” Cullen’s face lit up and he flew back towards the elf and spirit, took everything they had that they didn’t need for Morrigan and ran back up the stairs, belt clanking with its burden.

This is one fight that he wouldn’t be left behind for.

He caught up with her as they crested the first landing, and he saw Corypheus and the orb. He was… huge. He had never been this close in Haven, and he stared at Asta that she had faced the monster in close quarters twice and never hesitated about a third. She glared at him, and he waved a hand at his belt and her face relaxed and then drew up, worried.

Her companions faced forward, observing the Magister as he manipulated the heavens themselves with the object in his hand, so Cullen reached out, pulled off her helm, yanked her closer and kissed her, one last time. It was soft and full of longing, and promises made but not kept. Yet. His tongue swept her mouth open and she leaned in tighter against him, her own lips telling a story of fear and desires, while her arms came up around his neck and she clutched at the back of his hair, threading her fingers through. Nearly forgetting where they were, he cupped her ass and held the small of her back, pulling her even closer. He moved against her, his mouth moving over hers with more urgency and only breaking away when they both couldn’t breathe, their hearts pounding in their ears as they leaned their foreheads against each other, eyes closed.

They slowly realized their companions were watching them and they blushed together at the Bull’s knowing nod and Cassandra’s heavy breathing. “If you both are quite finished?” Vivienne said, with an undercurrent of understanding.

“Umm, yes,” Cullen said, and he dropped his hands away from Asta’s body to rub his neck, blushing deeper. Asta grinned at Cassandra and put back on her helm.

“I want to hear _everything_ ,” the Seeker demanded, “just as soon as we send that thing to the Void.” She turned her grim gaze on the Commander who was having a hard time meeting her eyes, “I will not be denied, Commander.” She turned back to the work at hand in an instant.

Cullen muttered, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Seeker,” and Asta giggled. Then she took a deep breath and descended into the abyss.

“Cassandra, take point. Vivienne, shields - yes I know, it’s your first magister, but you’re the only mage this time. Shields! Whack at it with pointy things only if it gets too close, and… keep Resurgence for emergencies. Yes, I know I don’t have to tell you to do that. Bull, you and the Commander are to flank it, or give Cass a break if her guard starts to falter. Otherwise, flank, flank, flank and cut him to ribbons. If you have bees, use them. I’ll harry him - something tells me he’s going to target me, though, so I might be dodging more than usual. I‘ll use grenades and traps if I can.” She turned to Cullen. “Anything to add, Commander?” There was still fear in her eyes, for him more than herself.

“Don’t hit your head,” Cullen said, and knocked on the side of the helm. She rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. He pulled his own back on. “Sounds just fine, Inquisitor,” and he bowed, waving her forward. “Shall we dance?”

“Of course,” murmured Asta with a wicked smile. “Let’s.” And she dropped into stealth and ran away.

A few minutes later, Cullen was puzzled. “This is too easy,” he complained to Bull over the Magister’s insane monologue about boiling oceans and rending skies. “Is he even trying?”

“We tried to tell you when we got here,” Bull grunted. “I could do without the glowy red magic whip things, though. They sting.”

“I think Asta could have taken him on her own,” Cullen confessed, “She’s better than she thinks she is.” His love was currently drawing the ugly red magics away from them, dodging and ducking and throwing grenades when she could. “Maker, she’s fast.” He bashed the Magister’s legs with his shield. “Well, maybe not entirely on her own,” he winced as she fell on her ass and had to jump back away awkwardly.

“That’s going to smart in the morning,” Bull grunted. “You doin’ okay, Seeker?”

“Yes,” called Cassandra. “Apparently darkspawn magisters from the dawn of time have no idea what to do when the lyrium in their blood is set on fire.” She backed slowly, shield up as the Magister crumpled and smirked in victory. “That has to hurt.”

Cullen watched the Magister call out to his false god and shook his head. “Maker, it’s all in the Chant, isn’t it?” he breathed. “Asta?” he looked up when she didn’t reply. His fiancée was stalking the magister and saying something to him with a determination in her eyes that he had never seen there before. She raised her palm, and the orb flew into it, shocking even her. She stood and stared at it, aghast at what had happened, and then, deadly and beautiful, shredded Corypheus into the Void. Wincing, she raised the orb up at the Breach, a sword to the heavens, and a bolt of pure green light shot up and into it. Long seconds past, and the sky healed over, painted with more delicate colors, a scar where the wound had been, rippling and oddly beautiful.

And then, as their companions ran up the stairs towards her, she dropped the orb in pain and fell to her knees. Cullen dashed towards her in an instant. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she gasped. “I just wasn’t made to handle that… thing.” She watched Solas pick up the pieces of the orb, his face a mask. “Solas?” She asked. “Can it be… fixed?” She scrambled to her feet, brushing off Cullen’s attempt to support her.

“No,” and Asta winced. “It is not your fault.” He looked resigned for a minute and then stood. “I want you to know, Inquisitor, that you will always have my respect.”

“Are you… leaving?” Asta didn’t seem surprised, Cullen noted. The elf nodded, and walked away, leaving the halves of the orb where they lay.

Cassandra, the hero of the hour, arched her back and cracked her neck. “What do we do now, Inquisitor?”

“Let’s go home,” and Asta grinned, “back to Skyhold.” And she sighed, remembering. “Well, first we should probably make sure they know we’re alive. I’d rather ride back a little - slower - than the ride in.” She laughed. “He’s really gone, right? And Cassandra - you lit the lyrium in his blood on _fire_?!”

Bull grunted, “That was bad ass. Anytime you want to have a go at riding the Bull, Seeker, just ask.” Dorian hit him. “What, you’ve got your whole ‘if Cullen ever asks’ thing, I want mine too. She kills dragons, she sets blood on fire! That‘s fucking hot!”

“It will never happen, Bull,” Cassandra stated bluntly. “And yes, I did. It’s a Seeker ability. That is mine. I don’t use it often, for obvious reasons.”

“Likewise,” Cullen smirked at Dorian, who… blushed.

Asta narrowed her eyes at her friend and then laughed at him. He scowled back. “You know this is where I could tell Cullen about those novels you keep…” Asta lunged at him and covered his lips with her hand.

“Breathe a word and you are _dead_ , mage,” she hissed at him, while smiling all too brightly at Cullen.

“Are these the novels about the Warden and her King that were under the bed?” Cullen asked, still smirking, “Because honestly, there was no plot in those.” Asta blushed and drug him away, still complaining. “What? I get bored when you’re gone and I can’t sleep.” He sighed, “I don’t _mind_. I was a little shocked at first, but…”

“I want to read these books,” Cassandra called after her.

“No problem!” Asta yelled back, “I won’t be able to look at them for weeks at this point.” Her face was vividly red. Cullen dug his heels into the ground to make her stop moving.

“Asta,” he spoke softly. “Why are you running?”

“Because there was no plot,” she tugged harder and stopped all at once, defeated. “I’m too tired to pull on you any further. Stupid magister. Fucking stairs.” She spun around quickly and buried her face in his fur. “It’s unnecessary and silly.”

“You know what I kept thinking while you were fighting tonight?” Cullen asked her, stroking her hair softly. She shook her head, still buried. “I kept thinking about the Canticle of Victoria.”

“’Let chaos be undone?’” Asta asked, tilting her head so she could breathe better.

“You are awfully good at undoing chaos,” Cullen pointed out. “Even in my office.”

Asta snorted and blew hair out of her eyes. “Oh, yes, that was the hardest thing I’ve unraveled. Forget the Temple of Dirthamen. Stupid elvhen puzzles. Don’t tell Solas…” her face fell. “Nevermind.”

Cullen wrapped his arms around her. “I also thought a lot about Transfigurations.” Asta froze. “Not that verse. Verse ten. ‘The Veil holds no uncertainty for her and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield,” he tipped up her face towards him, “her foundation and her sword.”

“Cullen Rutherford, are you comparing yourself to the _Maker_?” Asta’s eyes were wide, but at least half with humor. “Are you trying to get struck by lightening?!”

Cullen shrugged, “If the shoe fits…” and Asta kissed him. “And it’s better than Maferath,” and she kissed him again, deeper this time, pulling him down to her in an unspoken demand, and listening only vaguely to the hoots in the background of her friends.

She stopped for breath and said, “You’ve been listening. And I think that you have kissed me more in public today than ever before.” She smiled sweetly. “I like it.”

“So do I,” Cullen growled, and pulled her back in. Eventually, everyone wandered away to set up camp and left the two of them blissfully alone in the wreckage of the Temple, for once building a happy memory amongst the rubble and ashes. He pulled away at last, murmuring, “We should get back to everyone else. You’re supposed to send that letter.”

“Fuck the letter.” She bit his neck, and he groaned.

“Leliana needs to know,” Cullen pointed out reluctantly.

Asta sighed, “Fine,” she whined. “I’ll send the letter.”

***

_Dear Leliana,_

_Fucking magister from the dawn of time sent to the Void. Literally. All alive except for him and the dragon. Tell Kieran his mom is bad ass. Use those words and tell Morrigan it was me when she complains about the bad language. Kid needs to loosen up a bit. So does she. Bonus points if you can get him to repeat it in front of Mother Gisele._

_Oh, and Coryphish was a weakling. Seriously, I’ve killed BEARS that were more difficult than him._

_Also, found a stray Commander. Going to keep him. Believe he’s housetrained. Very cute growl._

_Going to ride back slow. See you in a few days. Send food to meet us. Didn’t really figure we were coming back. Yeah, I know how fatalistic that sounds._

_Tell Josie Antivan chocolates would be good. Surely I deserve something for saving the world?_

_Asta_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This was hard to write! Been working on it for weeks - wanted to capture the frustration of the blahness of the fight, but so much to point out... hope I did it justice.
> 
> NSFW next chapter. Probably up tomorrow.


	68. A Bit of Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Updating tags, too. Pretty mild, but roleplay - though Cullen can't stay in character - and VERY light dom/sub undertones. Teasing, really.

Letter sent, Asta spoke to her friends and checked in on Morrigan. The mage was resting comfortably, broken ribs slowly mending with the help of health and sleeping potions. Cole was with her, in case she needed anything, so Asta rested her hand on his shoulder, thanked him for helping and left the tent.

Her friends were all occupied, and while Cassandra looked like she wanted to pin her down and ask personal questions, Varric distracted her. Asta knew what they were up to when she realized they had set up her tent - her own, because with Solas gone now Sera would bunk with Blackwall - far away from the rest of them. Asta shook her head in a little embarrassment combined with gratitude.  No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.

She stepped into their tent to remove her armor, to find Cullen already there, their bedrolls rolled out and his armor off, with a heated look in his eyes. “We should…” she started and he pulled her into his arms and put his mouth on hers, intent on finishing what they started before she had to go write the letter for Leliana.

He pulled her leather armor from her impatiently, “I need to see that you are unharmed,” he said, while pulling her tunic off her head.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Asta teased. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the aftermath of battle, or adrenaline, or that we’re away from the pressures of Skyhold, or just defeated the man who was ruining the world…”

“I’ll show you pressure,” Cullen growled against her neck, and he pulled her into his erection, making her laugh. “Now strip, recruit,” and Asta was taken aback.

“Cullen?”

“Is this okay?” He pulled back a bit, “You said before…”

Asta grinned. “It’s fine. I’ll tell you if you take it too far.”

“Good,” he smiled, his face lighting up. “Nothing wrong with a bit of fun,” he pointed out mischievously, grinning wide. “Now, strip, recruit.” He sat down on the bedroll. “I need to check your… physical fitness.” His ears turned a little red, but otherwise managed not to blush.

Asta stepped back and removed her boots. She loosened the laces of her pants, and turned her back to him, slowly dropping them to the floor, making sure he had a full view of her ass and everything that was and wasn‘t there. She turned around to meet the hungry look in his eyes.

“Recruit, smalls are an official part of the Inquisition uniform,” the Commander barked. “Would you care to explain why you aren’t wearing any?”

“The same reason you aren’t, Commander,” Asta sassed, guessing.

“Insubordination, recruit,” Cullen’s eyes were laughing. “Should I give you latrine duty?”

“Surely there’s something… else I could help you with?” Asta purred, and removed her breastband. It was cold, the peaks stood out stiffly, and she cupped them idly, moaning a little and leaning towards him.

“I could think of something,” the pupils had nearly swallowed the amber in the Commander’s eyes as he feasted on her form. “It would be a shame to waste that ass on latrine duty.” His eyes lit fires between her legs and she shifted a little uncomfortably. It was ridiculous that a little game like this should have so much effect on her. “Can you follow orders, recruit?” He breathed harder through his nose.

“Yes, ser,” Asta said breathily. Maker, this was _fun_.

Cullen seemed to agree by the thickness in his voice and the glimmer in his eyes, “Then come here, and kneel.” Asta sauntered forward and knelt before him. “Kiss me,” he whispered, abandoning the game temporarily, and she leaned in and met his lips. They were warm when the air around her was so chilly and she sank into the warmth they offered. “Take off my shirt,” he ordered, still at a whisper, unable to find his voice in the want that was welling up with him. She reached for the hem and pulled it loose and lifted, slowly exposing his muscled, lean torso to the dimming light. He lifted his arms in turn and Asta shifted it over his head gently, tossing it behind her as soon as it was free. She traced her fingers down his chest as if she was teasing, but was really just unable to resist, down to the waistband, hovering there without touching.

He lifted his hand and touched her between her legs gently. He swallowed, feeling the wetness there. “Recruit, I think you like taking orders.” He panted softly, willing himself to have control.

“Only from you, Ser,” Asta breathed. “May I take off your pants, Ser?”

“Very well,” Cullen groaned out as she reached for him. “Maker, Asta, I don’t know if I can take much more.”

“You are in charge, Ser,” Asta pointed out, “You decide when we’re done playing.” She smiled saucily at him, raising her eyebrows. He groaned at the invitation. “I would have thought the Commander of the Inquisition had more… willpower, though.” She shifted the pants down his legs, gently tugging, drawing them off his ankles and leaving him bare before her. She bit her lip to keep from jumping him right then.

“I’m definitely not the one with the power, here,” Cullen grumbled. “Bring the lantern closer and turn up the flame, recruit, I want to see you clearly.”

Asta leaned over his lap, making sure to brush against him with her breasts. Accordingly, he raised a hand to cup her, running his thumb over her and making her catch her breath. He pinched then, and she gasped, pulling the lantern closer abruptly and arching into his hand in reflex. “Commander!” she gasped out. “Please do that again!” He had barely touched her, and she was throbbing. This was almost too much fun.

“I’ll give the orders, recruit,” but his voice was still low, thick with emotion.  The lantern's uplit her curves, casting everything into shadow and brightness. “For a little longer, anyway.” He stroked the breast harder and flicked his thumb against the nipple and she moaned. Encouraged, he dropped the hand down back to the apex of her thighs and started to stroke, gathering the damp around his fingers and drawing loops around her entrance and bundle of nerves. “How should I have you? Would you ride me?” He dipped a finger into her and she moaned again. “How long have you wanted your Commander, recruit? Do you touch yourself and think of me?”

“Always, Ser,” Asta gasped, trying to grind into his hand. “Since I joined, I have wanted you.” Honesty was in her eyes.

“What about more than want,” her Commander demanded, “When did you start loving me?” There was a needy tone to his voice now, and her face softened.

“Since you apologized to me in Haven,” she confessed, and was rewarded with a second finger inside her, stretching her further. She called out breathlessly. “Please, Commander, I need you.”

“I won’t have you, recruit,” Cullen withdrew his hand and she nearly sobbed with the lack of his touch. “But I will have the Inquisitor?” He looked at her, almost pleadingly, and pulled her against him. “If she‘ll have me?”

“Always, Cullen,” she said, and he kissed her with begging undertones, pulling her into his lap and adjusting himself to fit between her thighs so that he was cradled between them. He closed his eyes and let her cover him, pulling her into his lips and letting all the restrained passion break out, wrapping his strong arms around her and cupping her closer. He thrust up against her and slid inside, her arousal drawing him inside with no resistance, nearly breaking him with her warmth. His head dropped to her shoulder and he breathed heavily. “Asta,” he groaned. “What you do to me…”

Asta rocked against him and he cried out as she clenched against him. He was firm and desperate for release, and she could feel their throbbing passing back and forth between them, a rhythm of love and aching desire that begged to be completed. She rocked again and he met her halfway, pressing himself into her without reserve. It was her turn to gasp his name, and groaning at the sound he moved faster, rubbing into and against her with every little movement as she rocked against him, long minutes of pressure and lust. 

It wasn't enough, and he broke away, frustrated with the lack of movement. “Roll over?” He growled, but it was a question, not an order.  She laid herself down against their makeshift bed, pulling him to her gently and took him, both of them drawing the other against themselves, giving and taking in equal measure, a gift of themselves to each other.

He felt her orgasm begin and started moving to draw it out, shallower and quicker, and then deeper, harder as she cried out against him. Only a few more thrusts and he let himself go, “Asta, I love you,” he groaned. “Never… I can’t…”

“Come for me, Cullen,” she ordered, winded, and he shook himself loose into her, pouring out his pain and worry and filling her with love instead. They panted against each other, shaking and she drew him down against her, suddenly rattled. “I was so scared.” She started to cry. “I thought… I thought…”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Cullen said. “Why do you think I came? I couldn’t…” He pulled back and shifted next to her, holding her tight against him while she tried to regain control. “I couldn’t just lose you, Asta. Not now. Not ever.” She buried her face against his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he felt so helpless when she cried. “We’re okay now. It can’t get worse than Corypheus, right?” Asta laughed against him and pulled back, tear streaked, hair stringy and damp and absolutely gorgeous.

“Coryphe-shit wasn’t _anything_ ,” she giggled, slightly hysterically. “Of course it can get worse! I have three dragons to fight in the Emprise, and apparently they breathe _ice_. Honestly, Cullen, you should know better than to say something like that!” She whacked him gently on his shoulder. “You’re jinxing the entire Inquisition.”

“But maybe I can come with you?” His eyes begged.

“Same rules as before,” Asta sighed. “Unless you want to step down as Commander and just be part of my inner circle. With Solas gone I do have a vacancy. But they need you, love.” She stroked the hair at the back of his neck absently. “I need you too, though. And your jars of bees,” she laughed again.

“You think he’s gone forever, then?” He brushed the hair out of her eyes and she leaned into his hand, letting him stroke her cheek.

“I do,” Asta confirmed. “He told me long ago that he was never comfortable surrounded by shems and the Chantry. He was an elven apostate, and while we reached… an understanding recently, he was never going to stay. Whatever his goals truly are, they aren’t with us.” She sighed, “I wish that was all it was, but I suspect… but it’s crazy. Just truly insane, so never mind.”

“More insane then darkspawn magisters?” Cullen raised an eyebrow mockingly, “Or ancient elvhen still alive and kicking ass? Or a Chantry archivist defeating two dragons with bees?” He started to laugh at her. “Asta, as Varric says, everything that happens to you is insane! Whatever your suspicions are about Solas, I have a feeling they are right. Tell me?”

“Later,” Asta curled up into him. “I’m exhausted. I’m starving, for more than food. I want to eat, sleep, and have you again before we leave for Skyhold.” He choked against her. “Honestly, Cullen, the best thing about Corypenis being defeated is that I get to spend more time with _you_. Doing normal stuff.”

“Normal stuff,” Cullen laughed low. “What is normal stuff for the woman who defeated Corypheus?”

“Reading. Shopping for books. I want to take you to the bookshop in Val Royeaux - they have schematics there that would blow you away! And I want to go back to the lake again, just you and me. I want you to come to the Avvar with me. And I want to play chess against you properly - no letting me win this time…”

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Cullen murmured. “So far so good. I’d like to take you to meet my family.” Asta squeezed him hard, nervous, but eager.  "Maker, Mia will either love you or you'll hate each other at first sight."

“OI!” Sera yelled from outside the tent. “If you two are gonna eat, you’d better peel yourselves away from each other or it’ll all be gone. Sexy times all well and good but food! NOW. Making enough noise to wake the dead… OR NOT!” She yelled. “Let’s not do that. Dorian! No waking the dead! BULL! THAT MEANS RESTRAIN YOURSELF!”

Asta and Cullen dissolved in laughter against each other and Cullen reached regretfully for his pants. “Where do you think you’re going?” Asta pulled him back down.

“Food?” He raised his eyebrow again. “I’ll bring some for you…” He kissed her slowly and persuasively.

“Very well,” Asta grumbled. “And then?”

“I am yours,” he breathed lowly, smiling slowly. “Just give me a minute.” He pulled on his pants and looked at his shirt and smirked. “I think I’ll give Dorian an eyeful,” he winked and pulled on his boots.

Asta busted up laughing at him and then quieted, listening hard as he left the tent with a rustle and another wink.

“Bless the Maker!” Cassandra exclaimed. “Commander!” There was a clatter like something metal dropped hard on a rock. “Shit,” she cursed.

“Cassandra,” greeted Cullen. There was the clinking of tin plates against copper kettles. “Looks great, Varric. Thanks.”

“Didn’t waste any time getting your shirt off, eh, Curly?” Varric commented casually.

“Nope,” Cullen bantered, “Though not all of us are as lucky to have your chest hair. Shame, that.”

“We all have our failings,” Varric allowed.

“Guh,” Dorian’s voice whined. “Leaving so quickly, Commander? You won’t… sit and stay a while?” Asta could hear Bull’s growl.

“Sorry, Dorian, I don’t want to get between you and your man,” Cullen admitted. “I like my arms where they are.”

“Very wise,” grunted Bull possessively. Asta giggled, and stifled herself, lest she miss anything.

“They are very nice arms,” sighed Dorian.

“Kadan…” Bull warned.

“Ugh, put on a shirt already,” Sera whined. “Twice now! TWICE! I don’t want to see this!”

“Maker’s Glory, I do,” Dorian muttered not so softly. There was a thud, like something being knocked over. “Amatus! What are you doing!”

“Stop. Looking,” growled Bull. “You’re coming with me.”

“KEEP IT DOWN!” Yelled Blackwall. “I want to get some sleep!”

Cullen made it back to the tent, to the background of additional yelling and fussing behind him, handed her the plates, pulled off his boots and tied them into the tent, laughing the whole time. “That was fun,” he admitted. “I can see many more days of teasing Dorian in front of me.”

“Just be careful,” warned Asta, “Bull is the jealous type, but so is Dorian. And Bull will look too, trust me. Bull might threaten you, but Dorian - he can fry you in your armor.” She sat up further and pulled her plate into her lap. “Cassandra’s reaction was the best, though.”

“ I don’t know,” Cullen leaned towards her before grabbing his own plate. “I like yours.” He kissed her lightly. “Remember Wicked Grace?” He took a bite and swallowed. “I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”

“You’re on, Commander.”

 


	69. You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone remember how I told you about my abysmal taste in music? Well, I strongly recommend you listen to Lifehouse's 'You and Me' for this chapter. STRONGLY. It's one of Cullen's theme songs for this fic.
> 
> NSFW towards the end.
> 
> Doing another chapter today in celebration of reaching more than 4000 hits! I totally remember when it was 13. Thank you all for reading. So humbled, so grateful that there is anyone out there loving Asta at all. You're just awesome. So thanks. Again.

The trip back to Skyhold was uneventful, and other than Solas’ regrettable absence, free of drama. Several times Asta found herself turning to ask him a question just to realize all over again that he was gone.

They slunk back into Skyhold stealthily, trying not to disturb anyone, only to be tackled by her Ambassador. “Upstairs!” Josie tugged her into her room, Cullen following with a sigh. “Now then, we have a party to plan. We need approval for a _real_ dress - and…” Josie realized Cullen was there. “Commander, you should match.”

Cullen groaned. “Not more finery! I don’t want to be…”

“No exceptions, Commander! Now, Asta, choose a dress. They were made to your last measurements that Dagna took for your armor, so please, choose one.”

Asta looked at the three dresses laid out for her, slightly desperately. “Cullen, do you have an opinion?”

He sighed, “No?”

“I’ll try them on then.”

Cullen tried to escape, “I should check in with my officers…”

“Don’t you DARE,” Asta threatened. “I’ll need your opinion!” His shoulders fell and he slunk over to the sofa to sit and wait. She was out in a few minutes, the seamstress fluttering around her ankles anxiously. “Well?”

It was green, the color of her mark, full of ruffles just like Josie’s and it made her look sick. “Ummm… no?”

Asta relaxed. “Good, I didn’t like it either.” He sighed, frustrated and braced himself. “Let’s try the black one next.” She disappeared back into her closet and came out wearing…

“Is that a dress or a nightgown?” Cullen liked it, but… “Don’t you think it should have a little more… up top?” He waved vaguely. Asta turned and showed him the back. “Maker’s Breath, it dips down to your… you aren’t going to wear that in public are you?” Josie’s brow creased. “My apologies, Ambassador.”

The next dress was… nice. A gentle velvet in a shade he liked, and it warmed her skin and brought out the red tints in her hair. “That’s… nice,” he admitted. It was cut in more of a Fereldan style, with the burgundy overdress cut away in large diamond shapes trimmed with gold against a creamy white underdress. The overdress had straps, but the under left her shoulders bare to show the freckles he loved. “I like this one.” Asta nodded.

“Satisfied, Josie?”

“Yes, Inquisitor!” She beamed. “That makes the Commander much easier, too. A slightly updated variation on his regular clothes, without the armor. I’ll arrange it immediately.” She made several fast notes, quick as a little bird. “And now the invitations, the food, the flowers, the music, oh, the _drinks_ , can I even find a sommelier at this late date?”

“Josie, _Josie_ ,” Asta pulled her from her preoccupation. “What are you doing?”

“Planning the party!” Josie beamed. “The Antivan chocolates you requested are on your desk, Inquisitor. Don’t worry, now that the clothes are taken care of I will take care of the rest. Leliana will come by with shoe options later, of course. Her taste is impeccable. I‘ll inform her of your dress choice.” She waved the seamstress down the stairs after her. Asta waited until the door shut, looked at Cullen’s slumped form and ran down and barred the door.

“I do NOT want to plan a party,” Asta said. “Now where are the chocolates?” Her face lit up at the not so small box on her desk and she tore into the paper happily. She brought the whole box over to the couch and propped herself against it’s arms. She chose one and ordered Cullen, ‘Open,” and popped it into his mouth.

He obediently chewed and swallowed, “So what happens now?” The chocolate was creamy with a bit of heat behind it that he liked.

“Apparently we are having a party,” Asta shrugged, “Which I will not be planning. I just defeated a darkspawn magister. I want to do other things.” She put another chocolate in his mouth and kissed him. She hadn’t eaten any herself, he noticed. “The question is, what do you want to do?” She wiped a little chocolate off his mouth, put the box on the floor and climbed into his lap, sitting sideways and licking the chocolate off her thumb. “What does the Commander of the Inquisition do when the major enemy is defeated?”

Once again she had driven right to the heart of the problem. “The Commander would…” he hesitated, “The Commander would be redirecting soldiers to the Frostbacks and investigating this ‘Jaws of Hakkon’ threat there, and finish building some damn treehouses,” he grumped. “The Commander would be dealing with troop withdrawals from the Western Approach and Val Chevin, though maintaining a basic presence is advisable, for now. There are still rifts and Red Templars out there. Possibly even a few Venatori.”

“Let me rephrase,” Asta said softly. “What does Cullen want to do now?” She looked up into his eyes though the fall of her hair, still too long when loose. He stroked it away and tucked it behind her ear, resting his hand against her cheek.

“I want…” he choked up. “I want to be with you. Anything else doesn’t matter.”

“But it does,” Asta said, “Because I want you to be happy with me. So… what do you want, Cullen?”

“I’ve tried to figure it out,” he confessed, “but… I’ve got nothing. I’ve always been a soldier. Before I was a soldier, I was a studying to be one. Before that I was a farmer’s son. I don’t really have any hobbies, except singing, and I DON’T want to be a bard.” He shuddered. “I don’t really think I’d like farming either,” he mused. “It’s a hard life, and…”

“Cullen,” Asta interrupted, “You do realize that you are the Commander of a victorious army? You realize you don’t _have_ to have a job?”

Cullen blinked in shock. “What do you mean?”

Asta laughed, but not at him, “Cullen, as the Commander of the Inquisition you are as noble as any Bann. You are the social superior of a minor Bann like my father. You could retire. I may be stuck with the Inquisition, but that doesn’t mean you are.” She fidgeted a little. “I mean, if you don’t want to stay with me, you don’t have to, but… I assumed that… eventually, at least, we’d be…”

“Of course,” Cullen said, a little preoccupied with where her thoughts were going, “We’re getting married, eventually. Absolutely. But after that… I… don’t know.” He thought harder. “You wanted to travel and study, before. Has that… changed?”

“Not at all,” Asta stated simply.

“Then, would you like some company?” He took one of her hands in his. “I suppose having a Commander around to kill the spiders in some of those caves would be handy.”

Asta shuddered visibly. “That it would.” She smiled widely and leaned her forehead against his. “You would do that?”

“I am yours,” Cullen said, eyes closed. “I will stay with the Inquisition as long as you do, until it starts to diminish its role in keeping order, at least. After that… I am with you, always. That is where I want to be and what I want to do.” He thought quickly. “And I think we should think about a dog.”

“I’ve never had a dog,” Asta was a little wary. “Not even as a small child.”

“A Mabari can be trained to protect, too,” Cullen pointed out, warming to his subject. “I think if we’re going to traipse though wilderness it would be a good investment. They are very intelligent.”

“I’ll think about it,” Asta sighed, but he was already looking at her with puppy eyes. Irresistible. “Maybe there’s a book I could read?”

Cullen’s face lit up. “It wouldn’t be soon. Not for ages, we have far more to do before…” He pulled back. “You do still _want_ to marry me, right?”

“That will never change,” Asta laughed. “Trust me.”

“Well, we couldn’t have a Mabari at Skyhold the way it is. They get destructive without adequate exercise, and it would destroy your room. Josie would have a fit.”

“Our room,” Asta pointed out.

Cullen smiled and kissed her hand. “Our room. Maker, Asta, I… I love you. I would never have thought that you, that I…” He shook his head laughing and gave up. “What are you going to do next?”

“I’m going to the Avvar,” Asta said. “That’s been in the works for a while, and Kenric is expecting me. And Scout Harding is probably very irritated with him right about now. Kenric is very single-minded about his research. After that… well, Josie had mentioned before Corypheus attacked that the dwarves in Orzamaar are concerned about earthquakes. I may have to travel to the Deep Roads.” Cullen shuddered. Asta leaned up against him. “I suppose I won’t be able to be with you all the time,” she sighed.

“There’s always something else,” Cullen cursed. “But I’ll come with you to the Avvar. As soon as I can get away.” They watched the sunset over the Frostbacks before they fell asleep where they were, at the end of what seemed a very, very long day.

***

The party was perfect, Asta was convinced, and it wasn’t just having a pretty dress, an unending supply of fruity drinks, and a Commander with a bloody perfect arse wearing pants that were the perfect amount of tight and a jacket that was too short to cover it entirely. Cullen, however, was grumpy. She wouldn’t let him just sit against a wall, dragging him with her to talk to everybody. But the only one who had goosed him was her, so he was mostly putting up with it.

Because she… she was radiant. She was drunk, of course, but it was her party. And he was there to be her shield, and Maker willing, to carry her back to her rooms when she inevitably had had enough. But for now, he watched her flit from person to person, a red and gold butterfly with a tiny cake in her hand. He turned and restocked his supply of the petit-fours for her perusal, and joined her. Josie handed him a glass of wine and he thanked her, sipping slowly and appreciatively. “Tevinter?” he asked her.

“Of course, Commander,” Josie winked. “Dorian helped.” She looked at his plate. “You probably won’t like the dark ones. Deep Mushroom and Anise.” Cullen blanched and removed them from his plate unobtrusively before Asta could eat them. The Ambassador drifted away, and Leliana took her place.

“Commander, remember if I told you if I wanted to be Divine I would be? My agents have confirmed that my election is very likely!” Leliana seemed at peace, even excited, with the role she would take, and he relaxed.

“Congratulations, Leliana. So all our rumor mongering didn’t hurt your chances, then?”

“Not at all,” Leliana confirmed. “But I won’t keep you from your lady. It looks like she is trying to get your attention.” The Sister glided away like a shadow and Cullen spotted Asta by the next group of noble supporters, knee deep in an argument about the fate of the Circles.

He caught her eye and she winked at him and tilted her head towards their room. He smiled, and nodded once in understanding. She broke away from the small group politely and headed to their door.

“Might I have a moment of your time, Inquisitor?” He asked in the low voice she loved.

“Something on your mind?” She asked coquettishly.

“Everything,” he growled provocatively. She grabbed him and yanked him through the door, barred and locked it, and fled upstairs in a series of swift movements despite the long skirts that he couldn’t even hope to keep up with. He chased her up the stairs and caught her in the middle of her room, struggling with the side buttons of her overdress. “Let me,” he requested, and fell to his knees to undo them one by one. Finished, he stood, and unlaced the shoulder strap and slid it free of her shoulder. He bent and kissed the freckles that speckled them, one by one. She tilted her head and he brushed the hair that was falling from the golden net capturing her hair away from her, and kept climbing his lips to her jaw. He pushed the other strap away from her shoulder and the overdress fell to the floor in a loose circle of velvet and gold, leaving her in the silky shift. He pulled the single lace holding it closed loose and she was bare for him, her clothes in a messy puddle on the floor. “I like this dress,” Cullen professed, “It’s easy.”

“Fereldans are practical, aren’t they?” Asta laughed. Her smallclothes were white and lacy, and he had never seen anything he wanted to remove more.

He grabbed her and pulled her up against him and she came to him willingly, eagerly. He spun her around and kissed her neck further from behind, marking it with his teeth and lips. She hummed and tried to spin around to meet him, but he held her firm, nipping gently at her while she squirmed. He cupped one breast and she whined as he squeezed, found the fasteners, and pulled the band free. “Maker, Asta, all I can think about is that you are alive,” he said into her shoulder. “You are everything.” She pushed back against his hardness impatiently and he shifted an arm down to wrap around her stomach as he played with her nipples.

“Cullen,” she whimpered, and pulled away from him to pace backwards towards the bed, a wild look in her eye. She pulled off her smalls with one hand and tossed them down, stepping out of the golden shoes at the same time. “You realize that no one is going to interrupt us tonight?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “There’s no one left to attack, and the scouts are, without a doubt according to Cole, all falling down drunk, probably with each other and the staff. Bull said Cabot had kept the ale flowing since early afternoon.”

“I don’t care,” Cullen stalked her, eyes intent. “I’ll administer appropriate discipline in the morning.”

“Are you… shirking your duties, Commander?”

“There’s only one duty that matters, Your Worship,” Cullen called her that for the first time in two years and Asta’s voice caught in her throat. “Oh, you _like_ it when I say it,” he observed wickedly. “How far does that go, Your Worship?” She swallowed hard and he reached her side. “I thought you hated your title.” He reached up and picked the golden pins out of her hair holding the net up.

“It sounds different when you say it. You’ve never…”

“Do you know why?” He asked, preoccupied with loosening her hair from the net. It fell mid-back now. Had she not had it cut since the Inquisition began? It was… lovely, and he pushed it over her shoulders so that it didn’t block his view. “Because every time I tried, I thought about how I would worship you. On my knees? Prostrated above you? With you as an altar and me as your supplicant?” His hands were hot in his gloves and he stripped them off, impatient to touch her. “And then I would think about you before me. It was… impossible, and heady, and I went to bed alone, so many, many nights. I would chant, trying to draw my attention elsewhere, and it _didn’t help._ ” He laughed freely. “Even now, when I have you, the thought of your taste,” and he yanked off his jacket, not caring if the buttons bounced away, “the sounds you make when I fill you, the feel of you under my hands…”

“Cullen, have you been drinking?” Asta raised her eyebrows. “Maybe we should just go to bed.” She got a wicked look. “I could sleep on the floor. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“No, you won‘t,” Cullen said, and fell to his knees by the bed. “Come here and let me worship you, Your Worship.” She approached and sat on the bed, eager but shy, their roles reversed for once and a little uncomfortable in the unfamiliarity. He spread her legs and kissed her sweetly and then harder, moving his pointed tongue against her, rubbing almost roughly. He groaned against her and she moaned with the vibrations. He licked her cunt, pushing his tongue within her and making her moan louder. He wrapped his arm around her leg and held her down, locking her to him with the suction of his mouth even as she jerked against him involuntarily, already trying to ride him to completion. “Stay still, Your Worship,” he breathed onto her and she shuddered again. “This is one Chant I will finish.” He sucked again and she fell backwards, her elbows giving out. She watched him, hazy eyed between her knees, playing her like the lute she never mastered, fingers plucking her from within as he hummed a tune - what tune was it? - against her. She shuddered, getting close and he picked up the pace and pressure - it was more, it was too much and she fell, crying out his name in something like a sob. He didn’t stop, but did gentle a little, trying to ride her through the waves.

“Please, Cullen,” she begged, “I need… I want…” she hit another peak as he added a third finger, stretching her and sending her completely over the edge. “Mercy!” With that he stopped and stood, leaning over her while she shook and he traced his hands over her stomach, passed her breasts without touching them, making her whimper, and up the length of her arms. He wound his hands in hers and she panted, her eyes hooded and desperate.

“Do you, are you…” he started and Asta smiled and wrapped her legs around him. He slid inside and she clenched and he bent with the pressure. “Holy Andraste,” he cursed.

“That’s Your Worship to you,” Asta laughed, “Now, to work?” He needed no encouragement so they played their song together. Murmuring words of love between their lips and into each other’s ears, fading gradually to the other’s name, and then just to moans and whimpers as they fought to meet each other. Cullen finally came with a shout against her shoulder as she bit into his, bruising and then kissing in a silent apology. He braced himself with difficulty, until Asta shifted over to let him collapse next to her. She kissed him gently and even that made him shake. “What tune was that?” She asked out of curiosity. “It seemed familiar.”

Cullen blushed, but didn’t open his eyes. “Maryden plays it in the tavern occasionally. ‘I Am The One’. ‘I am the one who can recount what we’ve lost’.” He opened his eyes and looked at her earnestly. “That line makes me think of you every time I hear it.” Asta curled up against him.

“I suspect that song is meant for someone far wiser than I,” she said, “but it’s a sweet thought all the same.” She rose, with difficulty and shaking limbs, and pulled on her robe to go stand on the balcony. Cullen followed, not bothering with clothes at all, and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know what happens next,” he started and she leaned back against him lovingly.

“I know,” Asta beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?!”

 


	70. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out we have DLC spoilers. All of them, with Asta's special twists. So while what she gets out of it may be different from the actual gameplay - much like the rest of the fic at this point - I just don't want anyone to get spoilered without foreknowledge.

Two days later most of Skyhold had recovered from their hangovers, and Asta sheepishly emerged from her rooms, with a minimum of giggling from the Orlesians in the main hall, to get back to work. After all, there were rifts to seal, dragons to observe and possibly eliminate depending on territory and proximity to settlements, oh, and a Chantry to rebuild. She had to meet with Leliana about a million times before the spymaster left for Val Royeaux and make sure they were in agreement on the fundamentals.

And there was the trip to the Avvar to plan. Increasingly, Asta was beginning to think of it as a vacation. Field Work! Excavation! New Discoveries! Getting her hands dirty with something other than blood, and being right on site during an important historical excavation. From Kenric’s letters, that area of the Frostbacks had everything - Tevinter ruins, Avvar tribes with interesting cultures - each a little different, fascinating mythology… she could barely wait.

And then she realized that she had taken for granted that her circle wasn’t going to leave immediately now that Corypheus was defeated. The thought reined her excitement in. “Well, shit,” she muttered. “First things first.”

Varric was by his fire, writing letters to someone that Asta was willing to bet wasn’t the Merchant’s Guild. He was so engrossed that she had to clear her throat. “Asta! What can I do for you?” He gathered the papers to him, as if to block them from her view. She raised an eyebrow and chose not to comment.

“Do you have a moment, Varric?”

“Of course, pull up a chair.” The garrulous dwarf kicked back. “I’d rather put this letter off anyway. I hate writing to Prince Sebastian. Choir Boy is threatening to invade Kirkwall, the asshole.”

Asta was taken aback. “Seriously? Brother Sebastian? Whatever for?”

“It’s some nonsense about annexing Kirkwall so that it has stronger leadership. Bran is the acting viscount, but they haven’t had a permanent one since the Arishok killed the last guy. Superstitious nonsense about the office being cursed,” Varric shook his head, “But you don’t need to hear about my problems. What did you need to talk about?”

“Well, I realized this morning that I need to ask around, find out everyone’s plans,” Asta hesitated. “I know you want to help rebuild Kirkwall, but if you’re willing to stay for a while, the Inquisition could still use you. If you wanted, anyway. I don’t want to interfere with your previous plans.”

Varric laughed in her face, “Your Inquisitorialness, your story is far from over. I’m not going to take off like Chuckles. When I leave, you’ll have fair warning. And honestly, I’d rather be here right now. I think when Leliana leaves, you’re going to need the information I can provide. Any good leads on her replacement?”

“Not really,” Asta furrowed her brow. “I should make a list of things to talk to her about. That’s definitely the first.”

“Better hop to it then. As soon as they elect her she’s going to have to take off. The Sunburst Throne waits for no one.”

Instead of making her way to Leliana, Asta wound her way up to the balcony and prepared herself for what she imagined would be a difficult conversation. Vivienne and she were not exactly… friendly. She was a little shocked. “Hello, my dear! Great things are happening!” Vivienne looked her up and down, “Darling, what are you wearing? You can’t greet the representatives of the remaining Circles and Colleges looking like _that._ ” She shook her head. “I really must find the time to take you shopping. Your clothing sense is atrocious. Though the gown you wore to the soiree was _charming,_ if a bit rustic. Did Josie choose it?”

“Actually, Cullen did,” Asta leaned up against the huge chair and tried to focus on the task at hand. “I wanted to ask about your plans. Are you departing for Val Royeaux?”

Vivienne shook her head, “My dear, the excitement is here! This is where history will be decided, at least until,” her mouth twisted, “Sister Nightingale takes the Sunburst Throne. But even amongst all that, Skyhold is going to be where the mages meet and decide our fates. I wouldn’t miss it!” She sighed, poised, even in her grief, “And with my dear Duke gone I have nothing to draw me back to Val Royeaux, unless the Empress reinstates me as Court Enchanter. That is not unlikely, but not being near the court puts me at a disadvantage, my dear.” She shook off her momentary thoughtfulness, “Don’t worry your head about it, darling. It will all work out in the end!” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Asta from her presence and Asta found herself halfway down to the main hall without knowing how she got there. Such was the effect of the Madame de Fer.

She wound her way through Solas’ mural, looking at the unfinished wall, momentarily melancholic and went to find Dorian. He wasn’t in the library. That was… odd.

She didn’t want to talk to Leliana yet, knowing that it would be hours and hours of conversation and planning. Best to send her a note and ask when she was available. So she wandered slowly back down the stairs and hesitated before crossing over to Cullen’s office. At least she knew he was staying. She’d drop in, get a quick kiss, and go talk to Rainier, see what the chevalier had decided about the Grey Wardens. A kiss would bolster her against the probable awkwardness of that conversation.

Cullen was busy, naturally. “Honestly, I’m out of the office for a single day and this,” he waved his hand at the massive pile in front of him. “And Loranil apparently overindulged, and Mireille wrote me a very nice note saying that he was unwell and that I had to excuse him today.” He snorted. “As if I didn’t know exactly what that meant.”

Asta laughed at him, “Would you have, given a different situation?”

Cullen smirked, “I can always tell when someone is shirking. It’s my job. You, for example, are here talking to me instead of to Leliana. Isn’t that slightly more important?”

“Actually, I’m just on my way to discuss Rainier’s decision,” Asta claimed proudly. “You were on my way. Don’t look to much into it, Commander.”

“Oh really?” He looked amused, “And what else have you done this morning, Inquisitor?”

“I’ve spoken to Vivienne and Varric about their plans - I realized I was just taking for granted that everyone was staying to help seal the rest of the rifts and restore order,” Asta explained. “So, I’m making my rounds. I need to know who I can rely on before I speak to Leliana about anything else.”

The Commander nodded, “That does make sense,” he reached out to pull her in a little closer. “Well, I for one am not going anywhere, Inquisitor. Not until you do.” Asta reached up and pecked him on his lips.

“Thank you for your continued support, Commander.”

“My pleasure,” he smirked again as she turned and swatted her on her ass. She spun, laughing.

“What was that for?”

“It was there,” he pointed out. “Have fun. Think of me, buried in paperwork while you visit with your friends. Languishing for attention, without even an assistant to talk to.” He tried to look forlorn and failed.

Asta laughed at him, “I’ll come back later if I have time and play ‘assistant’ for the day.”

Cullen hummed, “That sounds like fun. Nothing wrong with a bit of fun…”

“At ease, Commander,” Asta teased. “Work first!”

The barn was impeccable and Dennet was hard at work mucking out the nuggalope’s stall. “Inquisitor!”

“Master Dennet! Headed back to Elaina any time soon?” Asta waved and stopped to talk. “I know you miss them, and with Corypheus gone…” she paused. “Your assistance has been invaluable.”

Dennet snorted, “Not hardly. You have the finest collection of beasts at this point that I’ve ever seen. I’m here for a bit, barring bad news from home. But so far, Elaina is doing just fine without me. Probably better without me. I do get in the way of her just getting things done.” He waved her on, “Off with you, and let me get back to work. This _thing_ needs mucking constantly. Stop feeding it nasturiums.”

Asta nodded and turned with a smile to find Rainier, sitting on a bale of hay and staring into his small fire. “Thom, can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, milady. I thought you might be by.” He stood and she waved him to sit again and took a seat herself opposite him.

“I wondered if you had made a decision,” Asta started, but he cut her off.

“I am going to abide by your earlier decision. I would like to have the chance to become a Grey Warden.” Asta’s face fell. “It’s not because I want to die. It’s because I want to serve. Since the Arbor Wilds I have been… thinking.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m not like Ser Ruth. I want to use what’s left of my life in a valuable way. The Wardens… need people. It’s not a blight. But I can use what I know to help them rebuild for the next threat.”

“Very well,” Asta sighed, “Do you want to leave immediately? You could go to Val Chevin, or Adamant?”

“What, already?” Rainer was taken aback, “Isn’t there work to do here first? Do you want me to go so soon?”

“No!” Asta exclaimed, “but I was trying to find out what plans you’ve all made for yourselves. I didn’t want to assume…”

“Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit,” Rainier spat. “No one you talk to is planning on leaving anytime soon, Inquisitor. We signed up to restore order, and order’s hardly restored just because that trumped up Magister’s floating through the Void. Or whatever you do when you go to the Void. Not my place to say, really. You might as well save your breath.”

“Oh really?” Asta was amused, “And how do you know?”

“Sera isn’t going anywhere,” Blackwall pointed out. “She knows you need the Jennies, the information they bring in, and whatever she says, she likes you - you act like ‘people‘. You _pay_ Bull to stay, and his… relationship with Dorian is… well, he’s not going anywhere.” He humphed awkwardly. “I’d rather not go into that, if you don’t mind. Cole is more human, but he’s… does he even have anywhere to go that isn’t here?”

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “You make good points.”

“You might want to talk to Cassandra,” he said, “but my guess is she knows that she has a better chance of finding the Seekers by staying here and using the networks you’ve set up. Your biggest problem is the need for a new Spymaster, not whether or not your circle is leaving you. The rest of us, we trust you and we’re sticking around.” The man nodded emphatically. “So don’t waste your time. Just tell us where to go and we’ll follow. The Joining can wait for a while.”

“You’re a wise man, Rainier,” Asta observed. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“You’ve led us this far, and you’ve earned our loyalty,” Rainer stated bluntly. “If this is about that damn elf leaving you high and dry, you should have known better.”

Asta smiled, “It was a bit, I suppose. Thank you.”

She climbed up the stairs, avoiding Cullen’s office this time, in an attempt to stay focused. The idea of Cole not having anywhere to go troubled her, so she made her way to the tavern where he stood and listened to Maryden’s songs when she was playing. She knew he enjoyed the music. She started to speak to him but he cut her off. “I’m sorry, Cole, but I need to do this alone. I wouldn’t wish what I have to do on my worst enemy much less someone that I cared for. With your abilities I’m afraid it’s best that you… forget.”

Asta’s face went pale. That was… “Cole, that was Solas. Can you… do you…”

“What?” The boy looked confused, “What were we talking about? I’m… ready to help when you are!”

Asta was crestfallen, “It’s all right, Cole. Of course, I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Sera wasn’t in her room, and Bull and Krem weren’t in their chairs. Cabot grumped at her from behind the bar and she nodded in turn and made her way outside. Bull and the Chargers were training by the ring and Cassandra was reading on a stump by the training dummies.

“Inquisitor! This book, it’s…” her face was glowing. “I’m on my second time through. It’s Varric’s best yet!”

Asta perked up, “Really? Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

“Of course! I want to have someone to talk about it with,” gushed the Seeker. “I won’t tell you anything - I don’t want to the spoil the ending!”

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Asta laughed.

“Staying?” The Seeker frowned, “Why would I leave? There is much to be done. Leliana is already working on tracing the Seekers. She’s hoping to find information at Therinfall Redoubt. Don’t be foolish.” She shook her head. “I will talk to you later.”

“I’ll let you get back to reading then,” Asta took her leave. “I know how it is to be interrupted out of a good book, after all.” She spotted Bull, working with Krem and made her way over. “Bull! Looks like we’re going to have to kill a few more dragons! Hinterlands up first, and then…”

“You always find me the best fights, Boss,” Bull grunted as Krem nearly pushed him back with a well-placed Shield Bash. “Just let me know when and where.”

“OI!” A voice yelled out from the roof of the tavern, “Get Dalish to take off her shirt and I’ll give you two sovereigns!”

“Damn it, Sera,” Bull roared, “quit ogling my men!”

“As if,” Sera snickered, “If they were men I wouldn’t be ogling, would I? And you’re the one who chose to work right under my window!”

“That’s where the training ring is!”

Asta tried to interrupt, “Any idea where Dorian is?”

“Had a meeting with the Ambassador this morning,” Bull grunted and blocked a blow. “Probably still there.”

“Hey! Lady Tits and Bits! You don’t mind if a few of us stick around, do you?” Sera yelled from her roof. “No hurry to get back to… Val Royeaux, that’s where I was. I think…”

“Sera, this is home if you’ll have it,” Asta yelled back. “We still have to make cookies for Cullen.” Bull dropped his axe and Krem bashed into him and knocked him on his back.

“Stop that,” Sera frowned, “If I cry, I’m punching everyone!”

Bull stood, glowering at Krem for taking advantage of his distraction, “You don’t want to do that, Boss.”

“What, make cookies?” Asta blinked. “Why not? I have a recipe. It’s only flour, sugar and butter. Even I can’t mess that up.”

“At least warn the Commander first,” Krem advised. “I heard about your… cooking.”

Asta’s face furrowed. “I can follow a recipe. I help make potions all the time. Improvising - that‘s where I go wrong.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Boss,” advised Bull. Leaning into Krem he whispered, “Run upstairs and warn the Commander.” Krem nodded and took off at a run for the stairs.

“Why does everyone keep telling me I can’t cook?” Asta wailed, “I’m very intelligent! It’s just following directions!”

“Because you can’t,” Cassandra glowered from her stump. “And you’re interrupting my reading. Go whine somewhere else. Like the library.”

Pouting, Asta left for the main hall to see if Dorian was free from his meeting with Josie, muttering to herself. He wasn’t, and Asta hesitated at the Ambassador’s office door. “Am I interrupting? I can come back,” she started to say, and then Dorian stood up.

“No, I think we’re done here. I was just… conferring with the Ambassador about the situation in Minrathous. It requires further thought,” Dorian was troubled, Asta could tell, and she took his arm as they left the room together.

“What’s wrong?” She asked quietly.

Dorian sighed, “Everything? It’s Tevinter, after all,” he joked bitterly. “The Venatori are mostly squashed, thankfully, but ‘Vints will be ‘Vints. Maevaris is making impassioned pleas in the Magisterium, and while she’s not dead yet, the situation there is…” Dorian sighed again. “I’m going to have to go back. I can see the writing on the wall.”

Asta nodded, crestfallen, “When?”

“Not for a little while, perhaps,” Dorian temporized, “But eventually. With Corypheus gone, I can use the leverage of the Inquisition to try to stabilize our support there. It can only help. I hope.” Exasperated, he continued, “Of course, trying to predict what would actually draw people to our cause in Tevinter is about as likely as… predicting the weather for next spring. Yes, it’s likely to rain at some point, but how much?”

Asta laughed sadly, “I will miss you.”

“You’ll just have to visit,” Dorian tried to make light, “After all, once my country finally has me back they’re not likely to let me go again. I’m too irresistible. I won’t return until I absolutely have to, however. Still plenty to do here.”

Asta hugged his arm as they made their way back to the library and Dorian nearly fell into his regular chair. “You’re very noble, Dorian,” she started.

“Oh please,” Dorian waved her off, “no needless compliments. We both know I’m a paragon of manhood.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “This is your fault, you know. You gave me that whole speech about how you weren’t leading the Inquisition to be thanked and now look at what you’ve done.”

Asta choked a bit, with laughter and grief, “Yes, well, I’ll take it back if you don’t leave.”

“I’m not going for a while, I said. I’m not going to leave my only friend to fend for herself. At least not until her strapping young Templar can pull himself away from his desk long enough to take better care of his rebellious archivist.” Dorian tilted his head, “How is his assistant today?”

“Loranil? Indisposed,” Asta’s eyes laughed, “Don’t tell me…”

“Bull got at him with the Maraas-Lok,” Dorian confirmed. “I bet Cullen is having a fit trying to cope without him. Maybe you should…” he nodded in the direction of the Commander’s tower and picked up a book, almost at random. “I’m going to read over the histories of the early Magisterium and see what I can glean. I’ll tell you what I learn later. Run along, lest we get hopelessly maudlin.”

Asta hugged him suddenly and Dorian froze.  "Damn it, Dorian, I adore you."  She pulled back, "I'll see you later."

Dorian let a small smile leak out of the corners of his mouth as he watched her go.  "Damn it, Asta, I said go before we get emotional," he called after her and sighed, picking up his book again.

 


	71. Baby Steps

Asta and Leliana stared at each other across the war table. “Really?” Asta said, “That’s all? You just want to throw the Chantry doors open for everybody and make it a place of comfort? No grand plan?”

Leliana wasn’t even discomposed, “Well, I’m not going to start another Exalted March and _make_ everybody join, but a little… togetherness wouldn’t go amiss.” The sister sighed, “I am honestly a little relieved that you will help me with the strategy. I know you are half-counting on me to fail, but it would be less bloody and far more satisfying if we just… skipped that step.”

Asta chuckled, and then laughed, “Well, I think we need a roadmap at least. Let’s get to work, Sister Nightingale.” She indicated the massive pile of books, scrolls and notes next to her. “Here’s a portion of my work. The applicable part. You know the basics. Namely, Andraste was an elf, and a mage. The first thing that I think the next Divine should do is declare that the Dissonant Verses are legitimate, and that Shartan was a major contributor. All the theories about him being Andraste’s lover can wait. Baby steps.” She smirked. “If I know the Chantry it’ll come out soon enough, and when that rumor starts circulating you’ll be able to pinpoint exactly the people you can trust and who needs to go.”

_“All_ the Dissonant Verses?” Leliana was taken aback, “even Maferath’s?”

Asta nodded firmly. “Especially Maferath’s. Because if you are building the Chantry to be a place of refuge and charity people have to know that if they’ve messed up they can still come in.”

Leliana’s face was a mask, “I see. That does make sense. How do we support that change?”

“As Divine, as you well know, you will be expected to lead the Chant, and make commentaries on it on important occasions.” Asta hesitated, “I don’t want to write your speeches for you…”

Leliana laughed, “Yes, you do.”

Asta smirked, “Well, yes, I do, rather. I can’t help it. But I would love to see a sermon given on Anders, and how the Chantry supports forgiveness in the face of repentance and remorse. Do something like that and you might even keep Prince Sebastian from invading Kirkwall. As I remember, Brother Sebastian is inclined to take everything the Divine says as pure truth. He could be your best backer in the Free Marches.”

Leliana grinned, “Oh, Val Royeaux will be furious!” She laughed delightedly. “What else?”

“Continue in that vein. Repair the windows that were altered after the Second Exalted March to take out Shartan’s ears. Not Andraste’s, not yet, anyway. Just his. Make public speeches about how elves were allies with Andraste, and how they fought with her against Tevinter. Preach inclusion and punctuate it with quotes from the Chant. Tell the truth.” Asta ruffled through her papers. “I assume you already have copies of most of this, but since I know where to find things… ah,” she pulled out a rubbing. “Here’s the inscription of the Tomb of the Emerald Knights.” She flipped it so Leliana could read it. “This clearly states how both sides were wrong in the situation that led to Sister Amity’s March.” She looked at Leliana seriously. “You’re going to have to apologize on behalf of the Chantry. Admit that she was wrong, that the whole situation was wrong. Do it with some Dalish Keepers and alienage elders present, if you can, and _definitely_ Briala, as the Marquis of the Dales..” Her face was almost pleading. “If you can get Celene to be present, all the better. The more those two appear in public together the better.”

Leliana shifted on her seat. “Yes, I see. A lot of people are going to be furious, Inquisitor. I may be deposed before we even get a chance.”

Asta sighed, “I know, but I will do everything I can to keep you on that Throne, Leliana. If we are going to save Thedas, we need to!” She thought quickly, “Solas told me a story once of a spirit he met while dreaming. It told him a story of how there wasn’t a word for what he represented anymore, that he was a spirit of the entire world, all together, and how we’ve forgotten. I think that spirit may have represented some form of Unity. We’re fractured apart, Leliana. We have to figure out how to mend it.” She took a deep breath, “The Chantry is just the beginning. As Josie told me once, a common religion is a great help in crossing cultural barriers, even if we all worship a little differently.” Her mouth twisted, “It’s one of the few benefits I’ve ever found in being called the Herald of Andraste.”

Leliana snickered, “Yes, well, I’m afraid you are stuck with that.”

Asta dismissed it, “I’d rather be called Inquisitor. I earned that.”

“What about mages, dwarves, Qunari?” Leliana prompted.

“Mages…” Asta sighed, “So much depends on what they decide to do with the Circles. The Chantry can encourage a direction for that, but… part of my plan for rebuilding is letting them sink or fall on their own, so that they can’t blame the Chantry or the Templar order for their own failings. If they ask for help then, and _only_ then, will the Inquisition intervene. I’d rather the Chantry stay out of it.” She wrinkled her forehead. “It may mean chaos. Every mage I’ve ever met is… a strong personality. I’m not entirely sure that they’ll ever be able to agree, but it’s crucial that they learn to take proactive steps for their own independence.”

Leliana sighed, “When a baby is learning to walk, you prepare to watch a lot of falling.”

“Exactly.” Asta rubbed her head. “Cassandra is hunting the Seekers - she said you were helping?”

“While I can,” Leliana confirmed. “Will they help?”

“I’m hoping so,” Asta gritted her teeth. “I want to disband the Templars entirely. The ones remaining can serve under the Seekers or choose not to serve at all. Cassandra says that Cullen is in no danger of dying anytime soon from anything but overwork, so coming off of lyrium can be offered as an option as well, if they don’t want to serve, under the overview of the Seekers and a healer. If they want to serve, they can stay on the lyrium, but I would recommend not having the Chantry provide it. They need to be… detached. Independent.” She tilted her head at the Spymaster. “The biggest step for the mages is that they need to be embedded deeply within the Chantry. They need to be allowed to serve as more than light bearers. They need to be Sisters, Revered Mothers, Brothers.”

Leliana nodded enthusiastically. “I completely agree.”

“How do you feel about Vivienne?” Asta smiled wickedly. “I think she’d make a great Left Hand.”

Leliana burst into laughter, “I don’t know if the Chantry could survive!”

Asta shrugged, “Well, there is always Rhys. He’s a reasonable choice, though as a healer not exactly the most skilled at subterfuge, and then you could ask Evangeline to consider being the Right Hand. Either way, I think making such an open appointment for a mage would help greatly in showing the new inclusion of mages in the Chantry. You supported the mages for closing the Breach - let’s take it to the next step.” She thought a moment. “Just don’t ask Cullen to be your Right Hand, please. We have plans after I’m not needed as much anymore. I think we’ve earned it.”

“No promises, Inquisitor,” Leliana smiled slyly.

“Now the Templars…” Asta breathed deep, “They need to be released. One group held too tight, the other excluded entirely. Templars should NOT be recruited as children.” Leliana started shaking her head. “Ah, we disagree. Leliana, I do not support parents just handing their children off as Templar candidates. The Chantry as a career is valid but NOT as a place for unwanted third children or as a way to show how devout your parents are.”

“No, we don’t disagree,” Leliana protested, “but the skills the Templars and Seekers use, they take years to master!”

“I know,” Asta bit off. “I was _four._ Cullen was _thirteen_ and had wanted it since he was eight _._ How old was King Alistair? I know I’ve read it somewhere. Ten?” She shook her head. “Both of them were good at it, only one of them wanted to be there. Let them start later. I’ll talk to Cassandra about not allowing parents to just drop off their kids and say ‘Thomas is going to be a Templar!’ Please.”

Leliana pursed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll think about it, Inquisitor.”

“Please do.” Asta rubbed her head again. “Maybe we should stop for the day. My head doesn’t hurt often, and it usually means that I need to quit.” She reached out for the spymaster’s hand, “Leliana, I don’t want to control your every decision, please understand that, but I’ve given this whole situation a lot of thought, and I think this is what we need. Ultimately, the decisions will be yours. I just… want you to be fully informed.”

Leliana nodded, reluctantly, “I don’t think we disagree, exactly, it’s just… going to take time. A lot of time that we don‘t have.”

Asta nodded, relieved. “I know, it’s so drastic. Thedas won’t look the same, whether we succeed or not. But if we continue to make the same mistakes over and over again…” she stopped. “We have to learn from history, Sister.” She took a deep breath, “Did you ever serve at a Chantry that had an orphanage attached?” Leliana shook her head. “There were the babies of mages there, and the poor that couldn’t afford their children. There were noble children that were the extras - though most of those came later, as their parents could afford to care for them. I was… a difficult child. Opinionated and prone to nightmares. I still think that is why my parents chose to surrender me rather than raise me themselves.” Asta swallowed her own pain. “Charity, not as a choice to make for your children, that’s all I ask.”

Leliana took a breath and decided to take the plunge, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in being the Left Hand of the Divine?”

Asta looked at her, absolutely speechless. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. I know that you didn’t exactly choose to become the Herald of Andraste, but… you did choose to become Inquisitor.”

Asta was already shaking her head, “Leliana, I… I support the Inquisition as something separate from the Chantry. I can’t… if I became your Left Hand I would have to submit to you. The Inquisition would have to submit.” She smiled wryly, “Besides, the Left Hand is a little too close to the Sunburst Throne for me. I hear the last Left Hand ended up Divine in the end. That throne is one place my butt will _never_ sit.”

“Think about it,” Leliana insisted. “With Cullen as the Right Hand and you as the Left…”

Asta cursed, “Maker fucking Andraste in the Fade, Leliana, that…” she shuddered. “No. Just no!”

Leliana leaned back. “Well, can’t fault a Divine for trying. You both are the best choices. Anyone else will be lesser.”

“Don’t you dare bring that up to Cullen!” Asta blanched again. “He never wants to live in Orlais. We’ve talked about this.” She paused, “Besides, I’m human, and not a mage. You need to support inclusion with those appointments. Who you pick is up to you, in the end. You’ll choose wisely.” She sighed, dropping the topic entirely, “So, who do you have in mind for your successor?”

“Charter,” Leliana stated. “She knows what I know, with precious few exceptions. She’s thorough, and cares about the scouts she sends out, but doesn’t nanny them.” It was Asta’s turn to nod thoughtfully. “And she’s an elf, which can only help ‘inclusion’ as you keep putting it.”

“I’ve barely talked to her,” Asta admitted, “Just a few times passing through Caer Bronach.” She blushed suddenly remembering the last time she had been in Crestwood. “Um, I’m not sure I can work with her.”

“Why, Inquisitor!” Leliana smirked, “Why ever would you say that? It wouldn’t be a little request about a bear rug, would it?” Asta buried her face in her arms. “You should know by now that you and Cullen have no secrets. I can’t imagine that will change with Charter in charge of your spies. If it matters, then I suggest drinking less, and being more… circumspect.” She giggled. “And keep in mind that the Divine knows exactly where and when you and the Commander have been… intimate, before you cross me officially.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Asta muttered into her arms. “Don’t you dare tell Cullen. He’ll never touch me again.”

“Well, that would be solved as soon as you’re married,” Leliana chirped. “Have you two set a date?”

“Too soon,” Asta looked up. “We’ve both got a ton of other stuff to do before we can even think about it,” she sighed.

“Well, please consider me as a possible officiate,” Leliana stood. “You’d better go rest your head. All that blood rushing to it can’t be good for your headache.” She smiled wickedly and left gracefully with Asta still bright red and suddenly dreading facing her new spymaster.

***

“Inquisitor, from where am I supposed to order excavation tools?” Josie had dealt with many unusual requests during her time with the Inquisition - marble baths, about a million different odd requests involving everything from peaches to sex toys, and had chocolates and flowers sent to mountain villages, but… “Where are they made?”

“Try the University,” Asta advised. “Kenric has a good setup where he is, but I don’t want to be a burden on his resources. I’d rather have my own tools so that when I can participate I can just jump in. You know, when I’m not mending the rifts for the Avvar and putting down renegade Avvar tribes. Why didn’t they tell us about those before now, anyway? They’re relatively close - I could have popped over there and sealed them while we were still at Haven!” She paused, “Do you think there is any chance that the Jaws of Hakkon would negotiate?”

Josie stared at her blankly, “Inquisitor, I have no idea how to even begin negotiating with a hostile Avvar tribe. Stone-Bear Hold is quite foreign enough. I would bring it up with their Thane. My guess? No.” She sighed impatiently, “I will see what I can do about the tools. Fine brushes? Small trowels? A measuring stick?” She scanned the list Asta had handed her with resignation.

“Yes, thank you!” Asta beamed, “I’m so excited! This is going to be like a vacation! No dragons, no fighting random monsters outside of the usual demons but that’s same old, same old by now. No Red Templars! Just me and the ruins and good old fashioned research! OH! I’ll need about twenty new journals and all the parchment and ink you can spare to be sent to the care of Kenric! I don’t want to cut into his supply!” She smiled happily and left, still beaming with anticipation.

Josie shook her head with lack of understanding. Asta was a dear, but she would never understand her love of the outdoors. It was so… dirty. She shuddered remembering the trip back from the Arbor Wilds. The only thing that had gotten her through it was the knowledge that the Empress of Orlais had been _camping_ as well. Never again, she swore. At least she wasn’t being sent to… negotiate with the Avvar.

There were some things that she would not stand for.

***

Asta was at her desk in Cullen’s office reading The Tale of Hyrngnar, and taking notes. “Interesting, their ties with the dwarves go back for centuries,” she muttered to herself, scribbling quickly. Thinking fast, and frowning, she pulled out The Tale of Tyrdda, Bright Axe, scanning back over it quickly in confusion, as if checking a point of interest. “Huh,” she murmured, and made a few further notes, “I’ll have to look into that further.”

She was distracting Cullen from his work and he set down his quill gently. “Asta, do you have to… talk to yourself when you read?”

“What?” Asta looked up and blinked at him, eyes hazy from focusing too long at her page. “I suppose not. But I leave in two days, and I can’t take all of this,” and she waved at her piles of paper and books, “with me. I have to have everything written down that I might need to refer to!”

“Why can’t you take all of it?” Cullen frowned, “This is a full blown expedition. Stack them in the wagons.”

Asta looked at him, exasperated, “Cullen, some of these books are ancient! They’d be destroyed in the field! I probably shouldn’t be even touching them, much less dragging them out into the Frostbacks to be subjected to wind and weather and…” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look at me like that. You should know better!” He started to grin. “You’re doing it on purpose just to distract me. You evil man.” She stretched hard, arching her back. “I suppose I should take a break. It’s just…” she sighed, “It feels so good to be learning again. Something that doesn’t involve a new creative way to kill an enemy as quickly as possible.”

“Well, we’ve worked enough for the day, don’t you think?” Cullen stood up and stretched in turn.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Asta smiled back at him. “I think I like seeing you have a little more free time. Pulling yourself away from your desk for more than just a quick break and a kiss.”

“Who said anything about quick?” Cullen smirked again. “I have some time.” He made his way over to her desk. “Perhaps I should say, ‘This one is yours?’” Asta opened her mouth to reply and he kissed her instead, deep and with his intentions behind it. He broke away, “You do leave in two days, and I have to get things settled here and Rylen firmly ensconced before I can follow. It would be… nice, to have a long evening with you. I mean, if… do _you_ have some time?”

Asta reached out and stroked his stubble. “For you?” She smirked back. “Always.”

 


	72. Double Meanings

My dearest Cullen,

I wish you were already here! This area of the Frostbacks is gorgeous. You’d love it - and you’d fit right in. Everyone looks like you - it’s a little bizarre and makes me miss you all the more.

Love the Avvar hunter’s garb - you’d make quite an impression wearing them. Well, on me, at least. You probably wouldn’t be wearing the loincloth for long, though. Possibly we wouldn’t need to even remove it. It requires thought.

As I am reminded that I am in polite company I probably shouldn’t dwell too long on such things. Scout Harding is with me, and Professor Kenric. I think they are dancing around each other a bit. Kenric I know well enough to be sure about, but even after these years Harding is still a bit of a mystery. Being out here with her has helped me get to know her a little better. She is brilliant! Kenric’s ‘Lady Hardings’ are _precious_ , to quote Vivienne. It almost makes me wish I was still a lady. Almost.

Who am I kidding? I really don’t. The price of the title was far too high. The price of my current one is a bit more… problematic, but at least I’m seeing the world. Still killing too many people though. These Hakkon warriors are very determined. No chance for negotiation.

Oh, back to Kenric. I think you’d like him once you accepted his obsession with buckles. They _are_ extremely effective for dating purposes. As Dorian could tell you, Tevinter’s buckle styles have changed rapidly over the years, and a true scholar can pinpoint the age of a site to about 20 years in an age, give or take a few years and how stylish they suspect the people living there were. After all, my Great Aunt Evelyn insisted on wearing hoop skirts long after they went out of fashion in Ostwick. She was a family embarrassment, and they named me after her. Maker, my family hated me.

That reminds me, has anyone heard from Max? Leliana said something about a long term assignment, but it’s been months.

The rifts here are unreal. They must have been in place for a very long time before we contacted the Avvar about our project. They are so large. Perhaps even since Haven. And no, I haven’t hit my head. But telling you about the rifts may get you out here a little sooner. I have an ulterior motive, you see, Commander.

Your treehouses are beautiful! I never had a chance to have one as a child. These are amazing! Do you think we could put in a rope swing?

I’m joking, love. Don’t have a fit. Besides, the lifts are just as good. Sera and I spent a good half hour riding them up and down yesterday - after we finished our work for the day, of course.

And don’t tell me to act my age. Cass and Viv waxed on that theme quite thoroughly, I assure you. I think thirty is old enough to not care about what other people think. Besides, I defeated Coryphe-thingy. Surely that entitles me to a half hour of lift rides?

I’ll write a professional letter soon, though with Leliana gone… have we made any progress towards replacing her? Charter is… not Leliana. Oh, all right, I miss her.

How soon can you get here? I miss you, _horribly._ If you are very tardy, I’m going to make you wear the hunter’s clothes and call it a lesson in cultural exchange. You’d like all the fur.

Your Asta

***

Asta,

I’m trying to get away, really. I need to inspect those treehouses for safety, for Maker’s Sake. Don’t go riding the lifts like that until they’ve been tested for load-bearing strength, please. I’ve seen the topographical maps of that area and as much as I wish we could have found an Earth mage to smooth out the hills that wasn’t proved viable. You could fall and hit your head. Again. Are you wearing your helm? Tell Cole that I’m counting on him.

I’m glad that you are finding such a kindred soul in Kenric. Scout Harding is brilliant, I agree. When we are finally free of the Inquisition I may recommend her as my replacement, actually. She’s been around since the beginning and has more than proved herself. I’ve been thinking of such things lately.

I will wear no such thing. Fur or no fur. I didn’t intend to take this long, I assure you. It’s just one thing after another, especially with Leliana gone. You are right, Charter is not her. She keeps even more secrets, if you can believe it. I think… well, I know, that Leliana has agents among our people. She’d be crazy if she didn’t. Charter may well be one of them. I suspect Mother Gisele as well. Josie agrees, but is hardly worried. I thought the Mother would leave when Leliana did, but no, she’s still here, and still mixing approval for my piety with disapproval for my life choices.

I like having life choices. Have I told you that? You are my best life choice.

As far as business, Rylen has pulled out of the Western Approach, leaving Chambreterre in charge - did you know that was slang for ‘privy’ in Orlesian? My language studies are improving. - and we finally have all our soldiers back from the Arbor Wilds. No doubt the undergrowth has already covered up any sign of our passing.

I am bored. I would like to say that with the absence of war, I was less busy, but instead I am busy with trifles. With Leliana gone, Josie has taken to bothering me with things like the color of the new drapes in the main hall. I could care less for such things.

Yours,

Cullen

***

Commander,

I’m formally requesting troops for the suppression of the Jaws of Hakkon. These people are trying to melt some ages-old spell and have some bizarre idea about a god in a dragon… which sounds incredibly familiar, and I need to compare my notes about the Haven Andraste cult with the Avvar’s beliefs about Hakkon, their god of winter, also being reincarnated into a dragon. AND the tale of the old gods being trapped in the deep roads in bodies of Archdemons… I sense a correlation! What if Andraste, who _was_ Alamarri, if only by marriage, was inhabited by such a spirit! And then there is Morrigan who can turn into a dragon after being bound to Mythal… I didn’t bring enough parchment with me! Has Morrigan left Skyhold? I do wish I could correspond with her, and with Solas.

Also, apparently all Alamarri marriages are temporary, so it’s likely that Maferath and Andraste _were_ married temporarily, and that their marriage just didn’t result in children. _That_ would explain why his ’concubine’s’ children took precedence! He was married twice! I’m going to have to revise my entire treatise and write to Leliana! Yet another thing the Chantry got wrong - and probably on purpose! She was still an elf though. I’m just not going to budge on that until I have the proof in my hand. And yes, she was still a mage. And I have learned nothing that would make me believe that Maferath wasn’t being influenced by a spirit or demon of spite or envy.

They call spirits ‘gods’ here. Isn’t that interesting? I almost wish I was a mage so I could talk to some of them - they just hang around the village and commune with their augur - a _spirit-trained_ mage. Their mages become abominations, for lack of a better word, to learn from the teaching spirits and then with a ritual _banish them when they don’t need them any more._ And the spirits don’t mind - well, mostly. Our College has so much to learn from the Avvar! Imagine being able to save a mage from possession!

Of course, if the spirit doesn’t willingly go, they are sadly left to do what we do, but far more humanely. They just send their afflicted mage to sleep. A sleep from which they do not wake. But still, progress I think. If we could save mages _after_ they were possessed… well, the implications are fascinating. I need to write a letter to Fiona.

Also, send Sky-Watcher with the troops. I think we could use a little Avvar intermediary, don’t you? Their culture is so interesting, and talking to their augur and elders has been absolutely fascinating. I’m gushing a bit, aren’t I?

Come soon, love. I ache for you.

Love,

Asta

***

Maker’s Breath, Asta, I’m leaving immediately. Rylen can pick up the slack while I’m gone. An entire village filled with mage abominations? Forget the dangers of the untested lifts and treehouses, _stay away from the village._

Your ideas about Andraste are pure heresy. Thank the Maker they didn’t make you Divine. I love you and your crazy ideas. You realize that Leliana was there when the Hero found the Sacred Ashes? She might have some input on that cult.

I will be there within a fortnight. _Stay away from the village. Don’t talk to any spirits._ Except perhaps Cole. Go unearth some Tevinter ruins and look for buckles or something. Please.

I love you. Don’t hit your head _or_ let anything inhabit it. Please.

Yours,

Cullen

***

Dear Leliana, or rather, Divine Victoria,

Did you pick that name as Divine just to piss me off? No matter. Maybe it’s a reference to the Canticle of Victoria and not my former Revered Mother. I certainly hope so.

Your absence is a severe lack at Skyhold. Charter is… not you. Cullen says she keeps even more secrets. I don’t suppose you could recommend a different replacement? We’re struggling with communication issues and I’m not in Skyhold to pick up the slack. Things are just too interesting amongst the Avvar right now.

We’re on the trail of Ameridan! And yes, suppressing the Jaws of Hakkon, but the research is more interesting. And the Avvar themselves, well, I could write an entire treatise on their spiritual beliefs - and that pun is intended. I just may, actually, if I can compile enough information.

Unfortunately, the Commander has forbidden me from going into the village until he can determine whether or not the mage population there is at risk of being the bad kind of abomination. It’s complicated. I won’t bore you with the details, but one of the things I must discuss with Fiona is a new indicator for a mage/spirit link that doesn’t pose a risk to others. Like a spirit healer, or for that matter, a Seeker, as they’ve been ’touched’ by a spirit of Faith. Abomination just sounds rude and shows hatred. We need a new lexicon, and I think the mages should compile it.

This does seem like a massive job, and I’m glad you are by my side for it. I imagine your challenges in Val Royeaux are just as, if not more, complicated. I don’t have to play the Game around the Avvar.

I’m sending you a matching pair of ancient Tevinter buckles. Perhaps you could have a pair of shoes made with them? Start a new trend? I thought they were lovely, myself, and Kenric says he has plenty of examples of this period, so I’m bending the rules of excavation and sending you a little present.

Do write as often as you can. You know I support you in the essentials. Let me know if you would like a copy of my new research - assuming, of course, that your contacts haven’t already supplied you with one.

Inquisitor Asta

***

Oh, Asta,

You have no idea how difficult this is. I’m so glad you are good with ciphers, because, my friend, this place is so full of spies and intrigues… it makes me think of the Winter Palace as a weekend away. On one hand, it’s very challenging, and I do love a challenge, but on the other…

You will be quite angry if I have to have people assassinated, won’t you? Ideals, I know. More important than ever. Of course, not assassinating people makes me appear weak. ‘Sister Nightingale - the Left Hand of the Divine’ is fading into ‘Divine Victoria’ - a far less intimidating character. Any ideas, my Game-playing Sister, on how to appear intimidating without actually having to have people killed secretly? What if it’s humane assassination?

Oh, and half the people here are upset that I’m originally from Fereldan, of all the stupid things. Just when I got used to the inclusion of the Inquisition I move back to Orlais and have to deal with national identity. Why did we save Orlais again? Was it for the shoes?

I _adore_ the buckles. Such delicate engraving! Thank you for thinking of me. Pretty clothes are a thing of my past, I’m afraid, but I can hide shoes under the gown. Everyone needs a hobby! And I _need_ an outlet in this mess. I wonder how much horror I would cause if I had the Divine’s clothes redesigned entirely to suit my own preferences. The hats alone make me shudder, but they always did.

I will write as often as I can. Rotate your ciphers often. And I do have a copy of your research - if you gather more information please include it with a secure courier. Somehow all your theories fit together - I can sense it, like a puzzle missing just a few key pieces. We will finish it together, my friend. One of these days I should tell you about finding the Sacred Ashes with the Queen. Has there been any word from her since I left? Does she even know I’m Divine? How she’ll laugh at me! Alistair sent me lovely baskets of Fereldan cheeses upon my ascent. It’s a shame he couldn’t attend himself.

I miss the Inquisition. You made it into a breath of fresh air and now all I breathe is muck and sewage. Say a Chant for me, if you ever do. Perhaps have the Commander do it instead, if not. The Canticle of Trials might be appropriate.

Leliana

***

Dear Leliana,

I’m so sorry for the mess I landed you in. Persevere, please! What we hope to build is crucial to Thedas. I’ll send you all the shoes I can afford to keep your spirits up. Of course, where I am they are more likely to be sheepskin boots with fuzzy balls on them, but… well, they are cute in their ugliness. Never mind. You’d hate them.

How about just having people disappear and reappear in the Hissing Wastes? Easy enough to have a few scouts take care of things - leave them food and water, a map, and a weapon and they’ll get the point soon enough to leave the spiders alone. I actually met a Sister in the Hissing Wastes - she was a weird one. That was what made me think of it. You don’t have to kill people to be scary. Scout Harding says she’s afraid of _me_ , and I never killed a person that didn’t try to kill me first. Well, except for Gaspard, but Cullen says that was a different type of self-defense. I think he was jealous. And if someone tries to assassinate you - well, by all means, please have them killed. That’s just practical. Idealistic, maybe, but I’m not stupid.

If they are dumb enough to get themselves killed while they are out there in the Hissing Wastes, well, that’s a whole different issue.

You know I believe in the Maker. I do Chant, but very rarely. My Commander, however, is more devout than ever. Since telling him about how Avvar mages are trained he apparently is Chanting daily on my behalf. It’s cute. I’ll have him skip a day on my behalf and say one for you. You need it more. I’m in my element here. Tiny shovels and little brushes, artifacts daily, books and research and knowledge! I could stay out here forever. The weather is chilly, but more mild than Haven, so, not bad, overall.

Too bad that once the Jaws are taken out that I won’t have an excuse. Kenric will have to finish on his own then. And the soldiers are marching - I’m glad they march slowly.

How goes the reestablishment of elves within the Chantry? Much opposition for the inclusion of the Dissonant Verses? Baby steps, Leliana. Elves first, please, and then we can work on Dwarves and more. Perhaps the Inquisition could arrange a grant to have the Shartan window fixed if the Chantry can‘t afford such a project? I won’t ask that the corresponding window of Andraste be fixed. Yet.

I noticed you didn’t include a list of possible replacements for Charter. Is she still directly reporting to you? Can you at least have her fill us in a little more often? Something smells rotten, and again, I’m not in Skyhold to see to it. I trust you, Leliana. Tell me if you uncover something, please.

Asta

***

Jenny of Ostwick,

I need you to look into the mapmaker. Little Sister says she isn’t talking. Chanter backs her up.

Try Author for additional characters. Write often to Chanter and myself. Fear of the unknown plagues all of us.

Victorious

***

V. and Chanter,

Acknowledged, mapmaker in mountains under surveillance. Requesting reassignment to Starkhaven under Chanter to avoid possible conflict with mapmaker. Staying quiet in polite company. More to it than ‘elves acting dodgy’. Will eager Dalish help?

Jenny of Ostwick

(sent in duplicate)

***

Jenny of Ostwick,

Permission granted. Remain with Starkhaven, eager Dalish will be apprised. Discretion advised.

Chanter

***

Loranil,

Asta’s brother could use some assistance, if you’ve of a mind. Apparently he has to relocate to Starkhaven. He could use your help - apparently a Dalish elf is just what he needs to get settled.

Talk about it with Mireille, there would be a bonus in it for you. And I’m sure you’re at loose ends without me claiming all your spare hours.

The Frostbacks are beautiful, and I think we’ll reach the Inquisitor in good time, if the snow holds off. It’s colder than usual for this time of year, I’m given to understand.

Sincerely,

Commander Rutherford

***

Commander,

I would be happy to help Maxwell move! Tell me, should I think about picking up his slack?

Loranil

***

Loranil,

As much as it grieves me, that would be helpful. Report to V. and myself when you’re settled.

Commander Rutherford

***

V.,

More than elves acting dodgy. Suspect new player on field over mapmaker. Eager Dalish picking up Jenny of Ostwick’s slack. Jenny reporting to Starkhaven, working with eager Dalish. Consider Peaches for reinforcement. Rotten from the inside?

I’ll give Little Sister a break in two days. Full disclosure?

Chanter

***

Dear Cullen,

Do convey _all_ my deepest regards to Asta. I’m sure you two have been apart quite long enough. Have you set a date yet? I understand the Avvar have interesting marriage customs, and I’m sure Asta will tell you all about them if she hasn‘t already. How long do you intend to stay?

Thanks so much for your assistance from before. Watchful waiting is key, I think. Perhaps Asta should write to Briala and thank her for her correspondence?

I quite envy you, getting to travel to the Frostbacks in such cool weather. Val Royeaux is positively sweltering right now - too hot for comfort. My hat is far too heavy.

Did Asta talk to you and Josephine about the grant for repairing the windows at the University of Orlais? Do either of you have suggestions for a craftsman that could undertake such a task?

The music in the Cathedral is getting louder. I think there will be quite a bit of dancing this season. I will participate for as long as I can, but my feet may soon tire without an adequate partner. Tell Asta I remember our dance at the Winter Palace fondly.

Many regards,

Divine Victoria

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the coded letters are clear enough. Just assume that they are also ciphered and sent by something other than the usual ravens.
> 
> Jenny of Ostwick = Max  
> Peaches = Sera  
> Eager Dalish = Loranil (and at this point if you haven't read the short story 'Daisies in her Hair' you probably should. Loranil's story is going to get twisty.)  
> Chanter = Cullen  
> Starkhaven = Rylen  
> V. or Victorious = Leliana  
> Little Sister (as always) = Asta  
> Mapmaker = Charter


	73. Unbiased Sources

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said that this would be wrapped up in the next couple weeks? The more I re-read and edit, the more I realize that I have more stuff I want to add. So rather than add a million little one off projects - like Loranil's side story which is kind of crucial to the end of my story - I'm just going to make this longer. Like, really long. It could take months to integrate it all. I'm already regretting not just including 'Daisies in Her Hair' with this work, because I keep referring to it. I'm sorry. It's painfully obvious by my poor formatting that I'm not used to having other people read my stuff. Hopefully I'll get better.
> 
> I'm sorry. If you're bored, though, I suppose you would have stopped reading?

Cullen made his way into the Inquisition’s camp and stared. This was certainly more elaborate than he had been expecting - despite the plans he had approved so many months ago - full buildings and a solid fence for defense purposes, separate outbuildings for the researchers and scouts, and yes, a few tents, but not as many as he was expecting. There might even be room here for the reinforcements that would follow him soon enough.

The trees - lovely familiar Fereldan-looking trees - towered over him and he took a deep breath. It smelled almost like Honnleath had, with the crisp bite in the autumn air and the hinted scent of possible snow. It was early for such weather, but apparently the Avvar believed their god Hakkon Wintersbreath was behind the odd weather - somehow. Cullen bit back his frustration and looked for Asta. He had sent a runner to say he’d be here - so where was she?

He pulled aside an Inquisition scout to inquire. “The Inquisitor? She’s with Kenric, Commander. Second building, the one with the stairs,” the woman indicated with a wave of her hand. “Probably arguing about buckles, again. Academics,” the scout snorted, “whatever you do, Commander, _don’t disturb their papers._ The Inquisitor chewed me up and spit me out when I tried to move them aside to look at a map.”

Cullen nodded and made his way up to the building briskly. He could hear shouting, and he recognized at least one of the voices.

“Nonsense,” a crisp Starkhaven accent pronounced, “There is no reason to believe that Andraste was actually a spirit or a dragon. Archaic local beliefs, that’s all. The people of Haven were isolated and had ages to twist and distort the Andrastian religion into…”

“Then explain away the significance of Hakkon Wintersbreath being trapped in a dragon form!” Asta insisted, “And the fact that Wardens believe that the Archdemons carry the souls of old gods! I have _talked_ with Mythal - and her daughter could turn into a dragon - and while she looked human she was definitely something… other! Or carried something that was not…” She threw up her hands. “Common doesn’t have the language for what she was. Either she’s an abomination or she’s possessed or she’s a god - and none of those are right! I really need to write to Fiona about that lexicon!” She glared at Kenric like it was his fault that the Common language was so lacking.

“The Haven cult, according to Genetivi, was practicing blood sacrifice,” Kenric folded his arms, all smug intellectual. “Why in the world would they have told anything like the truth? Plus, they had a Revered Father…”

“Which is _normal_ in Tevinter, and Genetivi knew that,” Asta pointed out, “And just because Tevinter does it doesn’t mean that it’s automatically insane, blood magic aside.”

“Yes, thank you for that, Asta,” Dorian drawled, “After all, I’m a fine example of the part of Tevinter that retains the use of its faculties…” He saw Cullen and smirked, nodding a hello.

Asta didn’t notice and didn’t comment, “Why wouldn’t a sect of the Northern Chantry remain at such a remote and culturally significant place as the Temple of Sacred Ashes? It just makes sense!” She blew her hair out of her face in irritation. “Honestly, Kenric, I thought you were logical! I thought you’d at least admit the possibility, with your fancy university training that…” she realized that her fellow debater wasn’t listening and frowned. Kenric’s eyes had grown wide with the Commander’s presence and Asta finally turned to see what he was staring at, critical at the interruption. She lit up all at once, “Cullen!” She started to throw herself at him and then stopped. “I mean, Commander,” she bit her lip, eyes dancing, trying to regain her professionalism.

“Oh please,” Dorian rolled his eyes, “You've already failed at staying professional.  You don't have it in you.  Just kiss him and get it over with. We’re all friends here, at least until you and Kenric start knifing each other over whether Brother Genetivi is a reliable unbiased source.” Kenric blushed, but Asta smiled at Cullen and moved to hug him, crossing the room in two swift steps.

“When did you arrive?” She asked, pulling back. “I want to show you the excavation sites! And the treehouses and the…” she laughed. “Oh, everything!”

“It’s good to see you,” Cullen said under his breath. “Can you slip away? Just for a moment?”

“Of course,” Asta agreed, “But let me introduce you. Kenric, this is my fiancée, Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition,” she beamed proudly. “Cullen, this is Professor Bram Kenric.”

“Just Kenric, if you please,” muttered the Professor in an attractive light Starkhaven brogue. “It’s an honor, Commander. Your scouts have made my research much easier.”

“Kenric is studying the first Inquisitor,” Asta explained unnecessarily, “and we are very, very close - if it weren’t for an ancient Tevinter wall of ice that we have to break through to get to his final resting place. He has some fascinating theories about his companions and the man himself…”

“Much like yours and Andraste?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully a little more subject to proof?”

Asta frowned at him, “I’m getting there, Commander. Give me time.”

“And what is this about another dragon?” Cullen exasperation showed in his voice, “Honestly, Asta, if the Jaws of Hakkon have managed to capture…”

“Not capture, exactly,” Asta temporized. “It's complicated. We found an old building - remarkably well preserved for a wooden structure - and I…” she bit her lip. “Oh, you’re going to yell at me.” She looked at Dorian. “Help me out?”

“You’re on your own,” Dorian turned ostentatiously back to his book, “You’re the one that talked to that disembodied voice. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Asta?” Cullen warned, “Were you talking to _spirits?_ ”

“Not exactly! And I wasn’t in the village,” Asta justified, “It was whatever’s left of Ameridan’s lover! Telana! She taught me this nifty new thing I can do with the mark and…”

Cullen’s veins started to bulge in his forehead, “Asta, you let a spirit teach…”

“Hear me out!” She protested, “After all, I’m _fine_ , and it really helps! I’m actually much safer now, and the mark hurts less when I use it!” Cullen brow creased with worry, and he breathed heavier, but he tried to listen. “Thank you, Cullen. Anyway, she told us about how he went off to fight the dragon, but she was injured, and then he didn’t come back. Apparently, that’s why Ameridan disappeared - he and the dragon just… disappeared together.” She turned to Kenric, “Am I summing it up well enough, Professor?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I suppose,” grumbled the academic. “You’re leaving out crucial elements, but you are speaking to a lay person, so I suppose…”

Dorian stifled his laughter. “Academics,” he muttered, and turned back to his book.

“Asta, are you or are you _not_ going to have to fight another dragon?” Cullen rubbed his head, suddenly aching.

“Yes? Probably,” Asta smiled sweetly and beseechingly, “But you’re here, so…”

“This was supposed to be a research project,” The Commander grumbled, rubbing his forehead, “Safe. Seal a few rifts, help out the local tribe with demons and an encroaching tribe problem… Instead, we have an entire village of child mage abominations and an ages old dragon and disembodied voices and…”

“Don’t forget Storvaker!” Dorian chipped in. “Asta’s going to have to judge her soon! As soon as you let her return to the village.”

Cullen looked up, “Who is Storvaker?”

“The hold beast,” Asta waved it aside, “It’s a formality. I’ll make her a Inquisition agent. It’ll be fine.” She glared again at Dorian, “You, ‘Vint, are not helping.”

“The hold beast,” Cullen repeated. “The one that was missing? The fucking bear?” He gave up, “Asta, I thought you were digging in the dirt, reading scrolls and finding buckles. What the Void have you been up to?”

“I have been!” Asta claimed indignantly, “But the other stuff keeps happening! And Ameridan is Kenric’s field and a point of personal interest for me! And the Avvar are pertinent to _my_ field! And you’re the one who told me I couldn’t go to the village! I’ve been just about everywhere but, now!”

“That is true,” Dorian sighed, “I’ve seen the inside of more ancient Tevinter aqueducts than I ever cared to. And if I have to light one more veilfire sconce…” Asta kicked his chair, knocking the mage back about two inches.

“Except for inside the Tevinter fortress and the village, there isn’t much left to do - the excavations will take years and I can‘t stay that long,” she explained, crestfallen.  Asta pouted and Cullen started to weaken.

“Damn it, Asta,” he started and then sighed. “We’ll go to the village tomorrow. But please, can we,” he eyed the two men pretending not to listen to their conversation, “take a walk or something?” Kenric rolled his eyes irritably and Asta scowled at the Professor.

“Honestly, Kenric, just because you aren’t brave enough to tell ‘Lady Harding’,” she made air quotes, “how you feel doesn’t mean that I have to hold back. Tell her, already. Do us all a favor.”

Dorian nearly choked, “Like you can talk. How long did it take you two to quit beating about the bush? And wasn’t it yours truly that finally…” Asta’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and Cullen waved his hands behind her back frantically. “You never told her?” Dorian smile grew wicked. “Oh, you owe me, Commander. I look forward to collecting.” Asta turned to her lover and glared, “None of that, Asta, my dear girl. I enjoy having one up on the Commander far too much to let him tell the truth now.” Dorian uncrossed his legs and recrossed them casually. “Off with the both of you. I’m sure Kenric and I will occupy ourselves productively without the arguing. Go, catch up behind a convenient tree or somewhere else ridiculously rustic.”

Asta grabbed the Commander’s hand and left without saying goodbye. She marched out of the compound, nodding as the soldiers saluted, but not stopping.

“Where are we going?” Cullen asked finally. “Isn’t it dangerous to leave the compound?”

“You are with me, the rifts have been closed for ages,” Asta gritted out, “and the giants are…”

“Giants?” Cullen tried to stop in his tracks but Asta kept pulling. “Asta, what have you been doing?”

“Well, they could be considered more of an Ice-troll, if you believe the literature,” she commented, still from between clenched teeth. “But for now, we are going to this little lookout to _talk._ The rift it overlooked is closed, and it’s relatively safe.”

“How safe is relative?” Cullen groused. “Honestly, Asta, when you came out here I thought you’d be digging in the muck and taking notes on Ameridan while the Professor lectured at you. Instead you’ve been talking to demons and abominations, and tracking a dragon and yet another bear, and hunting ice-trolls and…” Asta reached the tree and climbed up to the little balcony that surveyed the clearing. They were completely alone, and Cullen finally stopped complaining. “Oh, this is… nice.” He looked out and listened to the wind and the birds and watched the afternoon sunlight slanting through the leaves.

“It is, isn’t it?” Asta said, relaxing slightly. “I thought you’d like it. It reminded me of your pond, once the rift had been closed. A place of peace.” She tilted her head. “So apparently Charter has been keeping a lot from you. Too much. You should have heard about all of this already from her reports. Otherwise I would never have blindsided you.”

“You have no idea,” Cullen sighed, “Leliana and I are… having Charter investigated. We believe there is someone acting from behind the scenes,” he looked at her, concerned. “I’m supposed to tell you everything, now that we are completely unobserved.” He looked up and around. “We are alone, aren’t we?”

“As far as I can tell,” Asta confirmed, and she sat down. “Have a seat. This sounds complicated. What’s going on?”

“What isn’t?” Cullen sighed and sat down facing her, knees partially bent and aching to touch her, but having to speak first. “When Leliana realized that Charter wasn’t being forthcoming, she suspected duplicity. So, she called in your brother from his previous post.”

“Where was he?” Asta wondered aloud. “Nevermind, it’s better if I don’t know. I would worry.”

Cullen nodded, “As soon as he got back, he confirmed that Charter and some of the other Inquisition elves are… reporting to someone else. We have no idea who.”

“The Sentinels,” Asta muttered. “I bet it’s them. The Elvhen.” She thought again, “Or it could be Briala, but really, she’s been very forthcoming and helpful. I have a hard time believing that she’s making a power play.”  She shrugged, 'But she is Orlesian."

Cullen’s eyes widened. “That would make sense and explain why it's only elves. Now Max is working under Rylen so that he can’t be dispensed with for asking uncomfortable questions and seeing things he shouldn’t be seeing and Loranil is picking up your brother’s post. He’s proving a very reliable informant.”

“So the Inquisition has been infiltrated,” Asta breathed out painfully. “I suppose it was inevitable.”  She winced, "I wish it weren't the elves.  The Qun would be better.  More diverse.  Now if I take any actions it will look as if I am against elf independence at best and prejudiced at worst."

Cullen eyed her, “You’re taking this better than I thought you would.”

Asta shrugged, “The Inquisition is a threat now that it’s big and successful. We have enemies - more than we know, as Sister Natalie told Leliana and I in Valance. That doesn’t change our plans. It just makes us more careful about implementing them and it makes Leliana’s job of reintegrating the elves into the Chantry, and by extension Thedas, more important than ever. That way, at least, we don’t lose all of them to the Sentinels - who may not even be an enemy as much as just trying to build a new place for themselves in a world that left them behind.” She nudged his boots with her own. “And it makes me have to come back to Skyhold. You need me there, not here. We need to defeat this Hakkon and stop his resurrection, if that’s truly what it is, and get me back there and possibly to Val Royeaux to consult with Leliana. We shouldn‘t trust couriers or ravens more than we absolutely have to.” She puffed in resignation, “How soon will the troops be here, Commander?”

“Probably tomorrow,” Cullen calculated. “Upon their arrival I would say three days for preparation and then we can charge.”

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Then tomorrow, I’m going to take you to the village. We need to judge Storvaker, and cement our alliance with the Hold and its Thane immediately and hatch some plans. And I need cold protection armor.” She eyed him, “And so do you.”

“Asta, why will I need to protect myself from the cold - it‘s chilly, but not extremely so,” Cullen started.

Asta smiled wickedly, “Because the dragon is called “Hakkon _Wintersbreath_ , my love.” She laughed. “Odds are this one doesn’t breathe fire, either.” Cullen cursed inventively. “Save the curses for tonight, Cullen,” she advised as she climbed to her feet. “You’ll need them for what I have planned.” She looked at the sky. “Just about enough time.”

“Time for what?” Cullen stood easily.

“To make it to another camp,” She grinned. “I want to make love to you in your treehouse.” At his exasperated sound she protested, “What? It’s on the way to the village. Sort of. It‘s like getting a head start on the morning!” She pulled at his hand and he pulled her in, shaking his head.

“Can I at least have a kiss before you drag me through a forest?” He asked plaintively. “It’s been a long trip and a longer separation and I missed you.”

Asta curled into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I missed you.” She leaned her head against his. “You can have all the kisses you want.” He bent towards her and their lips touched. With the contact the fatigue of the trip, the worry over the spirits and mages and elves fell away until it was only them, alone against the backdrop of the Frostbacks. His tongue swept against her lips and he deepened the kiss immediately, sinking into her, exploring her mouth and pulling her against him with increasing urgency. She broke away first, and they breathed heavily against each other, wanting and waiting as the tension built.

“Are you sure we couldn’t just stay in a tent?” Cullen asked at last. “I like tents. They won’t make me feel like I’m ten years old and going to get in trouble with my parents for staying out overnight with a girl. And there are tents nearby,” he pointed out helpfully and longingly.

“I want you to stay out overnight,” Asta murmured, “with me. A girl. In a treehouse. It’ll be romantic. They have cots there instead of sleeping in a bedroll,” she wheedled. “And after the troops get here you’ll be too busy to pull away.”

“As long as you are in the bedroll with me I don’t care where it is,” Cullen pulling her further into him and touching his mouth to her neck, “And honestly, trying to make love in a cot sounds… trying. It’ll tip over.”

Asta looked amused, and pursed her lips, “Sounds like you have something… active in mind.” She gave into practicality, “They have tents and bedrolls there too. If you _insist_ , we’ll sleep in one of them instead of in a real building. We’ll still be up in the air, mind you, but it will have to do.” She sighed in pretended exasperation, “Either way, we’d better leave, or the bogfishers will be out and we’ll have to fight our way through. There are enough of them to be irritating.”

Cullen grinned, “It’s really good to see you. Treehouses or no treehouses.” He hesitated, “Are you sure the lifts are safe?”

Asta laughed at him, “Bull had a go after Sera and I. In full armor. It held up just fine. And it’s _fun_. Wait until you try it!” He didn’t look convinced, “Honestly, Commander, you can take the stairs and ramps, but the lifts are faster. Loosen up!” She whacked him on his breastplate. “Have some fun! Just because you are technically here for the Jaws of Hakkon threat doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy the treehouses! Don’t be so grumpy!”

“I am not _grumpy_.” Cullen groused. “I am _mature_. I am very busy and important and in charge of an army. There is no time for fun.” But Asta could see a ghost of a smile creeping around his lips. She could build on that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is NSFW.


	74. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly NSFW. You'd probably have to skip the entire first half - possibly more, and just pick up right at the end of the chapter.

By the time the couple reached the second camp the sun was setting and Cullen was exhausted from climbing hills and navigating gullies. “Honestly, would it have been so hard to find someone capable of removing the hills?” He grumbled. “It’s inefficient, all this up and down and around…”

Asta just laughed, “You should have seen how lost we were when we first arrived. It was ridiculous. I found myself trapped in a swamp surrounded by blood magic traps and no idea how to get out. And trees that Cole claimed were attacking - but very, very slowly. It was creepy. Luckily, you shouldn’t have to go there.” She paused, “Found lots of Felandaris, though. Ever noticed how it only grows in creepy places? Like the courtyard in Suledin.” She shivered. “Not looking forward to going back there to take care of those dragons. Have to eventually, though.”

Cullen sighed, “You could just have a team take care of it.”

Asta looked at him, surprised. “And miss out on the fun? I may hate the Emprise, Cullen, but the dragons are not why.” She whistled shrilly, and the lift dropped from above. “All aboard, Commander!”

Cullen eyed it apprehensively. “And you’re sure…”

“Bull. In full armor. It’ll be fine!” Asta shoved him on and whistled again. “It’s more fun going down, though. Have Sera do it for you. She’s fast!” The Commander started climbing slowly.

“You should have gone first!” He was apprehensive leaving her alone. “What if you’re attacked?”

“The Jaws have been mostly cleared out of this area,” she yelled back. “I’ll see you in a few!”

It _was_ only a few minutes until she appeared in his view, unharmed, and he relaxed incrementally. He knew he was spending too much time worrying about her, but in the light of all the danger she kept getting into… he almost couldn’t help it. He pulled her from the ropes and into his arms, ignoring the soldiers exchanging knowing looks with each other.

Asta didn’t though, “Some of these scouts were stationed at Caer Bronach when we killed the dragon there,” she whispered. “They’re probably expecting another night of entertainment. Care to oblige?”

“No,” growled Cullen. “Just no. I - we - can be quiet.”

“I guess I’ll have to be pleased you’ll touch me at all despite being so surrounded,” Asta sighed regretfully. “I have missed you.”

“And I, you,” Cullen continued, “but let our private affairs remain as private as possible, please?”

“I’m not ashamed,” Asta started.

“Neither am I,” Cullen looked at her, surprised. “Do you think that’s why I’m circumspect? Hardly.” They found an unoccupied tent and dropped their stuff and followed it inside, holding the flap for her. “On the contrary. I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re in charge. They should respect you. I lead the armies. They should respect me.”

Asta shook her head, “They do respect you. And they respect me too much.” She grabbed him around the waist. “This, our love, it makes us look less like statues and more like people, as Sera keeps saying. It makes us approachable. When we make too much noise in a tent or from the top of a keep, it makes them smile and realize we’re only human. That we aren’t made of fire and steel. The same thing happens when we play Wicked Grace with Varric.” She tilted her head. “Now, I want another kiss. Do I get one?”

“Always,” Cullen gave in and kissed her gently. When it started to build, he pulled away. “Should we eat first?”

“I’m only hungry for you,” Asta murmured. “Weeks, Cullen. Weeks and weeks of being alone, thinking of you thinking about me. I want to watch you as you look at me with that fire in your eyes that says I only have a few more seconds before you lose control.” She kissed him again, pushing against him and fueling his desire. She dropped her hand to his laces and pulled them loose. “I have you alone, and hopefully we’ll be left alone for a while. I want to make the most of it.” She moved her hands to her leathers and started to work them free. “What do you want?”

“You,” Cullen muttered back. “Always, only you. Maker’s Breath, Asta, this last month has been…” he clenched his teeth and his fists to keep from touching her too soon. “I want all of you. Whatever you’ll let me have.” He started to shrug out of his coat and work his breastplate loose with tight and jerky movements.

“That doesn’t leave much,” she laughed lowly and stepped out of her pants. “Do you want me to taste you coming? I‘ve been thinking about that a lot.” Her eyes were hot as she watched him undress, breathing a little heavy.

Cullen shook his head. “I want… I want to make love to you. All the rest of it, it can wait. Just…” She slipped her hands under his shirt. “Your hands, they…” she pulled the shirt off over his head and pressed herself against him as naked as the day she born. “Maker, Asta, I want to feel you touching me.” She immediately pulled his laces a bit looser and started working the pants down his hips, revealing his hip bones inch by careful inch. “I want… to be inside you.” She freed his cock from the constraints and wrapped her hand around him. He groaned instantly as she started stroking, his pants still around his thighs. “If you keep doing that I won’t get…” he shook, “I want it all, Asta. Not just a moment of release. Please.”

“Begging already?” She raised an eyebrow. “What if I want this?” She dropped down on her knees and kissed the tip of him with her tongue licking up his slit. He shuddered underneath her. “Will you tell me no?”

“No,” he worked out. “That feels… nice. But I want more,” he moaned as she took him into her mouth further and worked him with her tongue a little harder.

“Still think we can be quiet?” Asta whispered, stopping to let him breathe and pulling his pants to his ankles.

“No,” Cullen growled at her, stepping out of his boots and clothing entirely and dropping to his knees to meet her at her level. “Was that you proving to me that I have unrealistic expectations?” He slid his hands around to her back and cupped her ass, still separated by a few inches. They might as well have been miles, as far as he was concerned.

“No,” Asta leaned towards him, “That was me giving you a kiss.” She wrapped her fingers in his hair. “I missed you. All of you,” she clarified. “I’d kiss every inch if I could. If there was enough time, if we weren’t in the middle of the Frostbacks and surrounded by nosy scouts.”

“Fuck the scouts,” Cullen growled, “I want that, too.” Asta smiled, her face lighting up with his admission. She slid her legs around and pulled him down against her on the bedroll. “You haven’t been the only one thinking about tasting.” He pulled his hand free and started stroking between her legs. “Maker, you are already so wet.” He rubbed in little circles, finding her nerves and pressing harder. She stifled a gasp. He switched to his thumb and she moaned and grabbed his member again, stiff and soft and silky in her hands rough from labor and fighting. He teased her entrance with a finger, still circling. “I could make you scream. As high as we are, and surrounded by hills, I bet your voice would echo until every scout in the Frostbacks knew that I was licking you until you came.” He bent to her ear, “Until you came screaming my name.”

“Cullen,” Asta shut her eyes as he breached her with his fingers. She caught her breath again. “I could do the same.”

“I know,” he grunted as she tightened her hand around him, “And I would thank you after. You have all the power over me, Asta. I am lost.”

“No, you aren’t,” Asta smiled and pushed her hips up into his hand, “You are found. I found you.” He groaned and reached down to kiss her again, and for long minutes they were silent, except for the sounds of their lips meeting with increased desperation. Their tongues twining together in a battle for who would surrender first. “I want you, Cullen,” she whimpered at last and he slid his hand free from her wetness, kissing her harder until she bit his lip with impatience. “I can’t wait,” she was shaking uncontrollably. “I don’t want to come without you inside me. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. And I _know_ …”

“So have I,” Cullen breathed through his nose and stroked her breast. “Just, let me look at you, for just a moment?” He slipped his fingers back in and watched her rise against him, her hair more golden than brown with the time outdoors, memorizing every freckle, every fleck of color in her eyes, the color of her nipples, the scent that was uniquely hers. “You’re just… lovely.” She panted at him desperately and whimpered some more. “What did I do to deserve you? To deserve this?” He stroked and curled his fingers against her inner walls to make her cry out and shake harder. He slid his hand free again and bent over her with purpose. He pulled one leg around him, to allow her to tighten around his waist. He aligned himself and slowly entered, as her hand fell from him to stroke herself. He pulled himself back and pushed again, teasing her with his length, denying her the fullness of it, making her arch to try to catch more. Her hands fell to his hips, pulling against his resistance, fighting to take him further, pushing him along. He sped up at her encouragement, sliding against her as she clenched around him, drawing him in.

He had that look, she observed through the haze of her passion. That restrained fire that showed he was about to lose himself, to forget why he was being slow and patient and sweet. All he needed was… she dropped her hand between them and cupped his balls briefly, stroking. He tightened and rammed against her, control instantly lost in a groan and muffled curse. Asta arched to meet him eagerly, one hand dropped and fisting in the bedroll beneath them and the other back to stroking herself where they met. His eyes dropped from her face to where they were meeting as one, and his gaze flashed with pure lust as he moved harder, with more determination. “Asta…” he groaned again and his eyes shut and then jerked open to rest on her, on them.

He snapped his hips against her as she fought to grind against him, moaning at the sweet friction they were making together. He bent down to reach her mouth, delving deep into her sweetness, and she clenched her fist in his now rumpled curls as he slipped down to taste her breast, moving more shallow, but the intensity increasing. With his first nip, she pushed and arched up against him, ripples spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes - on and on and on as she cried out and pushed him deeper into her chest and body. He came with a violent shudder that she felt deep within, clenching around him as he whimpered into her breasts, broken and mended and everywhere in between.

They must have fallen asleep for a little while, drifting in and out, with muttered endearments and stroking of hair both short and longer, hands holding each other close, and sweet kisses and kindnesses blending into contentment. Eventually they did pull apart, and Asta searched her bags for a cloth to clean up with as he watched her, still drowsy with their lovemaking.

“I love you,” his voice broke. “Maker’s breath, will that ever stop happening?” he grumbled as she laughed and curled back up against him.

“I love you, too,” Asta said a little later. “Too much, perhaps.” She stroked his chest gently, idly. “Leliana asked me to be her Left Hand.” He tightened underneath her. “I turned her down. I wasn’t expecting that, but it doesn’t change anything. We have a plan, and the Chantry doesn’t feature in it, right?”

He smiled and kissed her head, “Right.”

“I just thought you should know. She offered to make you her Right Hand - and I was expecting that. Even gave her the idea myself.” She laughed. “But I am so _done_ with serving the Chantry.” She kissed his chest lightly. “Even if you were the Right Hand I would decline.”

“I have no desire to be the Right Hand,” Cullen assured her. “It will not happen. For once,” and his voice broke again and he cleared his throat irritably, “for once, you and I are going to fully choose our fates. Not much longer now. Things are getting better every day.”

Asta snorted, but softly, “Except in Val Royeaux. But if Leliana fails, that is her burden, not mine. I can guide, but I will not secure her throne for her. I will help her keep it, if I can, but I will not allow the Inquisition to be some sort of enforcement on behalf of the Divine.” She sighed, “Hopefully she won’t need much help.” Cullen laughed softly.

“I hope you’re right.”

***

　

The next day Cullen surveyed the not-so-small Avvar hold as Asta beamed next to him. “They all look so… normal,” he commented, not dropping his guard for a moment.

“They do, don’t they?” Asta smiled like he had said something clever, “That’s because they are! Now, the augur is a little suspicious of Templars, but I’ve told the entire village you don’t take lyrium any longer…”

“Asta, that’s private,” Cullen groaned, “and what if…”

“Nonsense,” Asta cut him off. “I’ve only met two adult ‘abominations’ since we arrived, and one was a Inquisition soldier possessed by a rage demon after the death of the man he thought would be his lover. The other was exiled when she refused to part with her spirit friend after her training ceased. She’s an agent of the Inquisition now, and I’ll expect you to work with her on some level.” Asta straightened. “It’s time for us all to overcome our prejudices,” she started, and Cullen sighed, recognizing Asta entering her soapbox mode. “Just because the Avvar do things differently doesn’t mean they are wrong! They feel like we are just as blind because we don’t use spirits to train our mages! Some of these spirits have been with the hold for generations - their knowledge is crucial to bringing the mage’s magic into a stable form. And not a single person in this hold _fears_ their own mages. Or if they do, they certainly don’t talk about it to lowlanders. It’s wonderful! You can’t even tell if the person you are speaking to is a mage or a mundane!”

“Oh, you mean like half the Templars in Kirkwall when they spoke to the Champion,” Cullen muttered. “If she wasn’t wearing a robe or carrying a staff…”

Asta laughed, “I still find that incredibly hard to believe.  According to Varric she spent half her nights casting spells against thieves and gangs in the middle of Kirkwall! And yet nobody knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Cullen huffed, “And I wasn‘t the only one. But she was a stabilizing force in a desperate time and place. I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.” Asta nudged him. “Well, most of the time. When I wasn’t saying incredibly stupid things.“ He sighed loudly, “Very well, I see your point. I certainly don’t see any mages running amok here,” his mouth twisted. “Quite the contrary. I… rather like it.” He sounded half surprised with his own admission.

“Wait until I take you down by the docks,” Asta smiled. “It’s beautiful. And they have the most interesting traditions - sky burials! Training arenas! They race up cliffs to determine the outcome of disagreements - and if a person is suspected of duplicity they have to do it with a handicap!” She laughed delightedly. “Their whole culture is so full of common sense.” She looked archly at Cullen. “They remind me of you.”

“You said that,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Right about the same time you mentioned dressing me up in loincloths and furs like their hunters. Honestly, Asta, I wonder about your brain sometimes that you come up with these things.”

“Well, once you see one of their women dressed in what they wear around the village you might understand,” Asta laughed at him. “They are very cold-hardy.” She led him down the hill towards the village slowly, and sure enough…

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen didn’t know where to look, “Is that all of it?” He met Asta’s knowing look and he swallowed. “The… hood… looks warm?”

She laughed outright and grabbed him by the arm and towed him away. “Still against the loincloth? We could play dress up!”

“Yes,” Cullen growled. “I’m not getting anywhere near that…” he nodded slightly towards a hunter. “But I bet Bull is talking Dorian into it right now.”

Asta giggled. “Actually, it was the other way around. And there wasn’t any real resistance. The noises… just be glad you weren’t here yet.”

“Thank the Maker that I was late,” Cullen hauled her up against him tightly and glowered at the Avvar passing them without remorse.  "You would look cute in one of those hoods, though."

 


	75. Bad Track History with Would-be Gods

Thane Sun-hair was gracious and shrewd, and Cullen instantly liked her. She was practical, offering her warriors as a way to open the gates even before they could ask. Asta grinned at her, “I don’t think we can do better than that. Anyone have an easier way than climbing the walls?” Kenric blinked at her, a little alarmed but Scout Harding just shook her head. “I guess we have a plan then!”

Cullen nodded, “It’s a sound plan. Our forces will feign weakness and draw the Hakkonites away from the gates.” Scout Harding agreed willingly enough.

“Not too many, I hope,” Kenric grinned at the Thane.

“Aye!” She laughed, “Leave some for us! Maybe the climbers will earn Legend-marks!”

The battle for the gates was straightforward - and went entirely to plan, with the minor exception of Asta being targeted by a massive Hakkonite Avvar with horns. Still, Bull went toe to toe with him, and the hold beast - Storvaker, Cullen reminded himself, helped the Qunari warrior take the Bruiser down with no damage to Asta at all. Once through the gates, however, the approach to the Temple quickly became something far more challenging, with Avvar fighting back to hold their position far more fiercely than before. The group struggled to reach the Temple, and once there, were confronted with odd ice wards.

“Destroy them,” Asta ordered. “But do it quickly. I cannot let our allies be caught in a trap that we could have prevented.” There were many, but as they shattered, the group found themselves at the Temple’s door. “Shall we knock?” Asta smirked? “Or just let ourselves in?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you even a little worried?”

Asta’s face fell, “Of course I am. But do you honestly think that it does any of us any good to dwell? I risk my life every day. For Andraste's sake, I'm here to give a god a good rebirthing - like I’m some kind of divine midwife.” She glared at Varric. “Don’t you DARE put that in the book. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Whatever you say, Inquisitorialness.” But Varric scratched a quick note all the same.

The old Temple was cold in a way that none of the Inquisitor’s team had experienced before - beyond chilly, beyond even what they experienced in the Emprise du Lion. This was a cold that settled in their bones and threatened to stop them where they stood unless they kept moving.

The heat runes and cold protection were of little help for the cold that seeped into and under the armor like a disease, Cullen noted. He may not believe in this god ‘Hakkon’, but the effect he was having on the Temple that was supposed to house him was undeniable. “Make me to rest in the warmest places,” he muttered under his breath, not sure if it was a prayer or a joke.

Dorian choked and shivered, “That would be nice right about now, wouldn’t it? Asta, my dear, why do you delight in taking me to frozen wastelands? First Haven, and then you hike us all through the Frostbacks, the Emprise… at least the Storm Coast is _warmish_ , if wet.”

Asta didn’t answer and Cullen turned. Instead of shivering, she was investigating a brazier. “I think I can help you, Dorian. Light this,” she instructed. The mage narrowed his eyes and set off a fireball. The heat sunk into their bones. “It’s temporary,” she said, “since we can’t stay huddled around it, but maybe there will be more. The Avvar may be acclimated to cold, but this cold is deadly to anyone, not just lowlanders.” She sighed, “Someday I’d like to live somewhere warm again. Someplace where the sun bakes into my skin.” She looked further into the temple. “Everyone still with me?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Right. Let’s go kill an Avvar god.”

Of course it wasn’t that simple. It never was. They wandered the massive hallways of the temple, occasionally finding Hakkonites huddled in turn around the braziers, already lit. “Keep near the flames!” Asta yelled at all of them, “You have to stay warm!” and there would be a brief struggle for their life.

Eventually, they started to hear vague chanting. Dorian cursed. “They’ve already started the ritual.“

“Of course they have,“ Asta pointed out. “Not once have we ever managed to be in time to _prevent_ such a thing. All we can do is put an end to it.“ She thought hard. “There will be mages. Cassandra, we’re going to need you the most, I suspect, on the front line. Dorian, as the warriors take out the Avvar, resurrect and use them as much as possible. So far, these Bowmen haven’t been bad, but I suspect shit is about to get a lot harder. Varric, Sera, Cole - fence in the perimeter with traps so that we can all stay close to the fires and don‘t have to chase these imbeciles all over this icicle of a Temple. Vivienne - I know you hate being in charge of barriers, but that’s how we need you. You know you make the best barriers. Cullen,” Asta smiled shyly, “Be my shield? Bull and Blackwall should be on the front line.” Cullen nodded his relief. “All right then, stay close and stay warm. I’m going to lay some traps of my own, but I suspect I won’t do much good, since I can’t stray far. I don’t want to have to tell the healers that you died of frostbite and exposure.” She slipped into stealth and crept forward.

They all followed and spread out around the frozen altar, fencing in their enemy before they were aware. Asta yelled and they charged, and the battle began.

“Is that a frozen dragon?” Bull yelled between taking out Bruisers. “Because whatever managed to turn a dragon into a frozen treat must have been seriously bad ass!” He took a hit for Dorian, grunting. “You okay, Kadan?”

“Never better,” Dorian raised two Bruisers at once. “Here’s a little present for you, Amatus. Do use it wisely?” He directed them to flank Bull.

Vivienne was clearly bored, “Asta, darling, isn’t there some _other_ way to use my talents? I’m wasted on barriers.”

Asta was a little too busy to answer, though. Without the braziers, it was cold, and she kept having to dodge too far away. Cullen struggled to keep up with her, and though he was managing to take the hits meant for her, he couldn’t keep her warm. “Asta…” he warned, “get to the fires! I can see you shaking!”

“Too busy,” Asta chattered. “Dorian! Static cage!”

“My pleasure!” Dorian called, and trapped the remaining Bruisers and the Spellbinder in place. “Do let me know if I can assist further?”

“Vivienne!” Asta yelled, making her way, shivering uncontrollably next to a brazier. “Immolate?” Her teeth chattered and she shuddered, trying to get warm. Her eyes glazed over, her tears and sweat trying to freeze to her skin and eyeballs as her core temperature dropped.

“Naturally, darling,” and Vivienne waved her hand. The heat coming off the combined brazier and spell helped, and Asta thawed a little, her defenses lowered as she tried to warm up. A Bruiser tried to come up behind her and Cullen realized too late that none of them were close enough to stop him.

“Behind you!” He yelled and Asta’s head came up and around, just in time for her to catch a blow from the man’s axe. She fell like a ton of bricks, and he ran, only to be blocked by ice traps laid by the Spellbinder. “I can’t get to her!” He stared at her limp form, so close, but miles away. “Andraste help us!” He prayed, panicking and trying to find a way through the mess of runes.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian cursed. “Vivienne?”

“Of course,” the mage sniffed and cast Resurgence. “It’s nice to be useful for _something_.” Asta groaned and Cullen skirted the edges of the traps surrounding her to get to her side and prevent the Bruiser from finishing her off. He blocked the axe and threw the man back viciously, defending her with everything he had as she groaned. Her helm had a massive dent in it, but he couldn’t look, couldn’t take the time.

The Spellbinders went down, and Cullen slashed the final Bruiser across the throat, a deadly look in his eyes. The group panted at each other, drinking regeneration potions and moving towards the braziers, shaking with the cold and aftermath. Cullen felt… something, and he looked at Cassandra, whose eyes were widened with terror. “What…” he started, kneeling by Asta, still prone, but living. A new form stepped out of the shadows, and he swore. “Who or WHAT is that?”

It cast a spell and corpses started to rise from the floor. Dorian screamed, “He’s a necromancer! Vivienne! SHIELDS!” The warriors immediately snapped up Guard and a beautiful barrier domed the mages. “ASTA! USE THE MARK!” Asta looked around dazedly and stared at her hand, confused. “THE THING! THE THING TELANA SHOWED YOU! USE IT!” Her gaze cleared momentarily and she did something that left her and Cullen sheltered in a hazy green glow. He pulled off her helm in a frenzy. Her skin wasn’t broken and he breathed a little easier.

“I’m okay,” Asta said shakily. “Give me back the helm.” He put it back on her head. “New tactics!” She yelled. “Stop the necromancer! LOTS AND LOTS OF FIRE! He’s putting out the braziers! Relight them if you can, Vivienne! Andraste’s Tits and ASS, this sucks!” She scrambled to her feet. “Honestly, I’m remembering Corypheus almost fondly.” She looked at Cullen, only slightly dazed. “You’re okay?” He nodded. “Then get the fuck out there. I can take out these archers. Probably. Be careful? Vivienne’s already used Resurgence.” He could see the worry in her eyes. “EVERYONE GOES HOME ALIVE!” She ordered at the top of her lungs.

“Your predecessor could not slay me!” taunted the thing. “You will die as well.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Asta muttered. “You are tougher than me. No doubt. But can you cope with Vivienne?” She turned to the mage, “Vivienne! You’re up front and center! Dorian! You’re on shields. I’ll help when I can.” Her face was intense and focused. “Let’s kill this son of a bitch.”

“I am the cold blight of winter!” It screeched as Vivienne’s blade bit into him again and again.

“Oh yeah?” Asta asked. “That’s a shame. I like summer, as seasons go.  Or spring.  There are flowers in spring. Winter is only pretty when viewed through a window whilst next to a roaring fire and holding a hot drink and a good book.” She took out two archers and started on a third. Cullen darted around her in time to block several more arrows aimed in her general direction. Dorian threw up another shield and relit a brazier, one after the other. “Thanks, Dorian!”

“I am Hakkon reborn!” It yelled at her impotently.

Vivienne flashed her sword against it again and it tried to freeze her. It bounced off her shields and she sneered at the would-be god. “Honestly, my dear, is this the best the Avvar can do?” She shuddered. “I am getting a bit chilly, though. Dorian, darling, another brazier?”

“At your service,” Dorian obliged.

“Yeah, you aren’t the first thing I’ve killed that claimed to be a god,” Asta observed. “In fact, I have a really bad history with gods. I’ve only left Mythal to live, actually, and that’s because she’s an awesome grandmother. Do you have grandkids?” She waited for a response. “That’s a shame. Time to be reborn, Hakkon.  Do better the next time around.” She sunk her blades into his neck and relished the shriek. It fell in a lump and Asta shook above him. “Damn, that was hard. Dorian? Have enough magic to light a fire?” They were all shivering again. “Drink ‘em if you got them,” she instructed as Dorian managed to light the center brazier again. “Something tells me this isn’t over.”

She approached the altar slowly, watching another form materialize on it’s surface as rocks formed stairs to let her reach it. “More fucking stairs,” she muttered under her breath. “Will it never end?” An Dalish elf looked down at her warily. “Inquisitor,” she breathed in amazement. “Inquisitor Ameridan.”

Cassandra’s head snapped up. “Are you sure, Inquisitor?”

“I wondered,” Asta breathed, “When Telana said that Drakon said ‘for the sake of both our races’. I knew you were Orlesian, and that didn’t make any sense.” She beamed. “This is wonderful! This will make such a difference to elves everywhere! And on top of that,” her eyes lit up, “You‘re a mage! Leliana is going to dance with joy!” The first Inquisitor stared at her blankly, not understanding. “Oh, you’ve been… gone a long time.”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” Ameridan stared. “How fares Drakon? Has he brought the Chant to the whole world yet?”

Asta coughed, a little awkwardly, “Hardly. Inquisitor Ameridan, you disappeared in 1:20 Divine, around the time of the signing of the Nevarran Accord.” Her eyes marveled with witnessing history in the flesh.

“You say it as though it was…” Ameridan looked down at his feet, slumping slightly. “How long?” Asta’s heart went out to him.

“You were the last Inquisitor,” Cassandra supplied practically. “There has not been another since you disappeared… 800 years ago.”

“Drakon was my oldest friend,” Ameridan protested. “He would have sent someone to find me!”

“I’m afraid Drakon was a little busy with the Darkspawn that were pouring down from the Anderfels,” Dorian offered.

“I see,” Ameridan sighed and paused, and then continued hopefully, “Telana escaped the battle. Did she… do the records say what became of her?” Asta swallowed painfully.

“She returned to the island,” she said softly. “From what we can tell, she died trying to reach you through… dreams?” Cullen moved to stand behind her, putting a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. She reached up to touch it. It could have so easily been them.

Ameridan sighed, suddenly exasperated, “I asked her not to! She was a good hunter and the love of my life, but she…” he met Cullen’s eyes and they exchanged an understanding look. “I never wanted this job. Hunting demons was so much simpler than politics!”

Cassandra stepped forward again, “Inquisitor Ameridan, how can the leader of the Seekers be a _mage?_ ” Her face showed wonderment.

“Has history forgotten so much?” Ameridan sounded slightly bitter. “I was not a Seeker myself, as most Inquisitors were. I used my magical gifts in the hunting of demons and maleficarum. Do the Seekers no longer welcome the aid of mages?” He sounded incredulous. “What the Void have you people done to Thedas?” He glared a bit at them.

“No,” Cassandra’s mouth firmed. “That was… forgotten. Along with so many other things.” Her face said without words that it would not be forgotten again.

“This is Cassandra Pentaghast,” Asta introduced. “She is a member of the Order of Seekers.”

Cassandra bowed, “I am honored, Inquisitor.”

Ameridan nodded slightly, “As am I. Your predecessors were good men and women in difficult times. As the Inquisition joined the Chantry, we required a leader who inspired loyalty, not fear. Drakon asked that I lead, to show a united front. I was needed… as I suspect you were needed.”

Asta smiled wryly, and not without bitterness, “I had goals for my life. I had plans and dreams. I still do, actually.” Cullen squeezed her shoulder again. “I hope at least I don’t inspire fear.”

Ameridan smiled in understanding, “And now you have responsibility. Including that which I was unable to fulfill myself. The dragon carries the spirit of an Avvar god.”

“I knew it,” Asta grumbled and slouched. “Kenric owes me 20 sovereigns. He better be good for it.” Dorian coughed and Varric stifled a snicker. She straightened back up.

Ameridan continued, “I lacked the strength to kill it.” Asta’s eyes went wide with apprehension. “My own magic was enough to bind us all, locked in time.” Dorian’s face went pensive and calculating. “But when the cultists drew that spirit into another vessel…”

“Vessel,” Asta muttered. “That sounds familiar…”

“…it disrupted my bindings.” Ameridan looked at all of them. “It is breaking free.”

Asta grinned all at once, “I got this. My friends and I killed the would-be god that unleashed the blight upon the world. He had a dragon, too.”

“Then I leave the world in good hands,” Ameridan’s burden seemed a little lighter. “The passage of years can be delayed, but not ignored. I will soon join Telana at Andraste’s side.”

“Wait…” Asta’s face lit up, “You worship Andraste?” Ameridan blinked awkwardly at her again. “Sorry, easily distracted,” she muttered. “But this has huge ramifications.”

“Take this,” and he tossed a greenish magic into the air. “It holds the last few memories of an old hunter who was neither as wise or as strong as he thought.” Asta nodded, understanding completely. “Fight well, Inquisitor. I was honored to have met you.” The elf started to fade away into ashes and dust and Asta bit back a protest. And then he was gone and Asta started cussing.

“Shit. Fuck. Damn it to the Void. All the questions he could answer and I…” she started crying. “Maker’s mercy. Thedas was once so much _better._ It's only been 800 years!  How can we ever…” she spun around and buried her face in Cullen’s pauldrons. “Drakon was friends with an elf. An elf _mage,_ no less. All those lies, all the omissions.” She wiped her face. “At least I have another piece of the puzzle now.” Cullen put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “I’m fine. Come on. We have a dragon to kill.” There was a sudden explosion and they were all knocked off their feet with the impact. “Shit,” she screamed, “We have a dragon to kill _right now._ ”

The dragon slammed into the ground and regained its feet slowly, glaring menacingly out of its beady eyes. It roared at them, its breath not improved by the sleep of ages, and Asta backed away. “Maker’s Balls, I do not want to fight a dragon in here,” Asta said. “We’ll destroy the whole place! Kenric will kill me!”

“You might not have a choice, Inquisitor,” Cassandra bit out. “Surely killing the dragon is more important?”

“NOT TO KENRIC,” Asta screamed. “Cassandra, grab whatever is in that chest.” The group circled the beast warily but it took flight and fled all at once, as discomposed and bewildered as Ameridan had been.

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen relaxed. “We won’t have to fight it in close quarters.” Asta took off running after it. “Asta, where are you going?”

Asta cursed. “It’s going to fly towards the village! We have to save the Avvar hold from the dragon! _It hasn‘t eaten in 800 years!_ ”

Cullen cursed again and took off running with her, followed by her friends, some encumbered by pieces of Ameridan‘s armor.

Bull laughed uproariously, “This day just keeps getting better! Demon gods, Avvar warriors and now a dragon! It’s a good day! It’s a _very_ good day!”

“Shut up, Bull!” Blackwall yelled. “This is hardly the time.”

“Then when is?” Dorian defended his lover. “Let him have his fun.” He smiled indulgently at his enthusiastic man.  "We could all be dead by tomorrow night."

 


	76. Misty Watercolor Memories of the Way We Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the Way We Were, as sung by Barbra Streisand. I told you my taste in music was eclectic. That's one word for it, anyway.

Asta left the temple and let her eyes track the dragon far ahead, winging towards the hold and cursed. “We’ll never catch it,” she sighed.

“But we can track it,” Bull stated. “And maybe it’s confused enough that it will avoid people for a little while?”

“Bull, we aren’t that lucky,” Asta sighed, and waited for everyone to catch up. “So that green light Ameridan let loose? I think it was his memories.”

Cassandra shuddered, “Like in the Fade?”

“Like in the Fade,” Asta confirmed, “But his, not mine. I’m not sure whether to be thankful about that or not.” She sighed. “I think he wanted me to see them. I hope so.” She bolstered her confidence. “So, if we see them, we take them. Anything he tells us is valuable. I wish…” she drooped a bit. “I wish I could have asked him about Andraste… but never mind.”

***

“There!” Cassandra pointed out a bobbing green globe. “Isn’t that…” Asta reached out her hand and absorbed the memory - much easier than in the Fade, without spider nightmares devouring her alive. Ameridan’s voice washed over them all.

_“My spirit companion_ …”

“THAT’S IT!” Asta nearly screeched with excitement. “I must write a letter to Fiona!” The others hushed her. “Sorry…”

_“My spirit companion says that we should be able to seal the dragon away. What is not as apparent is if in order to do so I will have to seal myself away as well. Not that we have much choice. It will wreak devastation across Orlais unless we stop it now.”_

Cassandra was quiet, “He saved Orlais from the Avvar and no one ever knew?” She sighed heavily and they were all silent at the Inquisitor’s sacrifice.  "And he had a spirit companion?"  She blanched, "Like Cole or..." she bit off her sentence.

Asta broke it finally. “Nice guy. I wonder whether once they know they’ll thank him?” She sounded slightly bitter. “Oh well, apparently Inquisitors have one thing in common. They don’t do things to be thanked.” Cullen looked at her, worried. “Moving on,” she pushed through. “We need the next memory. That was… informative but not helpful to our current task.”

The second memory was harder to catch, bouncing and streaking away to finally stop before the small shrine to Andraste and Ghilan‘nain that the first Inquisitor had built. Eventually they caught it, and Asta listened more quietly, storing up the knowledge in her aching heart.

_“All is prepared for the final battle against the dragon of the Avvar. All is in place. I offer thanks to Ghilan’nain, Halla-mother, and to Andraste, Maker-bride. As you were raised up from mortal men to stand with our Creators, our Makers, so raise me up now to defend this world.”_

Asta clenched her fist. “Is he just throwing it in our faces that we’ve gotten so much wrong?” she hissed. “He built an entire shrine…”

Cassandra agreed, “Inquisitor Ameridan, who helped bring the Inquisition into the Chantry built a shrine for the Maker and the Elven gods?” She shook her head in wonder.

Varric temporized, “Belief is a funny thing. An elven Inquisitor must have had a careful path to walk.”

Asta shook her head, “You are right about that, Varric, but this isn’t the first time he mentioned Andraste and being by her side. His faith… was true.” She wore a mask that not even Cullen could penetrate. “We’re missing so much. Adding more questions than answers.” She pulled away and kept searching.

***

_“If I must go to the end of Thedas for Drakon I am at least glad to have friends at my side. Telana and Haron have been arguing about Haron using the lyrium to fight demons. Some things never change. Orinna has a new alchemical trick she wants to try. Like pitch or tar, but stronger. A recipe straight from Orzamaar. They argue, fuss and mock each other mercilessly… and I would be lost without them.”_

Dorian snickered, “Oh yes, what’s that like?” Asta backhanded him. “Ouch. Was that necessary?”

“Quiet, you,” she threw out half-heartedly. “Lyrium… for demons? Lyrium is supposed to suppress magic. Demons are from the Fade, made of magic?” She focused on Cullen, frowning through him, not at him. He simply had nothing to add. “Hardly helpful, Ameridan,” Asta criticized and then softened. “But they do make the job easier, don’t they?” She seemingly asked the globe of light and Cullen restrained himself from holding her.  “I wonder if they knew it was addictive, then,” she whispered.

Bull grunted, “Sounds like he needed someone to stand in front of him, too, Boss. Good thing you got us.” Dorian sighed. “What? Do I have to get all lovey-dovey and sentimental? We all get our own thing out of this shit, don’t we? I’d rather just go get the fucking dragon and leave the fucking memories alone.”

Cassandra drawled, “A dwarf getting on someone’s nerves… I can’t imagine.” Sera snickered.

Varric shot back, “This Orinna sounds like good people.” He met the Seeker’s eyes and grinned and she looked away.

Asta pulled back from the memory. “Time to move on.”

***

_“I dislike being so far from home. Halamshiral needs me. The darkspawn have grown stronger. Some of my brothers would let those creatures destroy Orlais. They think Drakon no better than the Imperium. But if we do not stand with the humans against the Darkspawn we might lose everything we have gained. I will fight this Avvar-dragon for you, Drakon… and then we shall drive back the darkspawn together.”_

Cassandra sighed, almost brokenheartedly, “But he died here. And the elves ignored the Second Blight as it spread across Orlais. So began the animosity that lead to the destruction of the Dales.”

Varric grunted, “Looks like the Jaws of Hakkon indirectly destroyed the Dales.”

Asta choked up. “Don’t you all see? They were like us - stronger together than apart. They had more everything than we did, and still struggled to stay united. How hopeless is this goal of mine?” She started to hyperventilate and Cullen had to grab her shoulders. “No, Cullen,” she fought, “it’s impossible. Ameridan couldn’t defeat the damn dragon, but he could at least trap it in time! I can’t do that! What am I going to do? Bury it in books?” She was getting angry, but that was better than despondent. “Fuck, I can’t even pierce its hide!”

“You are strong enough,” Cullen told her. “We make you stronger, just as Ameridan’s friends did for him. Trust us. And you have the mark. Ameridan didn’t have that. That will help. Breathe, Asta!” She focused on his face, breathing easier. “Take your time,” he said. “I haven’t seen the dragon, but I think it’s safe enough for now. Breathe.” Sera brought over her canteen. “Take a drink. It’s been a long night, and the sun is only just coming up. It’s going to be a longer day. Don’t get overwhelmed.”

Asta nodded and kept breathing. “It’s just… I feel so…” and she hugged him tight. “So useless. How…”

“Ask yourself later,” Cullen advised. “Write to Leliana. You’ve learned a lot that will help. Concentrate on that.” Asta nodded against his chest and pulled back. “Better?”

“No,” but she smiled grimly. “But we have more memories to reclaim.”

***

The last memory wasn’t easier, as it only reminded her of how much she had to lose.

_“Telana, my love, I should not have asked you to come with me, though I know you would not have stayed behind. You are a Dreamer and this dragon the Avvar have tamed carries a demon inside it. I can see how its presence hurts you. You should be at Halamshiral, reminding our people of our alliance with Drakon. Not here, risking death again with me. Still, in the old tongue, your name, Telanadas, means ‘nothing is inevitable’. I will remember your name and hope.”_

“A Dreamer like Telana would be sensitive to demons,” Dorian noted, “This spirit of Hakkon would have caused her a good deal of pain.”

Varric grunted again, “No more pain than watching everyone she loves die, I imagine.” His forehead creased and he carefully didn’t look around.

Asta reached behind her for where she knew Cullen was standing and grabbed his hand, squeezing the gauntlet though she knew he couldn’t feel it. “Could you all give me a minute with Cullen?” With murmurs of assent they drifted off towards the island’s beach. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come, either.” She turned and looked at him, worried. “I may have brought you to your death.”

“And I wouldn’t have been left behind,” Cullen reminded her. “It is my choice. I fought to be here, reorganized and planned and worked hard for the privilege.” She tried to protest, to shake her head. He stopped her, and took off her helm and dropped it on the ground. It was dented anyway. He took his own off and dropped it next to hers. “Asta, I made my choice. I want to be with you, in danger and in death, if that is what being with you means. What was that elven phrase? Telan…” he stumbled over the word.

“Telanadas,” Asta supplied, “’nothing is inevitable’.”

“And I agree,” he said lightly. “No, we haven’t fought an ice dragon, but we already defeated one incarnation of this so-called god.” His mouth twisted, “And if all else fails, I will remember your name and hope.” Asta hit him. “Ow,” he looked a little impressed. “That hurt.”

“Ass,” she muttered. “Couldn’t not mention the name, could you. Had to break up the moment.” But her mouth twisted. “Did it really hurt?”

Cullen shrugged, “It wasn’t much of a moment. And yes, it did. We should work on your hand to hand combat.  That hurt through the armor.” He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. “I can think of a better moment though.”

“Can you?” Asta looked up at him, eyes flicking to his lips. He brought his hand up to trace her lips, the metal of his gauntlets cold against her mouth and jaw.

“I would rather not fight a dragon without at least kissing you,” he admitted, leaning down. “Even though we are both incredibly bloody, exhausted from fighting in sub-zero temperatures all night, _and_ I’ll never get the filthy dust out of that Temple out of this coat…”

“You sound like Dorian,” Asta snorted, amused. “I’ll get you a new coat. This one performed admirably in the line of duty, after…” he kissed her, and she forgot about the filth, and the blood, and the coat and the dragon waiting just up the beach, already building itself an ice nest. There was only his lips and hers, moving together in a dance they knew all too well, but never so well that they wanted to stop. His hands were on her shoulders, but they drifted down to pull her tighter and she felt his tongue against her lips. She parted and met him there, curling against him like they had all the time in the world. Her hands made their way up from his upper arms to his neck, and she twisted her gloved fingers in his hair, mussed by the removal of the helm. He poured himself out, longing and weakness and worry and desire falling from his tongue and his mouth into hers. It lasted longer than it should have and less time than he needed or wanted, and he never wanted it to stop. He groaned into her and she moaned back, echoing his desire back to him.  His breath hitched at the sound and resigned, he pulled back and she stood against him, a breath away, neither wanting to quit but knowing that they still had a dragon to fight before the day could end. She sighed, and he tasted her on his lips and he started to lean in again to start over, drawn in by her presence.

“Now that was a _kiss_ ,” Bull shouted. “Shit. Kadan, want a go before we fight the dragon?”

“Not hardly,” but Dorian was breathing hard. “No time, I think, Amatus.” He swallowed, “Raincheck?” His voice was a little higher than normal.

Asta raised up on her toes and pecked Cullen’s lips one last time. “Likewise, Commander?” she breathed.

“Definitely,” Cullen’s voice broke. “Um, do you think you could grab my helm…” Asta bumped her hip against him and she started when she realized what was - had happened. “I… need to make some adjustments,” he muttered. “I can hide… but if I bend…”

“I think the coat’s long enough,” Asta whispered, “but yes,” she grinned at him tilting her head. “I’ve still got it, huh? Not getting bored with me even after all these months?”

“Maker’s breath, do you even have to ask?” Cullen closed his eyes, fighting for control. “Just grab the helm.” She bent and grabbed them both and handed him his and put hers back on, sighing. He caught a flash of wickedness in her eyes just as she pinched him. “Asta…” he warned.

“Eh, you should be used to it,” she shrugged. “Never going to stop. Not as long as you have an ass like that. And probably even when you don‘t.”

“First my hair and now my ass,” Cullen grumbled, but his eyes were laughing. “Let’s just go fight the dragon?”

"My pleasure, Commander," her eyes glimmered back.  "After you?  I like the view from behind."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have another chapter out later today. This one got rather long, so I split it up.


	77. First Hand Accounts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um... Should have added a trigger warning for blood.

The dragon itself was a talker.

“Did that… thing just speak?!” Cassandra was aghast, but threw up her shield against the first of its icy attacks in an instinct honed with years of practice and discipline.

“Fabulous,” Varric deadpanned, “A dragon that talks. Now my life is complete.” He flipped agilely out of the way of the blizzard that the dragon spit at him and Sera, and climbed to a peak for a better view. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be up here, raining fire from above. Everything that happens to you is weird, Inquisitor!”

“Well!” Asta was quite cheerful, now that the moment was here. “That’s rather definitive!” She smirked at Cullen, who shook his head while he tried to dodge and get closer to the dragon‘s flank at the same time. “It’s possessed by something! Spirits and demons possess, ergo, Hakkon at least is possessed by a spirit like that of the old gods! This is going to look great when I finally publish! A first hand account! Varric, can I have an introduction to your agent and publisher?” She found a convenient ice wall and sat down, pulling out her ink and notebook.

“Sure, why not,” Varric grunted. “Bastards tricked me out of half of my earnings in Orlais, after all. Least I can do is push them into publishing a scholarly treatise on fucked up weirdness.”

“Thank you,” Asta beamed at him. “I’ll mention you in the introduction!”

“You have to write it, first,” Dorian pointed out. “You have all the notes in the world, but have yet to add to your original thesis from before the Inquisition started.”

“I have been a little busy,” Asta huffed, embarrassed. “I’ll get around to it.”

“And that means a little more self-preservation might be in order,” Thom grunted and blocked her from the beast’s tail. “This fiend likes to move around more than Corypheus’ dragon. Stay alert.”

“Good point,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “Asta, love, a little less analyzing and drawing logical conclusions in your head and a little more… are you going to write _now?_ ”

“What?” Asta looked up from her notes. “You’ve all got this! Old hat, and all that. You‘ve all been here at least once. I lost my chance to ask Ameridan everything! And there have been no real signs of the Sentinels! I don‘t want to risk another chance!”

“Actually,” Varric shouted from his perch up an ice peak, “It’s Cole’s first dragon.” He fired a volley of bolts into the dragon’s hide and watched them explode in a mini-inferno with great satisfaction. “And we’re experienced with lightening and red lyrium, but not ice! This is… fairly new, all things considered.” He thought for a moment. “I could do without the novelty, myself.”

Asta looked up and around her wall at Cole, dancing and weaving across the battlefield, dropping in and out of stealth as easily as breathing. “Eh, he’s fine,” and she went back to work. “Now, Hakkon - may I call you Hakkon?”

“I am the breath of winter! I am the cold wind of war!” The dragon roared.

“Right,” Asta made a note. “At what point did you realize that you were reborn in the body of a dragon? Can you describe the ritual that originally drew you into our world from the Fade? What attracted you to the Avvar originally?”

The beast flew up briefly and dropped down, rocking the ground under them and blew an icy wind at her that froze her ink and notebook. Asta exploded in anger. “Well, fuck!” she threw them down and they both shattered. “Obviously you don’t want to play nice!”

“We will soak the ground with Lowlander blood!” Hakkon roared in response and shrieked, leaving the entire small group reeling from the sound in confusion. It beat its wings and drug them all in closer with every down-sweep.

“I’m too pretty to die!” Dorian cried out, fighting impotently against the downdraft.

Asta’s mind whirled and she dropped into stealth as soon as she could manage it, creeping around to where Cole was waiting for an opportunity. She whispered to the assassin, and he nodded along to what she said. The two split up while Asta crept back to Cullen who had retreated to a safe distance to drink a regeneration potion. “When I say, block and guard,” she instructed. “Cole and I have a plan.” She wound her way back around to the mages and consulted briefly with Dorian, fleeing afterward to the rear of the dragon, meeting the assassin.

“Viv, Dorian, Sera, Varric, NOW!” She screamed and the mages and archers started a simultaneous barrage of flame. Vivienne pulled her fade cloak around her and appeared by Asta, just as Cullen, Thom and Cassandra threw up their shields and guarded. The dragon, irritated, blew icy breath at all of them, and never noticed the two light rogues leaping to its still smoking back as Vivienne started slashing at its flanks.

“By the Maker’s Tackle, what the FUCK is she doing?” Thom yelled. Cullen could only gape in awe and fear and keep blocking and trying to find an opportunity to attack as the love of his life, his beloved academic Asta, managed to sever an entire wing on her own with a single scissoring slash of her sharp twin blades. It fell to the ground in a shower of blood and ichor and she jumped free just as Cole did the same to the other side.

“Ouch,” Varric winced. “That’s got to… damn.” The dragon writhed in pain and anger, stunned momentarily and the warriors moved in.

Dorian immolated it again. “A not-so-gentle rebirthing, then?” Even he looked a little pale despite the quip. It was an awful lot of blood.

“That’s bad-ass!” roared Bull, and spurred on by the success of the two rogues, he bit the dragon on its hind leg. It flung him free and he landed prone on the ground.

“Amatus!” Dorian cried out, but the Qunari looked up, his mouth full of blood and growled at him, his teeth dripping with dragon. Dorian went even paler. “That’s just disgusting!” He swallowed, trying not to vomit in the middle of battle. “I’m not going to touch you until you clean yourself up!” He recoiled, shuddering.

Cullen and Cassandra batted the dragon’s head back and forth between them while the rogues harried it from the rear. Fire rained down from the archers and mages and Cullen could feel the heat of it on his face while he tried to find his way to its overly protected throat.

“The ice is going to give out!” Thom nearly slipped in a puddle of water. “Watch your step!”

“I don’t think that the ice is the big danger, here, Thom,” Varric stated simply, if loudly.

“Oh yeah?” The warrior stomped once and the entire iceberg rocked precariously. “Any of _you_ been doused in freezing water in temperatures conducive to hypothermia? Because if we don’t finish this thing fast, that’s exactly where we’re going to end up - in the fucking water, with wet everything and a dragon very much _not dead_ ,” the warrior pointed out. “It’s not going to turn into an armor-cicle like the rest of us.”

“Good point,” Asta admitted. “Finish the dragon - a little less fire!” The group fell into silence, fighting furiously. Vivienne came close to the dragon’s head, dodged a barrage of ice from the grievously injured beast and slashed at its eyes as a distraction. Cullen saw his opening and thrust at the jugular - further left than he had aimed last time. The dragon tried to shriek again, but Cassandra cut its throat in the next moment, and it fell into the puddle the mages had made with a loud splash, turning the water and ice around it even redder.

The group panted at each other, some grinning, some growling, all visibly exhausted. Asta approached her notebook. “Anybody remember exactly what he said?” She toed the remains of her notes sadly. “No?” She sighed. “All right, let’s get to shore. The sun is getting hotter, and I’m guessing that the Avvar are in for a warm, extended fall and a mild winter.”

Cullen pulled off his helm, dropped it carelessly, swooped in and grabbed her by her shoulders. “Honestly, Asta, what the Void was that? Maker’s Breath, you… you could have…” He shook a little. “You cut off its _wing?_ ”

“Well, structurally, looking at its anatomy, it seemed possible,” she justified. “The bones are hollow, and my blades are sharp, and the hide…”

“You climbed on top of it!” He was pale now and shaking in disbelief and the lack of adrenaline. “You could have… You…” He put his head on her shoulder. “I give up. Asta, that was… you are…”

“She’s fucking brilliant!” grunted Thom. “ _She disarmed the dragon._ Removed an entire weapon in its arsenal!” Asta grinned at him. “Stop babying her, Commander. All due respect, but your woman is a fucking master. She gets better with every battle.” Bull grunted an aroused agreement and Dorian hit him. Bull wiped the remains of the dragon’s blood off his lips, with what might have been a look of embarrassment.

“I know,” Cullen breathed shakily. “Thom, believe me, I _know._ But it never gets easier!” He nearly shouted. “ _You_ try sending someone you love out to fight the worst Thedas has to offer, despite how good they may or may not be and see if you hold up well afterward.”

Asta blinked at him incredulously and pulled off her own headgear to speak easier. “I did literally nothing else except take ultimately useless notes in that entire battle, Thom,” she pointed out. “I do one useful thing and suddenly I’m an expert? Hardly.” She shrugged off the praise. “I still can’t hit it hard enough to penetrate. The hide at the base of the wings is thinner and less tough. Helisma told me so. This is her victory, really. And Cole did the same thing,” she pointed out. “Why aren’t you freaking out over him?”

“I helped,” Cole smiled. “I know they are grateful. And you worry for me all the time. I understand.” He tilted his head and showed a shy smile. “A sharp candle in the darkness with a quill and a book, and her two knives, sharper still and reflecting her light. The dirt and the blood illuminates her. Words slip and stumble and snuff her out, dimming her glow. Could be death, but she is life instead.”

Cullen blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cole, that’s…”

Cole frowned, “You wanted to tell her.” Cullen blushed a deeper red and said nothing.

Cassandra melted, “Commander, that’s beautiful.” She sighed. “I’m going back to shore.” She tromped off, sheathing her blade as she went and the others followed, Sera sniggering and Varric taking quick notes.

“You wanted to tell me?” Asta looked up at him. “Is that what you think? Really?” She was glowing now, softly, a blush raising to her cheeks.

“You know,” Cullen muttered, unable to reach her eyes. “You know what I think.”

“Not so much,” Asta breathed. “I think we should keep Cole around to tell me exactly what you are thinking. He’s very helpful.”

“Thank you!” The man beamed, and followed after the others with his loping gait.

Cullen sighed, and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yes, that’s what I was trying to put into words. It didn’t sound nearly as good in my head, though.” He leaned his head against her. “If I had gotten it out it would have been something like ‘you are pretty when you‘ve just killed something larger than you are with the knowledge you‘ve gleaned from research.’”

Asta giggled. “Duly noted. And for the record, I like it when you put it in your own words.”

“You do?” He pulled back slightly and finally met her eyes, still shy and embarrassed.

“I do,” Asta said and tilted her head, focusing on his lips. “You don’t need Cole.”

“Oh,” Cullen leaned in further. “That’s good then.” And his lips met hers again, confidence behind them, but only briefly. “I’m standing in a puddle. My armor is going to start rusting.” He sighed, “May I escort you back to shore, milady?” He offered her his arm.

“Of course, Ser Knight,” Asta grinned at him like she had in Haven so long ago, and he kissed her again in a sudden impulse, pulling her in tighter and holding her far closer, his mouth slanting against hers as she rose to her toes to meet him halfway. She moaned into his lips. “Maker, Cullen, if every time we kill a dragon together we get like this I’m going to have to quit bringing you with me,” she said against his neck as he moved down hers, already shaking with a lack of control.

“You are NEVER killing a dragon without me.” Cullen growled into her neck. “I like this. Do you think the Avvar have a hut we could use?” Asta only laughed and pulled his mouth back up to hers. “I’ll carry you there, if you like.”

“You can’t do that here,” Asta said, laughing. “They would consider us married, and make me sing a song - you really don’t want me to sing - and you’d have to untie knots - one for each year of marriage. When the knots run out, we’d have to separate permanently. I think, despite impatience and everything else, we should hold out for a Chantry wedding, don’t you?” Cullen growled irritably against her throat. “There is the little matter of a former spymaster turned Divine who still wouldn’t hesitate to have us both killed if we didn’t,” she pointed out practically.

“Hurry up, you lot!” Sera’s voiced pierced their private conversation. “The Thane is grateful and they are throwing a party! Food! Fire! _DRINKS!_ ” The elf cheered, “It’s about time we got to raise ‘em for winning!”

The lovers sighed and Asta pulled away. “You’d think we didn’t just have a celebration after Corypheus,” Asta grumbled. “I like parties, but seriously, it can be overdone. I’d rather find our own party.” She lifted her eyebrow at Cullen, but he wasn’t looking at her, his forehead creased in thought.

Cullen scooped back up his helm and offered his arm again. “Watch your step,” he advised. “Thom was right. It’s very slippery.” He sighed. How much longer would they have to wait to be together, really together? Years? He sighed again, trying to stiffen his resolve. It would be worth it, in the end. He looked at the woman next to him, watching her feet in an attempt to stay upright. It would. Being with her forever was something worth fighting for with everything he had.

No matter how long it took.

 


	78. Sacrifice and Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diverging from canon, again. Trespasser had everything happen at once in game, for obvious reasons. I'm going to spread it out a bit. I think it will make for better reading. I hope it will anyway.
> 
> Besides, I think we are all kind of curious how all of the companions left the Inquisition after Descent, and I'm going to get into that. More goofy letters to come after this chapter.

 

_Dear Fiona,_

_In my last, I wrote to you about the need for a different name, a better word for what a spirit and living being joined_ _together could be. I think I’ve stumbled upon it here amongst the Avvar. We found the first Inquisitor, Ameridan - a little more alive, however briefly, than we were expecting, and he let us have access to some of his vast knowledge._

_Sadly, he didn’t last long enough for me to question him thoroughly, but the knowledge he did impart leaves hints. While I don’t want this spread around we have reason to believe that Ameridan was possessed of a spirit companion - either one like Cole - you remember Cole, don’t you? - or within, like Anders and Justice or a spirit healer. Either way, he trusted it, and since the Avvar actually encourage possession by friendly spirits in their young mages while they learn from the spirits of the hold, I think we have a name for such a bond._

_A ‘spirit companion’, Fiona. Yes, such bonds can turn into dangerous things - Anders is a prime example of that, when Justice turned into Vengeance, but not all companionships lead to that. There are spirit healers amongst the Inquisition that have strong links to such spirits after all. And just being touched by Faith was enough to have the former Lord Seeker declare all Seekers abominations! Surely that is extreme and foolish. Faith is hardly something to fear like Vengeance, though I suppose it could corrupt into Disillusionment._

_Mind you, I’m not saying we need to go round up mage children and have them talk to everything they meet in the Fade, but still… there is something here to explore. The Avvar mages have an incredible degree of control and I have great respect for them. Surely we can learn from what they know? I would like you to ask around and see if you can find a few stable, open-minded enchanters - preferably ones who can hold their own in a fight and maybe like rock-climbing - to come here and interact with the Stone Bear Hold’s augur and learn what he knows of their instruction process. I think it will be valuable in the days to come._

_I know that technically you don’t lead the mages any longer, but your opinion is greatly respected all the same, especially as you strive to reestablish the College of Enchanters and our own Vivienne struggles to rebuild the Circles. I don’t think either of us really want the Circles to be what they were - and I hardly think Vivienne even knows what they were like, given her unusual opportunities. So, let us work together and build a strong counterargument against them. The best defense…_

_When I return from the Frostbacks I would like to sit down with you and what will be the College’s leadership and spell out what I have learned here. Just the fact that the first Inquisitor was both a Dalish elf and a mage is enough to make a few heads spin, is it not?_

_I look forward to_ _speaking with you._

_Inquisitor Asta_

***

Cullen frowned at Scout Harding. “What do you mean you haven’t tested the loads the lifts can handle? What about the Builders I sent? Did they do it? I entrusted this operation to you and that’s a serious oversight, Scout!”

“I’m sorry, Commander, but I have little to no experience building… treehouses. In fact, I‘m rather afraid of heights and would rather avoid them entirely,” the Scout pointed out. “I assumed I was here for my… scouting skills, not math. Am I wrong, Ser?” The small woman was brave and Asta stepped in to save her from the wrath of the Commander.

“Commander, she’s right. You picked her for the information she could gather. Holding her accountable for the lack of foresight of the builders…”

“And if the load that broke the rope had been a person rather than lumber?!” Asta sighed, obviously the Commander was right, if taking out his frustration on the wrong person. She decided to try to redirect him. “If it had been _you?_ ”

“Commander, why don’t you let Harding find the person responsible for repairing the lift and then you can oversee its retesting. In the meantime, we should check the others, thoroughly?” She smiled at him and he weakened a bit, coming back to her side.

“Thanks, Inquisitor,” the Scout whispered at her. “Maker, he’s something when he’s mad, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Asta replied. She pulled the Commander in her wake, face still creased with anger and frustration. “Cullen, you need to finish up what you need to do here so we can get started back to Skyhold. Are the troops returning with us?”

He turned his frown on her. She had been seeing that look on his face a lot in the last few days and she had no idea why. “Partially,” he bit out. “Some will relieve the scouts here, provide protection for Kenric’s ongoing excavation.” He had accompanied her to sieve through dirt for hours one last time before she had to leave - he didn’t see the attraction until he had found a buckle - twisted and dark with age and dirt - of his own. “The Jaws may no longer be a threat, but the wild animals certainly are. Hopefully we can provide the scholars with a little reassurance. Most are returning with us, however, and Scout Harding is needed back at Skyhold.”

Asta had led him to the far side of the tree encampment. “Now, are you going to talk to me?”

Cullen brows narrowed in confusion, “We were talking.”

“About what is really bothering you,” Asta clarified. “You’ve been frowning since we defeated the dragon. What’s going on Cullen? Is it lyrium?”

“It’s not always lyrium,” Cullen clenched his fist. “Can you quit asking?”

Asta recoiled. “Of course, I just thought…” She narrowed her eyes. “No. I will not quit asking. What is wrong?” She sighed, “Are you angry at me?”

“What?” Cullen shock showed on his face, “Of course not. Why would you think… Have I given you any reason to think…” he sighed, “Of course I have.”

“Yes, you have,” Asta pointed out, “You’ve been scowling and frowning at anyone in your immediate vicinity for days. Now talk, or I’ll get Cole. But at some point we need to learn to function without him. START.”

“I’m just wondering how long it will take,” Cullen muttered.

“How long what will take?” Asta asked. “The excavation? With as many ruins as there are out here it will be decades, if Kenric does it right. And he will. Finding Ameridan‘s resting place may be the crown of his achievements, but it‘s not the end, by any means. And his funding will start pouring in, now that he‘s actually discovered where Ameridan died. The Inquisition is not going to be his only sponsor any longer.” She sighed regretfully. “I wish I could spare more time.”

“Not the excavation,” Cullen swallowed. “Us. The Inquisition being needed less, so that we, you and I, can have… more,” he clarified. “I find I… don’t want to wait.”

Asta’s mouth fell open. “You’ve been grumpy because…”

“Because I want to be with you,” Cullen grumped. “And now Josie says you have to go to the blighted Deep Roads to figure out what’s causing earthquakes for our allies in Orzamaar and I…” he fisted his hands. “I can’t go. My nightmares… they…”

“Cullen, I know,” Asta soothed. “In the Fade, I lit a candle for you there. I know at least one of them is about being trapped beneath rock in the darkness.”

“That’s what Cole meant,” Cullen sighed. “He told me you had lit a candle for me, just for me.” His eyes opened, alarmed, “Since Adamant?” He scanned her for more information. How much did she know?

Asta nodded silently. “I know there are others. You talk in your sleep. Lately there has been a lot more… thrashing. You call out for them to leave you alone, to not touch me.” His face blanched at the notion of him waking her with his more personal dreams.

“I need to be braver,” Cullen’s voice sounded like a curse. “I can’t protect you there. I can’t face that…” he took a deep breath. “I’m very tempted as your advisor to advise you not to go at all. Not to leave me behind.”

“That is tempting,” Asta sighed, “Especially since I don’t particularly approve of the lyrium trade at its best, and openly disapprove at its worst. I hate to actively shore up something that can cause so much pain when used improperly. But just about everything is addictive at some level. Several people have told me that I‘m addicted to reading.” She laughed idly at such a thought.

Cullen took a deep breath, “It would be throwing the baby out with the bathwater. And a gross misuse of my status as advisor.” He breathed out, impatient. “And it’s not just the trip to the Deep Roads. You have to go back to Val Royeaux. That… pit of foolish Orlesians.”

“They probably aren’t all foolish,” Asta laughed. “Surely there is a wise one in there somewhere. Kenric was educated there, but he‘s from Starkhaven. Frederic of Serault?”

“You could be assassinated,” Cullen worried, “Someone is bound to try. And I’ve been gone from Skyhold for so long… I should stay there when we get back.”

“Actually,” Asta drawled, “I was going to go to Val Royeaux from here instead of straight back to Skyhold. I figured the soldiers could head back more directly and I would spring a little visit upon the Divine.” She smiled wickedly. “They aren’t expecting me, you see, and I think that keeping the Cathedral hopping is a desirable thing. Do you want to come with me?”

“Into the heart of the Cathedral?” Cullen held her waist. “You couldn’t keep me away. Someone is going to have to carry you out of there when they start shrieking for your blood. If only to spare them the vitriol of your wrath.”

Asta laughed, “You say the sweetest things.”

***

_Chanter,_

_Things are not well. I find myself likely to be… pulled away from Skyhold in pursuit of my duty. Montvelan cannot follow. Please see that she is comfortable. I have told her it may be… some time before I can return. If I do not leave, I will not be able to report how far this plot goes. But know this - except for Peaches it involves nearly every elf in the Inquisition. They are_ all _reporting to someone else, whether Briala or… this other person. I am not willing to say what I suspect. It seems far-fetched, but Author believes it likely based on one of his Kirkwall contact’s reports. Thank you for sending him back. It is good to have support here._

_From your letters I believe your lady may already suspect the same. Believe her. The Sentinels are still unaccounted for. I remain unconvinced they are actually a threat, but know my own biases. My cover will be deep, and I may not be able to converse for some time._

_Please do not hold every elf in Thedas responsible. We are nothing if not a product of our environments. Charter remains here, as her position is essential to their information gathering. Do not trust her._ _I would highly recommend a separate spymaster in the shadows, monitoring the Inquisition’s business independently._

_I remain,_

_E. D._

***

_E. D.,_

_Acknowledged. You will be missed. Rest assured that Montvelan will be taken care of, as much as she will allow, at any rate. You know her._

_I will not allow her to risk herself unnecessarily, or put her in a position where she may end up facing you in the field, Maker forbid. Thank you for your sacrifice._

_Trust Jenny_.

_Chanter_

Cullen’s brow creased with worry as he wrote the reply and handed it to the courier - a Jenny from Val Royeaux. “You know what to do,” he ordered. “Leave it in the usual place, and don’t be seen. Report either to Author or to Peaches afterward and talk to them about either the next serial in Swords and Shields or the Halla at the Winter Palace. If Peaches tells you where to get off, you will know we’re still safe. If she tells you about how she once herded a Halla in the Exalted Plains your cover is blown and leave Skyhold immediately. If Author tells you that he doesn’t have the knack for romances, you’re safe. If he tells you that it’s coming out next month, run. Understood?” The courier nodded, cocky. “We’ll be back at Skyhold in two weeks, Maker willing. I need you gone by then.” The courier nodded again and departed, swinging up on their horse easily and riding slowly. Cullen watched them go. “I miss the ravens,” he sighed, “Too bad that Charter controls them.”

“What’s going on?” Asta asked. “You look worried.”

“I’m always worried,” Cullen said. “But this… is bad.” He looked around at the road. “Is anyone nearby?”

Asta took her time and looked around, letting her horse pull her down the road while she listened and observed the shadows of the woods surrounding them. “Apart from the friends accompanying us? No.” She inclined her head towards Vivienne.

“Let’s make camp early,” Cullen rode over and grabbed her reins. “Once we’re alone,” and he made a show of leaning over and kissing her, “I’ll tell you everything,” he purred.

“There’s hardly a place to be… private,” Asta pointed out. He bit her lip lightly and she gasped. “Sure it’s just war news?” She teased, barely moving her lips against his. He shifted to whisper.

“It’s never just war news,” Cullen breathed in her ear. “Not when I touch you.” Asta bit her lips, feeling a rush of both anticipation and concern course through her.

“Let’s make camp,” she announced loudly. The small group groaned. “Don’t make me send you all back to Skyhold! Dorian, Vivienne, I know there was shopping you two wanted to do…”

“There’s still light!” Cassandra announced. “Surely you two can wait until…” Asta shot her a meaningful glare. “Oh. I see, Inquisitor. Very well.” She cleared her throat. “Camp it is then. Thom, do you have the tents?”

Considerably later, the two sat in their tent, Asta stunned. “So it’s something ‘elfy’ as Sera would say, but not necessarily the Sentinels?” Her forehead furrowed she thought hard. “I’d suspect Solas, but he… disdains the Dalish. Resents the city elves. And why would he…” she sighed. “Loranil said that I already suspected. Well, there it is. I suspect it’s Solas. Who else would still be so well hidden? Leliana couldn’t find him, and it’s because her own agents were keeping him hidden. Fuck, he was _right there in the solarium_ , below the rookery, where no one would suspect an agent crossing his path and stopping to speak with the elven painter who hangs out with the Inquisitor.” She sighed and cursed again, but under her breath. “Everyone needs to know. We can’t keep this secret.”

“On the contrary,” Cullen said. “We certainly can. If Solas is an enemy, then fine. But if he isn’t… and Loranil doesn’t seem convinced that he is. That’s the whole reason he’s leaving - because he needs to find out. You know we can trust him. He wouldn’t leave Mireille lightly.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Honestly, I think we should keep it quiet. Otherwise, animosity will grow, and we may not be able to control negative reactions should we cross paths in the future.” He bent his knee up and watched her reaction.

“No reason to make an additional enemy,” Asta nodded. “That makes sense.” She tilted her head. “Is that it, then? The sum total of bad news?”

“That’s not bad enough?” Cullen asked dryly. “Once again we have a new front - but one far more ghost-like. Worse than Val Royeaux, where you can at least count on most things to be poisonous. This is deep-reaching but could end up no more than Solas…”

Asta interrupted him. “He needs a code name. Something that no one would wonder about me talking about at odd moments. I can‘t be seen just discussing a former companion as if he was a traitor, after all, not after Thom.” She thought briefly. “I know,” she smiled, “We’ll call him Fen-Harel.”

Cullen stared. “Isn’t that tempting fate? Don‘t the Dalish say ‘May the Dread Wolf Take You?’”

Asta shrugged, “It’s just a name. Don’t be superstitious. They call you Chanter. I‘m Little Sister, thanks to Max, the asshole. Those two names together are really…” she sighed. “Leliana has a sense of humor, that’s for sure. Solas had wolves in almost every single painting he did. Might as well use it.” She paused, “On the other hand, his reaction at the Temple of Mythal and the statue of Fen-Harel…” she pinched her nose. “Perhaps it is insensitive to the elves of the Inquisition, though.” She thought again, “We already have a Painter. It shouldn’t be something we can mistake for our own, though I imagine that other than Loranil and Leliana we won’t be discussing much. No one to discuss with, with the exception of Sera and Varric. Wish they were here.” She sighed. “Right now we need them everywhere. Any ideas?”

“Apostate?”

“No, that‘s not fair to the mages. And you would go there first, ex-Templar.”

“I knew you‘d say that. How about Veilfire?” Asta looked at him. “He was the one who showed you how it worked.”

“That works,” she said slowly. “I run into it often enough that no one would think twice about me mentioning it.” She shuddered slightly. “Maker’s breath, what is he up to?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Cullen sighed, “but somehow I really doubt it.”

“You and me both,” Asta said, “But why would he undermine us? You don’t think he blames me that the orb broke? I didn’t mean…” she took a breath. “No point in worthless supposition. I can’t afford that right now. Not when I have to deal with the Cathedral. I’m not going to worry about it for the rest of the trip, Commander. Nothing we can do about it until we hear from Loranil or he makes a move. Either way, we’re in a waiting game, and we have other things to worry about.” She laid down on her bedroll abruptly.

“I wish it were that easy,” Cullen commented, but he laid down as well, and reached over to her, pulling her close. “You are too far away,” he complained, and Asta scooted closer. “Better,” he said into her hair. “I won’t let anything happen,” he said softly, stroking her stomach.

“I hope that you’ll have the opportunity to make that true,” Asta said. “But without a trustworthy spymaster we’re blind in the dark.” She shuddered. “If I could stay in Skyhold, maybe I could…”

“You can’t,” Cullen sighed. “I wish you could.” She flipped over into his arms and he tightened them.

“Will this ever end?” She asked into his neck. “Will it ever be just you and me and not the Inquisitor, her Commander and the Inquisition in the background waiting for Thedas to fall apart?”

“We will make sure of it,” Cullen promised. “It’s just going to take a while. You know that.” Asta nodded without pulling away. Her shoulders shook. “Are you crying?” She shook her head ‘no’. “Asta, don’t lie.”

“You said before we left the mountains that you were… tired of waiting. So am I,” she swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffed pitifully. “I wonder, will there be anything left when Thedas is done with me? Anything left that the Chantry will let me give to you?”

“You said it before,” Cullen rubbed her back. “If worst comes to worst, we’ll disappear.” It wasn’t comforting, knowing the state Thedas would be in for them to consider that an option. He kissed the top of her head. “I won’t let anything happen,” he repeated. He took a deep breath. _Brave_ , “We could get married in Val Royeaux.”

Asta froze. “Cullen? Are you serious?” She sat up suddenly, staring at him in the dim light.

“Very,” his voice broke. “Maker’s Breath, will that ever stop happening?” he grumbled.  "I'm 32.  Surely at some point I won't sound like a teenager."

“I think Leliana would notice the Inquisitor and her Commander getting married,” Asta started.

“Leliana is good at keeping secrets,” he pointed out.

Asta sighed, “I want to. But Cullen,” she hesitated. “Do you really want to get married and then have me have to leave for the Deep Roads in a matter of weeks? Do you want to spend our first months of being married separated like that?”

“No,” Cullen said, defeated. “I don’t.” _But will there ever be a better time?_ He kept the words back, not wanting to add to her worries.

“Then we should wait,” Asta sighed. “But Sweet Andraste in the Fade, that’s tempting.” She thought for a moment. “Let’s keep that option floating around.” His heart floated to the top of his throat in joy. “If we get too bogged down in what the Inquisition needs we’ll just take something for ourselves,” she grinned and he felt himself smile. “I don’t think that the Deep Roads can wait though,” she mused. “Earthquakes everywhere… but perhaps afterward…” She laid back down against him even closer. “It will happen.” She smiled again. “You’ve just given me a goal. Never let it be said, Commander, that the Inquisitor is not goal oriented.”


	79. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen has the best day of his life so far. Just give into the feels. I did.

That Divine Victoria was surprised at the Inquisition’s arrival was an understatement. “Inquisitor! Commander!” The graceful redhead - not that you could tell under the hat - swept towards them and gathered them up like little chicks. “Come with me,” she hissed quietly and pulled them into her antechamber and into her sanctum. “I am so happy to see you two. Thank the Maker that you didn’t tell anyone you were coming! Now all the assassins and spies will be scrambling to get into the Cathedral during your visit and I can have them…” she looked at Asta anxiously, “eliminated.”

Asta sighed, “Are you sure they are trying to kill me? Or you?”

“Mostly?” Leliana sat back in an over-stuffed chair and waved for them to take a seat on the matching loveseat. “I’m dosing myself with about 15 different anti-toxins and antidotes daily in an attempt to avoid hiring a taster. Such a waste of life.” She watched Asta narrowly. “Why did you come? There must be a reason for you to drag the Commander into his least favorite place in the world.”

“Are we private?” Cullen couldn’t sit - roaming over to the windows and checking around as if he expected spies and possibly assassins to pop out of the elaborate woodwork and from under the desk.

“Yes,” Leliana sighed. “I had a friend sweep the room for listening spells and the like. It’s as private here as I can make it. But talk quickly. I don’t have much time to scrape out of my day, as much as I wish I did. Soon, someone will knock politely on my door and drag me off to meet with Orlesian nobles who are incapable of deciding anything without consulting the Divine.”

“Loranil is infiltrating an elven alliance of some sort. He suspects Solas is behind it,” The Commander said bluntly. “He is going in deep, and says if he doesn’t he won’t be able to find out. He says it’s not just some elves in the Inquisition - they are all either reporting to Briala or Solas. He has no idea whether Solas…”

“Who we are calling Veilfire in communications,” Asta broke in.

“…Is a threat or just keeping tabs on what we‘re up to. So he’s left Skyhold and the Inquisition to determine the truth.”

“He and the Commander believe that Sera and he are the only elves we can trust not to be… serving elsewhere.” Asta sighed, “I’m not too worried about Briala - she’s just going to report to Celene after all. She’s been very helpful. But Solas… he’s an unknown. Is he a threat? Is he still an ally?”

“Either way, we’re stymied,” Cullen said, standing behind Asta with his arms crossed, “Until Loranil reports back.”

“And we have no spymaster,” Asta stressed. “No one who could take up your mantle. We’re scraping by with a combination of Red Jennies, Varric’s contacts and what information you choose to share with us. Charter cannot be trusted. She passes on barely anything. And if I expel her…”

“It will look like the Inquisition is prejudiced,” Leliana sighed and leaned back. Her exhaustion showed on her face. “You can’t get rid of her. Is there no way you can contact Solas? Arrange to work with him? With Charter, if she is, indeed, his?”

Asta shook her head. “Not unless Loranil comes back and tells us how to find him. I have no doubt that Charter knows. She probably knew before you left.”

“Of course,” Leliana sighed. “I should have known. It seemed so impossible that he should elude us so completely.” She looked down at her slippers. They were a green toile, with elaborate heels and buckles engraved delicately with ivy.

“But, Leliana, this means more than ever that we have to start pushing acceptance,” Asta leaned forward eagerly. “I’ve cleared it with Josie to have the Inquisition fund the repair of the University window. She has all the details of possible Craftsmen that will restore it to what it should be.” She paused, “Those shoes are adorable. Are those the buckles I sent?”

Leliana smiled and nodded - a small sad smile, but a smile. “It’s a start,” she sighed in the next moment. “And I’m conversing with the Chantry in Cumberland about why they decided to include the Dissonant Verses. I’m supposed to meet with them formally tomorrow, and after a short time will announce that the Chantry is endorsing the verses again. My… apologies to the elves of the Dales, however…” she stood abruptly. “Not a single Keeper will meet with me, claiming that they can‘t trust the Divine, even to meet in public. Briala has agreed to be there, as have several alienage elders from across Thedas, however.”

“The Keepers are crucial.” Asta looked down at her hands. “And with Loranil gone, we can’t trust the other elves of the Inquisition not to twist our position. I could try to contact his Keeper myself. Hawen, but they moved on from the Exalted Plains. I don’t know where they would be now, especially since Loranil informed them he had married a shemlen.”

“You need to maintain distance,” Leliana stated firmly. “This is a Chantry matter, unless you are going to become my Left Hand after all.”

“Sorry, but no,” Asta said, not even looking up. “Would you mind not asking again?”

“Why? Are you tempted?” Leliana smirked. “It would still be the best option for the Chantry.”

“And the worst for me,” Asta frowned at her. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life serving the Chantry.”

“What are you going to do then?” prompted Leliana. “I know you two have plans…”

“Not your business,” Cullen growled at her from across the room, still prowling and unable to relax.

“Intriguing…” Leliana smiled. “Now I have to know. Have you two set a date?”

“No,” Asta said, continuing to frown, but met Cullen’s eyes in the next minute with a little longing in them, her professional mask gone and a lump in her throat. He looked sad and resigned even while on edge.

“Ah,” Leliana smiled again. “Shall I do the honors?”

“No,” Asta sighed. “Not until I don’t have to rush off to the Deep Roads in a hurry.”

“Is that all you are waiting for?” Leliana pushed herself out of her chair and walked over to the stained glass window behind her desk and stared out into the cloudy day beyond it. “There will never be the perfect time, you two. You should take your joy while you can.” Her voice was deadly serious.

“Not now,” Asta said as firmly as she could manage. “But when I get back from the Deep Roads,” she said slowly, her eyes on Cullen. “It will need to be secret. As quiet as possible. Just the two of us and the necessary witnesses.” She watched the smile bloom on Cullen’s face slowly, unfolding like a flower in the summer sunshine. “Neither of us wants pomp and circumstance.”

“Cassandra will love the romance of that,” Leliana smiled briefly. “I’ll make the arrangements myself. No one will know but me.” Her face lit up at the idea of such a secret. “Nothing could make me happier.” Her face fell. “You’d better work out those contracts with Josie before you leave.”

“Already done,” Asta smiled sweetly at Cullen. “Cullen just has to sign his portion and we’re clear. It’s simple. I don’t have much of a dowry, other than the bit left to me by my Great-Aunt Lucille, no last name to worry about, and no personal property except for my books and things at Skyhold. He gives me his last name and what I have becomes his and his is mine. Either way, it’s not much. I kept it very simple.” She took a deep breath. “It will be binding if he signs before I leave for the Deep Roads. That way, if something happens…”

“Nothing will happen,” Cullen spat out bitterly. “And I don’t want…”

Asta rolled her eyes and cut him off, “If something happens, he will be able to dispense with my personal possessions as he sees fit.” She finished. “I have also included a list of possible successors to my title as Inquisitor, should that something happen. Cassandra is at the top of the list, not that she is likely to accept.” Cullen’s face creased and then released, realizing that she was preparing for their disappearance, should it be necessary, and making sure that Leliana knew about her exit strategy.

“You’re hardly replaceable,” Leliana pursed her lips together. “But having the balancing nature of the Inquisition going forward would be valuable.” Asta just nodded. “Now,” the Divine came back and sat down. “Tell me of Ameridan.”

Asta grinned widely, instantly illuminated from within. “Oh, Leliana! He was an elf! And a mage! Now, when you find a new Left Hand you can…” she stopped. “Oh. Oh, I just had a wonderful idea. Make Charter your Left Hand.”

Leliana stopped breathing for a moment, “What, just to get her out of your hair?”

“You worked with her for years! She trusts you! Is she Andrastian?” Asta was practically sparking with excitement. “It’s a good solution. She won’t be able to pass up the chance to provide information direct from the Chantry! It might even work in our favor! Then you only need to find a mage for the Right Hand and you’re set!”

Leliana and Cullen looked at each other. “Is she always like this in private?” Leliana asked. “So… enthusiastic?”

“Always,” Cullen grinned. “It’s adorable. And she‘s usually right,” he pointed out fairly. “She doesn’t normally let her ‘good ideas’ control her without a sense of conviction.”

Leliana groaned. “I’ll consider it.” She thought hard. “Actually, it would work. I could keep a pretty close eye on her and report to you if anything… odd comes up.” A wicked pointy smile stretched across her face. “I’ll write her the letter summoning her to Val Royeaux immediately.” She turned her attention back to Asta. “You were saying?”

“You can appoint Charter as your Left Hand and announce the Chantry’s acceptance of elves,” Asta said slower as the idea scrolled through her mind with all its possibilities, “and say that it was the result of recent discoveries of the first Inquisitor’s devotion to Andraste.” She looked at her solemnly, “He built a shrine in the Frostbacks, Leliana. To Ghilan’nain and Andraste.” Leliana’s eyes went wide. “It has massive significance,” she continued. “Even in 1:20 Divine, the elves worshipped Andraste, alongside their Creators, believed she had left to meet the Maker.” Asta grinned, “I’ll spare you my theories about her being reincarnated as a dragon in Haven.”

“Do,” the Divine’s face was calculating, but not cold. “This is just what I needed, Asta. Oh, my friend,” her face lit up. “Perhaps the Chant will be sung in all corners of the world!”

“I wouldn’t take it that far,” Asta drawled. “But I think you’ve got a shot with the elves. And maybe the dwarves, if you can get Varric and the Merchant’s Guild on your side.” She laughed. “Ameridan asked me that, you know. If Drakon had spread the Chant to all the world yet.” She thought, “Give it a few years and make the shrine in the Frostbacks a pilgrimage site. But let Kenric finish up with it first. It might take a decade or so. I know it‘s one of the highest ranking sites for him to excavate, after the Temple. The Chantry should throw their weight behind him, get him money and assistance.”

The knock at the door came all too soon and Leliana suddenly turned back into the Divine Victoria. “Enter,” she called imperiously.

“Your Holiness,” the messenger said, opening and stepping in slightly, “the Council of Heralds is requesting your assistance with what to do about the matter of an heir in Lydes. They await to meet with you.” Leliana nodded and turned back to her guests.

“I must leave. I am sorry. This matter of succession involves an initiate who would probably be better off serving the Chantry than playing the Game and two power hungry cousins.” She sighed. “Think of me, my friends.” She hugged Asta. “I’ll prepare what we discussed. It will be my pleasure. Take your time leaving,” she smiled. “I know you don’t get much time alone. And my office is very… private. And I won‘t be back for some time.”

Asta snorted, “We do have some self-control, Your Holiness.”

“Ah, like the kind you showed in the Skyhold Chantry after the Arbor Wilds?” Leliana raised her eyebrows. “You have no secrets, my friends.” She left the room, her tinkling laugh sweeping behind her, and she closed the door softly behind her with a wink.

Cullen crossed the room in a moment, but stopped, afraid to touch her. “Did you mean it?” He asked softly. “Will you, will we…”

“Yes,” Asta reached out to take his hand with one of hers but he grabbed her up out of her chair and spun her around. They knocked a small statue of Andraste off a side table with her feet. She laughed, her heart light, “Of course I did. Of course we will. I promised you!” She protested indignantly.

“After the Deep Roads?” His smile was bigger than she had ever seen before. She didn’t know it could even stretch that wide. Her breath caught in her throat. That smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“After the Deep Roads,” she grinned in response, unable to control her face. “But just the two of us and a couple of _discreet_ witnesses.”

“Dorian’s out,” Cullen deadpanned immediately.

“Cassandra?” Asta said, as a question. Cullen nodded thoughtfully. “Not Josie,” she shuddered, “It would turn into a circus of nobility.” Cullen blanched at the thought. She thought again, “Varric,” and beamed at Cullen. “Cassandra can stand up with you, and Varric for me. It’s perfect, since we can’t include Bull and Dorian. Bull could keep his mouth shut, but he isn‘t Andrastian, and Dorian wouldn’t forgive him for not telling him.”

“Dorian won’t forgive _us_ , you realize,” Cullen laughed. “Don’t you think we should at least tell them it’s going to happen?”

Asta shook her head. “He’ll want to take me shopping and I can’t be seen buying things for no reason. You know what the gossips are like.” She sighed, a little regretful. “It would be lovely to have a pretty dress for the occasion, but…” she smiled, happier than she had been in ages. “I’m getting you. That will be enough.”

“What about your brother?” Cullen asked, and gulped. “What about my family?”

Asta shoved him on the shoulder. “You’re the one who said, ‘Let’s get married in Val Royeaux! I don’t want to wait anymore!’ Already getting cold feet, Commander Rutherford?”

“Hardly,” and he smiled that huge smile again. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He sighed, and rested his forehead against hers, full of contentment. “I just want to tell the world.”

“Shhh,” Asta put her finger over his mouth, and he kissed it tenderly. “It’s a secret.”

***

The couple left the Cathedral in good time and lazily wandered through Val Royeaux, hand in hand, knowing that they should be more circumspect about who saw them, but needing the contact more. When Cullen tried to pull away at the first muttered comments, Asta yanked him back. “I don’t give a fuck,” she hissed. “Let them look and talk and wonder. They will anyway.” They wandered through a courtyard and Asta pointed out the Lover’s Alcove. “I won’t make you go in there with me,” she teased. “Just stepping inside together is enough to make a declaration that we are having an affair. Josie told me.”

Cullen blushed slightly. “Well, we‘re having more than an affair,” he muttered. “I don’t care if everyone knows. They should have taken note at the Winter Palace.”

Asta stepped closer to him. “Still, we can’t draw too much attention to ourselves. Not now. Not if we’re going to keep this quiet.” She sighed, “There’s Dorian. Near the bookstore I wanted to take you to, naturally.” There was a commotion behind him, and Asta hurried her steps, afraid of a disaster. There hadn’t been any trouble for Dorian in Val Royeaux yet, but he was from Tevinter…

“Shoo!” The shopkeeper was brandishing a broom and a large dog was attempting to play with it, growling in mock fierceness and shaking its head. Asta felt rather than saw Cullen stop dead in shock.

“Is that… a Mabari?” She asked Cullen lowly, with a feeling of inevitability creeping over her limbs.

“They aren’t bred in Orlais,” Cullen spoke in wonder. She could hear the excitement in his voice. “What… how?!” He knelt down and whistled and the dog trotted over. He made a hand motion and the dog sat, panting happily in front of him.

“Cullen, how are you doing that?” Dorian asked, drifting hesitantly in their general direction. “That… beast has been keeping people from entering the bookstore for half an hour. The storeowner says that he fed the dog once and that it keeps coming back. It’s hurting his business because everyone is scared of it.”

“It?” Cullen said, and made another hand motion. The dog laid down and rolled over. “No, he. Definitely a male.” He made the first motion again and the dog sat back up and whined. “He’s a stray?” He asked the shopkeeper and the man nodded.

“He must be,” the man cursed. “And he’s driving me out of business. You, you’re Fereldan. Take him out of here. If you do,” the man grew wily, recognizing Asta as a frequent customer, “I’ll give you a 10% standing discount on future visits.” Asta sighed.

“Cullen,” she started, trying to stay firm, “He must have an owner.”

“Some Orlesian tired of the novelty and challenge of taking care of such a fine creature?” Cullen crooned as if to a baby. “Aren’t you the handsome man then?” The dog barked twice. Cullen laughed and turned to Asta, his eyes already starting to plead.

She started to weaken. “We can’t just take someone else’s dog back to Skyhold! What about Josie? What about the furniture? We talked about this!” His eyes grew wider and sadder, and then the dog looked at her just as expressively and whined. “Do you even know how to take care of him?”

The bookstore owner grew excited, “I have a book! I’ll give it to you, for free, in gratitude for taking that… fiend away! One moment!” He dashed back into the store and back as if he had wings. “Here! The Care and Feeding of the Fereldan Mabari! None of my Fereldan stock sells well in any case.” Now the shopkeeper was looking at her with large puppy eyes. Asta was surrounded, and looked at Dorian, implacable and amused as he lounged against the wall.

“You’re no help, Dorian,” Asta was defeated, completely and utterly. “And you’re sure you haven’t seen an owner anywhere?” She nearly begged the storekeeper, “We’re with the Inquisition. We could put signs up on the Chantry board, you know…”

“We won’t be in Val Royeaux long enough,” Cullen pointed out. “It would take days to spread word.” He fired his parting shot, “I’ll be lonely in Skyhold while you’re in the Deep Roads,” he sighed with melancholy. “It would be… nice to have someone to keep me company.” His puppy eyes grew larger and more expressive, and Asta wouldn’t have thought it was possible. “And I think he likes me.”

“I’ve never had a dog,” she reminded Cullen. “And what about all the exercise you said Mabaris need in order to prevent them being destructive?” The dog whined again and ducked its head under Asta’s hand. She scratched his ears, absent-mindedly.

“He likes you, too,” Cullen pointed out happily. “And I have a lot more free time now,” Cullen beamed, “since we defeated Corypheus. Please?” He wheedled.

Asta sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “Fine. We’d better find what we need for him.” She looked warily at the dog, who cocked its head and panted winningly at her. “You are _not_ sleeping on the bed,” She pointed out. “You will _not_ bother Josie while she’s working.” The dog barked twice, indignantly. “Well, I don’t know, do I?” She asked him. “We’ve only just met, and I’ve never had a dog before. I don’t know if you have manners or will wee on the throne.” The dog growled and Cullen frowned at her. “I’m happy to hear it,” she replied.

Dorian swallowed, “Asta, are you… having a conversation with the dog?”

Asta nodded, “The Mabari breed is supposed to be extremely intelligent,” she replied. The dog barked ecstatically and jumped around. “I read a book Cullen gave me after we started talking about this months ago. But it’s all theoretical knowledge.” She sighed and the dog pressed up against her winningly. “You need a name,” she told it. “Any preferences?”

The dog ran into the shop and the group heard several things being knocked over and shattered glass. Asta winced as the dog drug out a map of Fereldan, the store owner protesting. Asta waved him back and reached for her purse and he quieted. The dog barked and put a large paw on a river. Cullen peered at the map.  "The River Dane?” His face lit up. “You’re Dane, then?” The dog barked. “Oh, who’s the clever boy?” He ruffled the dog’s jowls, and Asta bit her lips. It was just too cute. It was hard to regret an impulse that made Cullen so incredibly happy.

“Very appropriate,” drawled Dorian. “But will the inn let him stay?”

Asta sighed, “I’ll slip the innkeeper some extra money. They won’t complain too much. I hope. If Dane minds his manners.” She looked up from the dog, resigned. “We’d better find a butcher’s shop. An expensive one. The Mabari are supposed to be picky eaters.” She looked at Dane again, scowling.

“Are you a picky eater?” Cullen crooned. “I bet you aren’t.  Fereldans aren't picky.” The dog barked cheerfully. “I can’t wait to start your training,” Cullen enthused. “You’re going to be a brave soldier. None of this fluffy down-pillows and Druffalo ribs for you,” he announced. “It’s going to be bedrolls and rations!” The dog whined and laid down, covering his eyes with his paw. “Oh, all right,” Cullen grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

He stood up and pulled Asta into his arms, regardless of peering eyes. “Thank you,” he breathed in her ear.

“Who I am to separate a Commander and his dog?” Asta whispered back, wrapping her arms around him. “You can thank me properly later.” She frowned at Dane, pressing against them both in an attempt to join the hug. “No licking, though. And you _aren‘t_ sleeping on the bed.”

 


	80. The First To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter for now. Maybe will have the second part up today. All these chapters seem to be getting long and so I have to break it up where it (sort of) makes sense.
> 
> Next will be NSFW.

Asta stared down the dog in the middle of their ostentatious bed. “Off.” She put it bluntly. Dane whined. “No. I said no bed. I meant _no bed._ I don’t care if you don’t like the floofy thing that Cullen set up in the corner and it’s too far away from us. I said no bed.” Dane slunk off the mattress with a hang-dog expression. “Don’t make that face at me. I make the rules around here. The bed isn’t big enough for three.” She frowned. “Where is Cullen anyway?” Dane trotted out to the balcony and barked, so Asta followed.

Cullen was far below, in the training ring and Asta leaned against the balustrade to watch him. Dane barked happily.

“Yes, he is good at his job, isn’t he,” Asta sighed. “I like to watch him too. Though for different reasons than yours.” She leaned so that she was facing the dog. “So what do you think about our plans, Dane? You along for the ride? Or are you just going to hang out until you find something better?” The dog growled and barked once. “Well, don’t get offended. Nobody asked you,” Asta pointed out. “I figured it was a matter of respect to see if you like what we’re thinking about. Hardly anyone asks the dog what they want to do with their life, after all. It‘s a policy of the Inquisition to give people - all people - choices.” Dane shoved his head under her hand and panted happily. Asta laughed, “All right then. I have to admit, you’ve grown on me, too. But still no licking, and no bed.” She paused, watching Cullen in the distance again with a slightly worried expression. “You’ll watch out for him? He still has nightmares, and the withdrawals from the lyrium…” The dog whined reluctantly. “Oh, all right. If he has a nightmare while I’m gone you can climb up into the bed _and_ lick him awake. Just don’t tell him I said you could.” The dog barked, paused, and whined again, bumping her hand and leaning against her.

“Well, it is going to be a while,” Asta admitted. “Months, probably, but no one really knows, not even the dwarves, how deep the roads really go, or how far down I have to go before I find what is causing the earthquakes. So it could be a month, or a year.” She swallowed hard and scratched the dog’s neck. “But we aren’t leaving for a few weeks yet. Too many things to take care of, and…” she sighed, “And I don’t really want to go at all. Even though I have to. Not without him.” Dane barked indignantly. Asta laughed lightly, “Oh, and you, too, I suppose.” She looked at the dog. “You are very easy to talk to. Your other people, before us, did they appreciate you?”

The dog growled menacingly.

“I see. I’m glad you found us, then,” Asta smiled. “I’m glad we found each other.” The dog barked three times emphatically and let his tongue hang out. “Should we go find him then?” Dane barked once and ran for the stairs.

Asta followed, “Don’t scratch the door!” She winced, hearing the dog’s claws against the barrier. “Dane!” A distant whine came from below. She sighed, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

***

“Who’s Papa’s little fluffer-nutter? Dane is, Dane is!” The poor dog rolled an eye at Asta as he put up with the ministrations from the Commander of her armies and sighed a very doggy, long-suffering sigh.

Asta looked up from her book on the history of the lyrium trade. “Honestly, Cullen, are you training a warhound or a purse dog? Because seriously, there is nothing little about Dane. And you’re embarrassing him. Isn’t he, Dane?”

Dane barked once and rolled over and away. Cullen pouted, but stood up. “I’m training a warhound,” he grumbled, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with him.”

“Then teach him to catch,” Asta sighed, trying to find her place in the book.

“I can’t do that,” Cullen grouched, sitting on the floor with his back to the sofa, a knee bent to catch his arm. “If I teach him to catch a ball, then he might try to catch a fireball in the middle of battle. Then he’d be dead.” Dane growled from his bed in the corner, chewing on his toy rope. “Yeah, you say that now,” Cullen pointed out. “But what happens when your instincts take over?” Dane growled and chewed a little fiercer.

“Fine,” Asta’s eyes were starting to try to cross and she had a mild headache, so she closed the book and set it down on the couch. “Then at least don’t call yourself his Papa? Dane, is Cullen your father in any way?”

The dog rumbled low.

“Exactly. So is he your Commander?” The dog perked up his ears and barked once. “Your friend?” The dog barked twice. “There you go, Cullen. You’re _not_ his daddy.” Asta giggled. “Is that okay with you?”

Cullen sighed, “It will have to be. Seriously, Dane, I thought you’d take my side a little more often in arguments.” Dane growled. “Did she buy you off with ribs?” The man leaned in. “You can tell me. I keep treats in my office.” The dog hesitated and lifted his head. “The good kind,” Cullen reassured him. “No elfroot involved.” The dog barked twice deliberately and cocked his head. “Yep, twice-baked,” Cullen grinned wickedly. “So?”

The dog looked at Asta, who shook her head very slightly. Dane laid back down and started chewing his rope again. Cullen looked at Asta, exasperated. “I thought we agreed he wasn’t going to be spoiled with fluffy bedding and Druffalo ribs?”

“You’re the one who gave him a down comforter and a massive pillow to sleep on,” Asta pointed out.

“You’re overfeeding him! And he was cold! The room is chilly! And you won‘t let him sleep with us!” Asta giggled at him without replying. “Honestly, Asta,” Cullen stood and swept her upright to hold her against him. “You like him, don’t you? Just admit it.”

“Of course I do,” Asta put her arms around Cullen’s neck. “But you shouldn’t talk about him as if he isn’t here. Or as if he‘s an infant.” Dane barked once. “Fine, a puppy,” Asta corrected, “Also, he doesn’t like to be in the room when we’re… intimate,” she pointed out. “It makes him uncomfortable. So if we’re doing anything of the sort, he wants to be let into the hall so he can find something else to do. Right, Dane?” The dog barked again.

“How much talking have you two done?”

“You’re a busy man, Commander, and until the supplies for the Deep Roads arrive I have a lot of time on my hands,” Asta smirked. “Dane has been keeping me company.” Cullen shook his head and dropped her back on the sofa and walked away. “Where are you going?” She called out.

“Dane and I are going to have a drink and talk about _you_!” Cullen waved the dog over. “Obviously, we have some catching up to do.” Dane dropped his rope and trotted over to the Commander’s side. “We’ll be back late. Don’t wait up,” he smirked. Dane barked once in farewell and Asta scowled, scrambled to find her boots, and went to join them.

She couldn’t let them have all the fun, after all.

***

“There’s a dog in my tavern,” Cabot stated the obvious.

“Come, man,” Dorian lounged back comfortably, making the straight-backed chairs look somehow crooked. “It’s a Mabari. He’ll behave himself.” Dorian turned to Dane, “Won’t you?” The dog barked ingratiatingly. “There you go. They are very intelligent, and a noble breed. Began in Tevinter, like most such things,” he took a drink of his wine and smiled at Asta and Cullen. “What brings you two lovebirds to the tavern?”

“Dane was bored, and Cullen thinks that he and I spend too much time by ourselves talking about him,” Asta laughed. “So they decided to have a drink and talk about me, and I decided to tag along. Because I can‘t read any longer today or I‘ll get a headache.” She pulled up a chair and Dane rested his head on her lap.

“You’re still getting headaches?” Dorian asked, concerned.

“Only when I read too much,” Asta confessed. “Probably I need glasses. But can you imagine me trying to fight through the Deep Roads with spectacles?” She shook her head, dismissing the idea. “I’ll worry about it when I get back.”

“Along with a lot of other things,” Cullen muttered in an undertone, and grinned at her as he dropped off their drinks, and a bowl for Dane. Asta made a face at him and kicked him under the table. “What?” He asked innocently.

“What’s going on?” Dorian looked from one to the other. “You two are… giddy. Dane, I demand you tell me exactly what these two are plotting.” The dog put his head over the table and looked at Dorian blankly, and then laid down with his head on Cullen’s feet, woofing slightly.

“Good man,” Cullen told him and smiled at Asta, brightly.

“Fasta Vass,” Dorian cursed, “Honestly, if you two are just going to sit around and _beam_ at each other, I’m going elsewhere.”

Cole slipped out of the shadows, “It’s a secret, she says, but the truth of the matter is plain. One finger on his lips, and a single kiss to seal it closed. He shines brighter than her for once, and the rose blooms again.” The strange man frowned. “He wants to tell the world, but it’s a secret. Secret. Secret.” Cole pulled back, a surprised look on his face. “Oh! I understand!” He smiled. “Nevermind, Dorian,” and he climbed the stairs to peer down over the edge from his usual spot, still smiling at the two lovers.

Dorian sighed, “I see.” He raised his voice. “Bull!”

“Kadan!” Bull stood and made his way over. “What’s going on?”

Dorian pointed an aristocratic finger at the two in front of him. “These two have a secret. Tell me what it is?” He pouted attractively at his lover.

Bull looked at him, tempted, and then at Cullen, ignoring Asta for the moment as she was harder to read. “Hmm, Cullen is smiling. Not smirking, but a full on smile. That’s unusual. Dog at his feet. Hi, Dane, what’s up?” Dane woofed idly back. “The recruits were saying it was an easy practice for the last week, too. So… the Boss isn’t knocked up, because her hormones are stable. I can tell. Hmm…” The large Qunari grinned. “Ain’t telling, Kadan. Love you, man, but no way am I going to let this get out.”

“Amatus!” Dorian protested, “I’m _family_.”

“And also incapable of keeping a secret, Kadan,” Bull sighed. “I know what you’re saying, and I bet they hate they can’t tell you. But you are a leaking bucket. Put a little water in you and it gets around. So, I’m not telling. Ever. So don’t ask.” He stood up and went back to his normal chair. “Have a nice night, Cullen, Boss, Dane.” He turned back. “Let me know?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes and pouted. “It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Asta shot back, and took a drink, reconsidering her plans for the night. “You know, I’m going to go talk to Cassandra.” She made eye contact with Cullen. “Let you boys have your night. See ya, Dane. See ya, Bull!” She yelled across the tavern.

“See ya, Boss,” Bull grunted. “Good luck!”

Varric waylaid her just outside. “Hey, Asta, got a moment?” He seemed nervous.

“Sure, Varric, what’s going on?” Asta sighed. It was a good opportunity to ask him to be a witness. If not now, then…

“I’m not going to the Deep Roads with you,” he blurted out.

Asta blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Are you staying here?”

“No,” Varric swallowed, “I’m going back to Kirkwall. Corypheus is dead, hopefully for good this time and… I’m needed there. Choirboy’s backed off and all, thanks to Curly and Aveline, but I can help rebuild a bit, see that the important stuff gets fixed first.” He sighed. “I knew I’d have to go eventually, but Aveline says if I’m coming back it needs to be now. And I fucking hate the Deep Roads. You know what I was like in Crestwood.”

Asta nodded, biting her lips. “I know. I wouldn’t want you to… to put yourself through that,” she admitted. “But Varric,” she got a little misty, “I’m going to miss you.”

“No worries, Your Inquisitorialness, I’ve still got to write that book. Make you taller, prettier, thinner, with better hair, and a furious fighter with spinning shit and less stairs. Oh, and the floating Temple. I have to remember that,” he nearly whispered to himself.

“And make sure that the desk doesn’t ‘accidentally’ show up in there,” Asta threatened. “Cullen would kill me.”

“No promises,” Varric grinned. “That’s too good to pass up, even if it is unbelievable from a character like Curly.” He sighed. “You’re good people, Asta. I‘m glad the Seeker dragged me out here.”

“Likewise, Varric,” Asta reached out and hugged him on an impulse, and he hugged her back. “Keep in touch? And if you need a title, I think ‘Asta and the Darkspawn Magister from the Dawn of Time’ would do. The sequel could be ‘Asta and the First Inquisitor’,” she added. “Hell, you could have a new serial on your hands,” she grinned. “Fuck, ‘Asta in the Deep Roads’ would nearly write itself.”

“I was thinking along the lines of ‘All this Shit is Weird’,” Varric admitted. Asta raised her eyebrows. “It’s a working title,” he insisted.

“Keep working,” Asta advised. “When are you leaving?”

“In a few days,” he admitted.

“So soon? Does Cassandra know?” Asta warned.

“The Seeker?” Varric huffed, “Like she’d even care other than to say, ‘good riddance’ or ‘about time’.” But he didn’t meet her eyes.

“You ought to tell her,” Asta spoke quietly and seriously.

“I ought to do a lot of things, Asta,” Varric did look at her then. “I think I miss most of my chances.”

Asta made her way back to the keep, saddened and not really in the mood to talk about her impending nuptials any longer, especially with Cassandra. Varric was just the first to go, after all, the one with the strongest tie to his life before the Breach tore everything to shreds. Who would be next?

Her room seemed emptier than ever. She lit a lonely candle and walked to the balcony and watched Skyhold move around beneath her, alone in her tower.

But unlike a certain Seeker somewhere below, she had someone coming back to her. Life was cruel. So often the people that deserved the best got the worst, but what could you do when two people were completely oblivious or worse, determined?

Absolutely nothing. Asta sighed and moved to her desk in the gathering gloom. Maybe she could write some letters before it got too dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist having Asta giving Varric Harry Potter-esque alternatives to 'All This Shit Is Weird'.
> 
> I have a whole list, but stuck with the obvious.


	81. Hold On Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at the beginning. Think about listening to Rob Thomas' "Hold On Forever", if you like. I'm a sap - but I'm not going to apologize for it.
> 
> Also, for the second part, Matchbox 20's "Missing You". Theme song for Cassandra.
> 
> This wasn't supposed to be a song fic. It just sort of happened. Crap.
> 
> This is the chapter when I just completely admit that I ship EVERYONE. I tried, I really did, I've argued with myself for months about this, but it's just THERE, okay? All you have to do is look at their faces at the end of Trespasser when Cass isn't the Divine. No one can argue with me. Lalalala, I'm not listening. SHHHH.
> 
> And I'm still embarrassed about it. Don't worry, I'm changing the relationship tags.

Cullen found her hours later, staring silently into the distance while seated at her desk. Before he could ask, she told him. “Varric is leaving.”

Cullen sat down on the sofa. “Well, that’s sudden, if inevitable.” He pulled off his boots, and leaned forward on his elbows, watching her, worried about what he should do about her mood.

Asta nodded, and Dane padded over to her, whining, and bumping her hand. She lifted it and stroked him gently. He licked her hand, and she didn’t complain. He woofed slightly and left her to go back across the room, and grabbed Cullen’s sleeve even more gently with his teeth and tugged. Cullen sighed, and let the dog drag him over to her. Dane sat down and woofed at them and went downstairs and scratched at the door. They heard it open and shut a minute later. “Someone must have heard him,” Asta said finally. “That’s good.” Cullen picked up her hand and traced circles into it, preoccupied. “I’m not shocked,” Asta protested, “I knew he’d go back, but…” she sighed. “I’m envious.”

“You want to go to _Kirkwall_?” Cullen asked teasingly. Asta frowned at him. “Sorry,” he apologized, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“No, not Kirkwall,” Asta sighed, despondent. “I don’t want to go to the Deep Roads either. I don’t want to leave you, or have to wonder what messes are happening in Val Royeaux, or leave Dane. I don’t want to worry…” She turned and buried her face in his shirt. “Maker, I’m so tired of worrying all the fucking time.”

“Let’s not worry for a while, then,” Cullen stroked her hair. She had finally had someone cut it to a manageable length. He liked it better this way. “Dane says that you like to watch me train.” Asta snickered into his chest. “He also says that you have more books that you have yet to… share with me.” Asta choked. “Dorian backed him up, probably as retaliation for not telling him our secrets.”

“That dog,” she sputtered. “He’s too intelligent for his own good.”

“I think we are past being able to keep secrets from each other,” Cullen lifted her chin. “I don’t mind, you know. It’s part of you, your terrible taste in fiction,” he kissed her head. “If you want to cry, if it will help…” he paused and she looked up at him, surprised.

“No,” Asta swallowed. “No, what will help is…” she blushed, unaccountably embarrassed. “Will you hold me?”

“Forever,” Cullen smiled. “For the rest of my life.”

“Will you make love to me?” She asked, eyes on him, still blushing. It seemed odd, being so direct about it, but…

“Every opportunity you give me,” Cullen pulled her up. “And a few I’ll make for myself,” he kissed her neck.

“You’ll never leave me?” She asked, sinking into him with both arms.

“Never,” he promised. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily.” She laughed briefly. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, everyone else might disappear one day, but me… please depend on me.”

Asta nodded against his chest and then raised her head for a kiss. It was sweet, and reassuring and warm, but she wanted urgency, pressing into his mouth with impatience. She broke away, “Dane is downstairs?” She was already pulling his tunic loose from his pants, and he dropped his hands to her vest.

“Yes,” Cullen felt the heat rising off her. “Someone heard him, remember?” He leaned into her lips again, impossible to stay away from. She tasted like oranges and cardamom and he licked her deeper and pulled her against him, her vest parted and her shirt gaping a bit to show the lack of a breastband. “Asta,” he groaned and she finished his laces and pulled the waist away from his body with a jerk, and yanked the clothing down hard, freeing his still limp member. She turned him and shoved him into her desk chair, and stripped her vest off and her shirt over her head. She dropped her pants with brisk efficiency and he could only watch, as she bared herself and climbed over him where he sat.

“Is this all right,” she asked, her center over him. He swelled slowly against her, and she laughed, just a little. Her mouth found his again and they played with each other idly, letting the heat build slowly, just as he was firming with her attentions.

“Yes,” he hissed, and wrapped his hands around her, thrusting up against her. “All those opportunities in my office and we’ve never made love in my chair?” He kissed her chest between her breasts. “That poor neglected piece of furniture,” he said against her.

Asta laughed. “We could remedy that just about any time. Harder, though,” she observed thoughtfully, “since it has arms. I don‘t think my thighs would fit, and I‘m guessing it would be awkward to put them over the top.” She laid her hands against the stubble on his jaws. “I love you, Cullen,” she said, seriously. “I’m sorry I’m taking this so hard. Just… everyone leaves me.” Her face screwed up tightly, like she needed to cry.

“I will _never_ ,” he started. “I will always be with you, or waiting for you, or…” He swallowed. “Even in the Deep Roads, if you’ll have me.”

“I will not,” Asta breathed. “Absolutely not."  She was awestruck that he even had offered.

“Then I will be in the camp on the surface,” he stated firmly. “I’ll wait at the Storm Coast until you get back. I’ll manage things from the port there.” Asta shook her head. “No, I’m doing this,” he insisted. “It’s just as hard for me,” he clenched his jaw, “being apart from you. I will be as close I can manage, if you won’t let me go with you.”

“It could be months,” Asta said, shaking a little against him, holding herself back. “Months of camping out, of waiting to hear…”

“I’ve done it before,” Cullen growled into her mouth. “I will do it again. And when you get back I will marry you. I will wear your ring like you wear mine and I will never be apart from you again.” He lifted her slightly and lined himself up, stroking her gently as she shuddered a little at the contact. “Skyhold is a prison without you,” he pushed into her, “A torment and a punishment.” She arched her back against him, and shifted her hands to the back of the chair to brace herself. “And I won’t let you lose yourself down there. I need to be near you.” He held her hips and started her rocking against him. “I always need to be near you,” he groaned as she ground against him and tightened.

“Cullen,” Asta whimpered. “I’m not going to last.” She arched back further and he bent to a breast.

“You’ll have to,” he said, just before capturing the peak in his mouth, making her cry out. He moved against her as he could, rocking her harder against him, pushing deeper inside. His tongue wrapped around her, flicking against her. She was shaking so hard, her thighs struggling to stay in rhythm. He needed her, she needed him, more of him. He picked her up, frustrated, and laid her back against her desk, dropping his hand to her core, and pressed, breaking away from her breast with a moan. Now he shook against her. “You’ll just have to last,” he ground out, snapping his hips into hers. “I can’t live without being close…” His head bent down as he dedicated himself to the thrusts that took him deeper inside her body, where he longed most to be. “Maker, Asta, I just _can’t,_ ” he almost whined in desperation.

“Oh, Cullen,” Asta’s head dropped back, and her arms gave out. Her desk moved several inches back with each powerful glide, pushing back against the stone tiles of the floor and catching on the edge of the carpet. “Please…” she whimpered. “I can’t either, _please…”_ his movements grew more shallow and he caught her neck in his mouth, leaving marks along her collarbone, nips and sucks that left her breathless and even needier.

He pulled back and looked her in the eyes. “Then quit thinking I’ll leave you alone,” he said, deadly serious. “I will _never_ do that. You are the most important thing to me, Asta. Nothing else.” He continued his gentle assault, circling and pushing into her. “Say it, please, Asta. Say you understand,” he begged.

“I understand,” Asta gasped out. “You won’t leave me.” Her words were punctuated with his strokes inside her and she came hard against him, curling and relaxing and ramping up again just as quickly. “Fuck, Cullen!” She cried out. He pushed himself harder, stroked her more firmly. “What?!” She shook again and released, ecstasy chasing away the worry on her face. “Oh, oh,” she shook in violent waves and he kept going. “That’s…”

“Nice,” Cullen moaned, his eyes closing in concentration at the feeling of her body‘s reactions. “Asta…”

“Stay with me,” Asta breathed. “Come to me, Cullen.” She rocked her hips up against him, the stimulation nearly painful, but still somehow so good that she hated to stop. He buried himself into her one last time and came with a shout, draining himself in short bursts and struggling to stand upright, bracing himself into her desk and breathing hard. He released his fingers from where they were probably buried a little too far into her hip and stroked her there softly.

“I’m sorry,” he started to apologize meekly. “I just…”

“Oh, fuck, don’t apologize,” Asta laughed, still blissed out and riding high on the afterglow. “That was fantastic.” She laughed loosely and took a deep breath, yanking him down against her and wrapping her arms around him. “I love you,” she laughed again and again.

“Are you okay?” Cullen asked from his place at her neck, a little alarmed at her response and wondering if she was hysterical.

“Holy Fucking Maker, yes,” Asta blew her hair out of her eyes. “That was mind-blowing. I did want to be around for mind-blowing,” she reminded him. “That was a lesson in being careful what you wish for.” She giggled.

“Oh,” Cullen shifted upright and slid out, meeting her eyes with surprise. “That’s… good then.” He smiled a little shyly, and she sat up and kissed him sweetly.

“More than good,” she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest. “Mercy, I’m not sure I can walk. My legs are all shaky.” She laughed in delight. He chuckled and held her tightly and lifted her up to carry her to the bed. “And now you carry me,” she laid her head against his chest. “I feel like a princess.”

“I thought I was the princess,” laughed Cullen, and dropped her on the bed abruptly. “I’m not giving up my role now. Not just when I’m starting to enjoy it.” He collapsed on the bed next to her. “We should clean up,” he noted, looking at the papers strewn around the room from the disturbance of her desk.

“Mmm, later,” Asta curled up against him, warm and completely relaxed. “So, I didn’t ask Varric to be a witness,” she murmured. “We’ll have to find someone else.”

“We’ll find someone else,” Cullen kissed her head softly. “There’s always Sera?”

“Yeah, if you want to get married surrounded by bees,” Asta snorted. “Not an option.” She pushed herself up a little bit. “Thank you for reassuring me.”

“Any time,” Cullen smirked.

***

_~~Seeker~~ ,_

_Fuck that shit. Cassandra,_

_So, I’m leaving. Going back to Kirkwall, where I belong, I suppose. By the time you read this I’ll probably already be gone. Aveline says they need me there, and she’s usually right. It’s annoying. You’d love her._

_Maybe you’ll let me introduce her someday, if you ever get back over there. There has to be a few missing Seekers in the Free Marches, right?_

_If you do, look me up. I’ll buy you a drink, tell you a story. I’ve got a great one about a dwarf and a Nevarran princess that is just begging to be told. You’d like the ending, maybe. It’s supposed to be happy, if the two of them don’t manage to fuck it up._

_The dwarf is pretty good at fucking stuff up though. He always regrets it, but whether the princess can forgive him remains to be seen._

_Enjoy the book. It’s a bit rough around the edges. Still needs editing._

_Thanks for dragging me kicking and screaming into the Inquisition. I mean that, oddly enough. Nice to have something I’m involved with go the right way instead of ending up in flames and rubble and shattered glass, you know? I suppose it could still go to shit, but I have a feeling Asta would just give a speech about togetherness, and then the Divine would make people disappear, and then you would glare in that way you do, stab a copy of the revised Chant and everyone else would just fall into line. You three are like Thedas’ worst nightmares come to life. The Chantry makes for scary women. Beautiful, but scary._

_I love that glare. I’ll miss it._

_Well, this has gotten out of hand. Better leave it before I really regret this. Had a little too much as it is, so not exactly thinking straight._

_No, no excuses. Truth is (Now there’s a phrase I‘ve never written before…), I’m not even drinking so I can’t blame it on liquor. I must just be insane. That’s not surprising, really. We’ve all been through some weird shit lately. Wonder if this is what Bartrand felt like?_

_See you around, ~~Seeker~~. Cassandra._

_Varric_

_P.S. I usually sign better than that. Hand is a little shaky. Sorry._

***

Cassandra sat down on her cot in the armory hard as soon as she realized who the letter was from. She was a fast reader, if a slow writer, and her eyes flew down the page, her face turning white, red and then white again. “That… _dwarf,”_ She growled and then stood up, a little shakily and ran for the gates. Was she too late? She had a sudden sympathy with Asta’s hatred of stairs as she flew down them in an attempt to reach the stables a little faster.

Varric was just mounting his pony, a difficult task at the best of times, and didn’t see her coming.

“VARRIC!” Cassandra yelled, from mid-courtyard and he paused while he was getting himself settled and looked up slowly, with more than a touch of dread.

“Andraste on her Burning Pyre,” whistled the scout that was going with him to Jader. “What did you do now?” He cleared his throat. “I’ll just… wait on the other side of the bridge for you.” The scout left him alone, in the middle of the yard on his recalcitrant pony, with _her._ There was no escape, but he looked for it anyway, desperately. Why did he write that letter? Why did he think it was a good idea, of all the stupid, dumb, _idiotic_ things to do…

She marched up to his pony, and she was exactly on eye level with him. “How _dare_ you,” she glared. Maker, he loved that glare. And then a tear leaked out of her eye and he realized she wasn‘t angry at all. That was even more terrifying. “You were just going… to leave?” Her throat closed off and she had to swallow. She glared through the water dripping more freely from her eyes. “I cannot allow that.” She grabbed the back of his head, closed her eyes and pulled him forward.

His lips met hers, and as kisses went, he had had better. But he could taste the salt of her tears, and the fruit and honey she had for breakfast, and something that was Cassandra behind it all. Her lips were firm, of course they were, but as he moved against them, they softened and parted. All the noise of the courtyard faded away and they were alone. Maker’s sweet mercy, they were in the courtyard of Skyhold and the Seeker was kissing him like she _meant it._ She pulled back abruptly, staggering a bit. He had never seen her stagger, not even in the fiercest battles they had been in together, and she wiped away the tears like they had never happened and glared at him some more.

“You will write to me,” She demanded. Varric nodded, stunned into silence. “And I will write to you. And you better not have done anything particularly mean to the Knight-Captain. She has suffered enough. But thank you for the book, all the same.” Was the Seeker babbling now?

Varric found his grin, “Haven’t we all?”

She glared at him again, and then, softened, “Yes. Yes, we have.” She looked at the ground, as if suddenly, she was _embarrassed_. The Seeker? “I am sorry if…” She looked around her and realized that everyone had stopped and was staring at them - at her - in horror. She looked at her feet, frozen in the knowledge of what she had just done.

“Cassandra,” Varric took a deep breath and for one of the few times in his life, told the whole truth. “I meant every word.”

Her eyes snapped up to his and she, the Hero of Orlais, the former Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker and companion to the Herald of Andraste… blushed, her olive cheeks turning a ruddy, irregular, blotchy red that he had never seen on them before. She was beautiful, even more beautiful than when she was facing down a bear, or a demon, or a dragon. He leaned back over, ignoring his pony’s complaints - it never listened to him and he rarely returned the favor - and she, shocked into compliance, met him halfway.

This kiss was far better, and with her hand on his chest and the other around his neck digging into his ponytail, nearly pulling him off his mount… well, suddenly Kirkwall seemed very far away and a whole lot less desirable as a destination. But he still had to go, and they both knew it. Instead of listening to that little voice nagging him to let her go, he slid his own hand to her neck and kissed her earnestly with the truth of a million unspoken, unwritten words behind it, long minutes passing while they finally did something that should have been done years ago. Cassandra rocked back to take a breath, her eyes still shut.

“I’m going to write you poetry,” Varric said under his breath. “Verses fit for a warrior princess.” He swung his eyes up to hers, slowly opening. “And letters that will melt your leather pants.” The heat from his eyes was already threatening to do that. “I love those leather pants. I’m at the perfect height to take advantage of the view they offer. Did you realize?”

Cassandra seemed beyond words, but she tried. “You do that,” she ordered, full of bravado, meeting his eyes, but shyly. Cassandra? Shy? What else did he not know about her? Years of travel and banter and he didn’t know that she was shy in love?

Fucking Maker, he couldn’t wait to find out. “I’ll see you in Kirkwall, _Cassandra_ ,” he spoke her name in a low voice and she shivered and nodded. And then he rode away, a little shorter than the average love interest, and on the back of a pony instead of a shining steed, but the luckiest dwarf in the Inquisition, all the same.

He wrote her the first poem that night and sent it back to Skyhold with a long, long letter.  With luck, it would reach her tomorrow.

 


	82. Because Positions

Charter stood before the assembled advisors of the Inquisition and handed over her resignation. Asta hid her smile and accepted it solemnly. “Of course we understand,” Asta said graciously. “This is an excellent opportunity for you, Charter. And the Divine needs someone she can trust. By all means, take your time and get things settled here. And good luck in your new position. Divine Victoria is very lucky to have you.”

A few more pleasantries and Charter left the advisors - with a list of her recommended replacements - to talk about their position.

“Well, now we are completely without a spymaster, Varric has left for Kirkwall, Sera still doesn’t ‘do nobles’, and we’re blind,” Josie sighed. “What shall we do, Inquisitor?”

“We’re no worse off than we were with Charter,” Cullen pointed out helpfully. “In fact, this is an excellent opportunity to put someone more independent in charge of the scouts and spies.”

“But we have a sad lack of adequate candidates,” Josie stressed.

“Actually, I think we’ve been too close to the obvious solution,” Asta mused. “I woke up in the middle of the night and it was just there,” she waved her hand vaguely. “I need to discuss it first with him first, though.” She bit her lip slightly. “He may refuse,” she admitted. “He hasn’t done anything like this in a while.”

“Anything has to be better than the Commander and I trying to flounder through the mess Charter is leaving,” Josie insisted. “Cullen just assumes that troops will fix everything, and…” The Commander frowned and started to protest.

“I do offer other suggestions occasionally,” he insisted.

“It’s okay, Josie,” Asta soothed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go talk to him immediately. But just in case, review the list that Charter left. Maybe there is someone that can be swayed? And maybe she wasn’t so obvious with only including elves. It’s a bit of a giveaway, after all. I’d rather have an agent of Briala’s than Solas’.”

“You’d rather trust an Orlesian elf than one tied to your former companion?” Josie looked at Cullen. “What am I missing?”

“He’s an unknown quantity,” Asta shrugged. “He may be harmless, but considering the amount of information that Charter is suppressing, I think that it’s likely he’s not. All we can do is wait, though, since we can’t find him unless E. D. comes forward with further evidence. He’s our only lead.” She straightened. “In the meantime, let’s adjourn. I will talk with the person I have in mind, and see if he’s willing.”

Cullen held the door for her as she exited the room. “Who?” He whispered.

“Not saying. He may say no. And I don’t want that to damage his position or reputation,” Asta insisted. “I’ll tell you as soon as I can, if I can.”

***

The tavern was dark, even at mid-day, and Asta let her eyes adjust, searching for the person she had in mind. He was probably in his normal chair… and he was, slumped back against the wall in his habitual disarming position, simultaneously making him approachable and giving him a better view of the people on the other side of the stairs. He spent so much time watching… Asta swallowed. Maker, she hoped he would accept.

“Hey, Bull,” she was nervous, and he could smell it on her, a sharp scent that carried through her sweat and pheromones. Why was the Boss nervous? He read her closely, and realized it wasn’t personal, not exactly. She was… scared. And worried, and trying to suppress it. She had been doing a lot of that lately.

“What’s up, Boss,” he grunted. “Want to grab a drink?”

“I’d like nothing more, but I need to speak to you privately. Do you think you could meet me in the War Room?”

“No,” Bull stated. “Too obvious. Whatever’s got your knickers in a twist is business, sure, but if I go in there with you it’s going to set a ton of tongues wagging. You need a private conversation, but somewhere a little less obvious. Let’s talk in Cullen’s office.”

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “Good plan. I would rather keep this…”

“Stop there,” Bull added. “Too many little ears around here. Go buy a bottle of something and some stew or something. I’ll grab Dorian and we’ll meet in Cullen’s office for lunch.” Asta hesitated. “Boss, if you’ve got something bugging you so much I can’t even tell Dorian…”

“You said it yourself, he’s a leaky bucket,” Asta sighed. “But I suppose if it’s serious enough he can probably keep his mouth shut.”

Bull hefted himself up. “Sure, Boss, I’ll grab Dorian and head over. Just grab something to eat, will you? Kadan forgets to eat.”

Asta snorted, “Sounds familiar.”

***

Asta was the last to arrive, and Cullen was looking puzzled when she got there. “Asta, what is going on? Dorian is saying something about lunch in my office. I had to kick out several officers with important updates and…”

“You need a new assistant,” Asta observed. “Another person to replace, I suppose.” She went around the room and locked the doors securely. “Cullen, do you have any elven troops on patrol this afternoon?” She spoke lowly and deliberately.

Cullen frowned, thinking. “Yes, but they’re at the front gate and the bridge, not the battlements.” His expression cleared. “You mean you’re thinking about _Bull_?”

“Yes,” Asta turned to the Qunari and set down her burden on Cullen’s desk. “Bull, the Inquisition is without a spymaster as of the War Council this morning. Charter has resigned in order to become the Left Hand of the Divine. I am asking you as your employer and as your friend and as someone who considers you family. Will you consider the position?” Her eyes begged him.

Dorian’s eyes nearly popped out. “Was _this_ your secret? No,” and he grabbed a sandwich. “You were _happy_ about that. What the Void, Asta?”

“We’ve got no one we can trust,” Asta wrung her hands. “Almost no one. You both don’t realize…”

“The elves,” grunted Bull. “They’ve been muttering a lot. Talking about the Dales, the Dirth. More elven glory than I’ve had to listen to since Solas left. Fuck, Solas.” He peered at her. “Didn’t put it together until now. They’re reporting to that bastard, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, we think so,” Cullen answered when Asta hesitated. “Loranil is…”

“Infiltrating,” Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Good instincts, that one. You got lucky when you recruited him, Boss. Wondered what he was up to. Mireille’s been sulking a lot, crying at night, showing up to morning drills with red puffy eyes. Thought maybe they had a fight and then he got sent out on another mission, but it didn’t fit quite right. And no letters. That’s odd for them. Wasn‘t likely that they were splitting. Not now.”

“Bull,” Asta asked slowly, “Just how much do you notice around here?”

Bull grinned crookedly. “More than I let on. I could tell you more, but it would probably embarrass you. And you‘d worry more. I‘ll tell you if I‘m really concerned.”

“And will you accept the position?” Asta asked eagerly.

Bull frowned. “Huh. It’s more direct responsibility. I’m used to working from the shadows. I don’t know if I’m the most likely person to engender trust in the scouts, either. I’m a merc. It‘s a hell of a promotion and it doesn‘t pay as well. Someone‘s got to keep Dorian in silk and leather.” His lover humphed irritably but didn’t deny his essential pennilessness and high standards.

Asta drooped visibly. “Then I’m right back where I started. Blind and lost.”

Dorian piped up, “Scout Harding.” Asta turned to him. “Everyone trusts her.”

“But I was going to…” Cullen started, and then stopped. “Never mind,” he muttered. Bull turned his eye on him and looked him over, nodding. Cullen pouted, realizing that he had just given away a lot more than he intended with seven little words. No wonder he lost at Wicked Grace.

“That’s your answer,” Bull agreed. “Scout Harding at the top and me, working in the shadows beneath her. She’s in the tavern all the time. We’ll work out a system, and I’ll keep her in the loop. It’ll work, and it’ll work well. No one will even realize I‘m watching them. It might even be fun.” The man frowned and said, “It’ll mean that I have to stay with the Chargers, though, Boss. Not going to be able to go to the Deep Roads - too far out of touch with the people I need to be watching.”

Cullen made an involuntary worried noise. Asta waved him silent, “I’ll still have Rainier and Cassandra,” she pointed out. “They can guard me, and apparently Orzamaar is arranging a warrior from the Legion of the Dead to be my escort. I’m sure that will be sufficient.” Cullen was shaking his head. “Commander, do you have something to add?”

“I should go with you,” he muttered. “First Varric gone and now Bull…”

“Not an option,” Asta dismissed his concern.

“He has a point,” Dorian ate another sandwich absent-mindedly. “You’re too close to the problem, Asta.”

“Yes, and you don’t have to deal with his nightmares about being crushed by tons of rock and dying alone in the dark,” Asta gritted out at the mage. “He’s not going.”

“It could take a while to get to you,” Dorian indicated gently. “No one knows how deep we’ll have to go.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen crossed his arms.

Asta handed him a sandwich. “Don’t you trust Thom and Cass?”

He took it grudgingly. “Of course,” but he continued quickly, “they are also no substitute for a full guard of soldiers…”

Asta laughed, “You can’t honestly be thinking about sending an entire battalion with me to the Deep Roads. There wouldn’t be enough room for that kind of camp!”

“The Legion of the Dead does it,” Cullen contradicted. “And I need to have a team on hand at the Storm Coast in any case, since you may need bridges built. Your previous journeys into Dwarven Thaigs have indicated a lot of disrepair and I’m not going to worry about you falling off a cliff when I don’t have to. Half the supplies we’re requisitioning are lumber and other building materials. Just in case.” Asta rolled her eyes.

“Good point,” Bull grunted, “And I was worried about my horns fitting…” Dorian snickered. “Look, Boss, you’re fighting a losing battle here. This one, Cullen’s going to win. This is a siege, of a sort. A strange one, with no obvious destination, but you can’t leave yourself high and dry without the possibility of military support.”

“He’s not coming,” Asta put her foot down. “Personal considerations aside, he’s needed on the surface. What if Solas attacks? What if the Qun finally decides…”

“Yeah, but the Storm Coast port is a good alternative,” Bull nodded. “Close, and relatively convenient to Skyhold. Good place to have supplies delivered from across the Waking Sea. Especially if you can use the ravens again. Now, get Harding to the War Room and start her transition from field agent to the lady in charge.”

“Who is in charge here, anyway,” Asta grumbled. “Give you a position as advisor and it goes straight to your head. And how did you know we weren‘t using the ravens for official correspondence?” Bull just smiled.

Dorian laughed, “Why do you think I enjoy him so much? Amatus is very good at giving orders and making subtle observations.”

“Too much information, Dorian,” Asta spat out and took a sandwich finally. “I do feel better though. The butterflies in my stomach are settling a bit.” She sighed and then laughed. “At least underground I won’t have to worry about the weather at the Coast.”

“No, just darkspawn, lyrium poisoning, earthquakes, cave-ins, inadequate supply lines, inadequate access to a healer, and having nothing to read,” Cullen listed, the line between his brows creasing deeper.

“That last is hardly a major consideration,” Dorian pursed his lips in amusement.

“Not for Asta, it isn’t,” Cullen threw back. “When she gets bored, she does dangerous, impulsive things.”

Bull grated out a laugh, “Can’t argue with that, Boss.”

***

A letter to Cassandra from Varric in Kirkwall:

_Dear Cassandra,_

_I find I can’t compare you to a summer’s day in Kirkwall. Kirkwall is smelly, humid and uncomfortable in the summer, and you are none of those things. When I think of you, I think of how you always gleam of polished armor - a brave soul standing against the darkness that threatens our world. But now, more than that, I remember the fire of your blush creeping up your cheeks, the heat of your lips on mine, the taste of honey on your tongue. I long to taste you elsewhere - find all your secret places and learn them by heart. I hunger for that flavor on my tongue. How will your breasts taste? Your neck? Your navel?_

_All I’ve had is the brief temptation of your lips and I find I’m completely mesmerized, drawn in, captured. Asta’s little obsession is contagious. I managed to find an orchard on my way to Jader and pressed this peach blossom for you - one of the last of the season. “I am your captive.” But as your captive, I find I’m content. Imprison me. Question me, my Seeker of Truth. Discover my secrets, my lies. Torture me with your beauty. I will die happy, chained with your love._

_As a personal favor to my captor, I’ve set a few of my contacts out with feelers about any reports of Seekers up here in the Marches. Just to try to lure you back to my side, of course. Surely I wouldn’t do such a thing without ulterior motive. I am a rogue, after all. Also a liar._

_Your most devoted prisoner,_

_Varric_

_Like rain from petals drips_

_I long to run along your curves,_

_Drop from your lips,_

_Pool at your feet._

_Drink me_ _in, my fire for your water,_

_Let me slide down your throat,_

_Slake my thirst for you,_

_And waken yours for me._

***

_Varric,_

_Writing does not come easily to me. I’ve started this reply about four times and had to throw them all away in disgust. Your most recent letter was… more than adequate. Ugh, I am not good with words like you. I loved the flower. And your poem was… passionate. I required a cold bath._

_I miss you. Hard as that may be to believe. More than I should, perhaps. The Inquisitor prepares for the extended trip to the Deep Roads, but she assures me - with a minimum of teasing which is refreshing - that I will be able to have letters sent from the camps we establish. The Commander says he may be stationed at the Storm Coast as an intermediary for the Inquisitor and Skyhold. At some point we may be even right below Kirkwall - so close to you and yet so far. It will be infuriating, I assure you._

_The Inquisition has a new spymaster - Scout Harding. Charter has left to become the Left Hand. Surprising, but the Divine is wasting no time making the reforms she thinks are necessary. I am glad the Maker had other plans for me. I don’t think the robes would have suited me. It would have been too hot to wear armor underneath. And does anyone really like that ridiculous hat? I wonder which Divine thought that was a good idea._

_Your offer to look for the Seekers is appreciated. More than you know. Even more than the flower. That is the nicest gift anyone has ever given me. Even nicer than the book._

_The book was wonderful. Your best yet. It left me breathless at several places. I’m sure you can guess which ones. The poor Knight-Captain, though. You should let her have a little happiness. Perhaps for me? I can’t believe you killed the count. Is he really dead? Perhaps you could just have it be a mistake?_

_Forget I said that. I disgust myself with such a foolish request. When next we meet I will expect an explanation, however._

_Yours,_

_Cassandra_

***

Cassandra folded her letter and took it to the rookery, flashing an embarrassed tight-lipped smile to Scout Harding and watched her tie it to the raven. “Varric in Kirkwall,” the dwarf smiled. “Again?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra couldn’t help blushing.

“Don’t worry,” the spy winked. “Your secret is safe with me. I don’t read personal correspondence unless I have a reason.” She hesitated. “Except for the letters the Inquisitor sends the Commander. Those can get really good.”

Cassandra leaned in, “Really?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Harding said. “Some of the stuff she writes him…” Harding sighed wistfully. “Sure wish I had someone writing me stuff like that.”

“I thought you and Kenric…” Cassandra started.

“Well, sort of,” Harding blushed. “But he’s a little stuffy. Sweet, but not likely to write me anything steamy. The most romantic he gets is telling me that he retranslated that poem about Ameridan and the mage and that when it gets published he’s going to dedicate it to me.”

“That is romantic!” Cassandra protested. “That poem was full of devotion!”

“I suppose,” Harding admitted. “Is Varric going to dedicate his next issue of Swords and Shields to you?”

“I… do not know. Probably not,” Cassandra allowed. “We have not…” She swallowed, breathless at the thought, “made anything official.”

“Maybe you could hint,” the scout laughed. “You two should have started a long time ago.”

“According to Varric, it always takes three years,” Cassandra mused. “We’re right on target, by his standards.” She hesitated, but the urge to brag won out. “I bet that Varric’s letters are better than the Inquisitor’s though. He’s a professional.”

“Good to know!” Harding waved her on. “I’d better get back to work. I have a ton of backed up reports that I’m having to re-decipher after Charter left. I must have been insane to accept this job.” Her cheerful grin belied her impatient tone though, and Cassandra left her with a light and longing heart.

After the Deep Roads, perhaps she would find a way to visit Kirkwall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is mine. Ever tried to write poetry in someone else's voice? HARD. So if it sucks I'll use that as an excuse.


	83. Finding Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggers here for unplanned and single pregnancy. And if you haven't read my short story 'Daisies in Her Hair' you're going to be a bit lost. Mireille is a human O/C that I created based on a couple of letters in the Plains and a song (Girl of Red Crossing)that you pick up in the Graves. She's married to Loranil, the Dalish elf that you can recruit there. At this point they've been married over a year. I made Giselle and Solas do it together. They were both pissed. I think that's about what you need to know. But seriously - I'm prouder of 'Daisies' than anything else I've written, and it's still in Asta's world. Read it, please and thank you and you'll be a lot less confused, because while Loranil is an NPC, Mireille is completely in my head. (I think the girl's name is Juliet in the Plains, and her human stalker is Lazar. Horrible names. Juliet is too obvious. No codex entries.)

Two weeks until the Deep Roads trip, and supplies were arriving every day. Scout Harding was settling into her new position, and she and Bull had an understanding that went beyond simple drinks in the tavern - a mutual love of secrets and mayhem. Thankfully, Dorian did not seem to be jealous, and so Asta was breathing a little easier for the first time in what seemed like months.

Or she had been, until she had dropped by Cullen’s office to find a certain young Orlesian lady wringing her hands in a completely uncharacteristic way. The mannerism was so unlike Mireille that Asta’s stress instantly ramped up and she could hear her pulse in her ears. The woman was muttering a constant stream of what sounded like extremely bad language in her native tongue and broken elven.

“What’s wrong?” Asta broke into the litany of cusswords.

“I apologize, Inquisitor,” Mireille sputtered. “Sacre Coeur de l’Andraste. Je suis… I need…” She took a deep breath. "Have you heard _anything_ from Loranil? Anything at all?” The puffiness of her eyes and the worried expression on her face made Asta’s heart sink in sympathy.

“No,” Asta replied gently. “The Commander and I would tell you immediately, of course.”

“Merde,” cursed the girl. “Fenhedis.” She let out a stream of Orlesian that sounded like silk from her lips but had Asta paling in shock.

“Mireille, what is wrong?” Asta grabbed her hands, professional distance be damned. “Tell me.”

“I’m _pregnant_ ,” the girl spat out and sunk, white as a ghost into the chair behind Asta’s small desk. “I came to beg the Commander - I just found out - I have to find Loranil!” She stood up again and wrenched herself forward. “I can’t fight or scout, I’m on medical leave, the surgeon says, so without Loranil we have no income, we have a little saved…” She paced. “It wasn’t supposed to happen! Half-elves are rare, and I was taking the right potions…” she choked. “And now it’s all I have… That… man has taken my vhenan and I’ll never see him again. I just _know_ it.” She wailed desperately and buried her face in Asta’s shoulder.

The Commander chose that moment to re-enter his office and stopped dead at the sight of two obviously emotional women. He blanched, and tried to leave.

“Don’t move,” Asta ordered him. “Mireille has news that you need to hear.” The Commander froze and turned slowly back towards the women, resigning himself to a morning of painful emotion. “Go ahead, Mireille,” she encouraged.

The woman blushed and waved her hands in embarrassment. “It’s too humiliating! I cannot!”

“Nonsense,” Asta said firmly. “These things happen. Now, tell your commanding officer what the healers told you today.” She glared at Cullen, trying to clue him in to the situation. He sunk into his office chair, trying to retain a professional demeanor when all he wanted to do was run the other direction and let the Inquisitor handle it.

“I’m going to have a baby!” Mireille bawled out inconsolably. Cullen shoved his chair back suddenly, as if she were contagious. Asta narrowed her eyes and he swallowed at the implicit threat.

“Ah,” he started, eyes on Asta, who signaled that he should keep going. “Right. Well… these things do happen. I assume…” he swallowed, “that it is Loranil’s…” Asta glared even more. If she had been a mage he would have been immolated. “Of course it is,” he cleared his throat. “I’ll contact the Red Jennies and Harding immediately with the news and see if they can reach him.” Asta nodded and made scribbling motions and jingled her pocket so he could hear coins. “And…” he looked lost.

“And the Commander currently needs an assistant,” Asta prompted.

Cullen’s face cleared, “Right! I do!” He beamed with relief. “Since you are on medical leave from your scouting team, would you be interested, Madame?”

The woman threw herself into Asta’s arms even further. “Yes, please!” She managed to choke out. Asta patted her back kindly, looking desperately at Cullen, who shook his head in bewilderment. He had _no_ idea how to make this better.

Asta sighed in exasperation. “You’re going to need more than the temporary quarters in the valley,” she said. “Once the baby gets larger, it will be too far too walk, and the road gets icy. We can’t have you slipping, or risking a fall. I’ll talk to Josie and find you something in Skyhold.”

The woman started to calm a bit. “Merci, Inquisitor, Commander,” she managed, pulling out a handkerchief and blowing her nose. “I am in your debt.” Cullen deflated at the easing of the emotional tension.

“I’ll call a couple of runners and have them move your things,” he stood and the woman hugged him, a lunge across his office that had him standing helplessly as Asta tried not to giggle at him. “Yes, yes,” he patted her back. “No worries. After all, your… predicament is partially due to the Inquisitor’s meddling,” Asta shook her head at him but her shoulders shook more. “It will be fine, I’m sure.”

“Come now, Mireille,” Asta said gently, detaching her from the Commander. “Let’s talk to Josie. You’ll need all sorts of things, and I’m sure she can help.” Asta flashed a grateful smile to Cullen who just stood there, still in shock from being hugged by one of his soldiers. Asta blew a kiss at him as she guided the distraught woman out of the room and he smiled back weakly. At least he hadn’t _completely_ blown it.

He sat back down and wrote a letter to Loranil immediately. The Dales. That’s all he knew. Somewhere in Eastern Orlais. He stared at the paper for long minutes. How in the world would he put this subtly and still have the man understand? If someone was writing to him about Asta being in such a situation… his mind stuttered to a stop, with a drop of longing and a cup of horror. But he had to tell him, that was clear.

_E. D._

_Montvelan is being resettled. It seems that village is in a delicate condition._

Cullen put his head on his desk, regretting calling Loranil’s wife by her hometown. It sounded like they were colonizing, not that she was pregnant. “If it were Asta, I would never get the intent,” he muttered to himself. “I would need someone to tell me outright, that my wife was knocked up. And even then, I would be dense. Loranil may be smarter than I am, however.” He could only hope.

_I would recommend your immediate return to them. I believe that they require your presence for many reasons. We will assist in the meantime as we are able._

_Chanter_

He stood up, letter sealed, and handed it to the runner outside his office. “Directly to Harding, care of the Red Jennies,” he instructed. “Urgent.” The soldier saluted and took off at a run. Cullen settled back into his office chair, feeling as if he had already done enough work for the day.

***

Cullen and Asta laid in their bed that night, relaxed against each other after he had read out loud for while, Dane laying across the foot of the bed - his bed in the corner still present though it remained largely ignored.

“You did well today,” Asta complimented him, playing with his hair, his head in her lap while he held the book on the Dwarven Shaperate. She raked her fingers against his scalp idly and he sighed happily.

“Mmm,” Cullen laughed a little, “except for the part where I nearly accused her of a having an affair…”

Asta giggled, “I don’t think she noticed.”

He sighed in relief this time. “That’s a mercy. Have you seen her with her knives? I don’t want to wake up dead. And Loranil is just as deadly with his bow. I hope he never hears I cast aspersions on his wife’s honor.” He stopped speaking and then continued, “The Jennies have been alerted. If Loranil is found, he’ll know.”

Asta nodded, preoccupied, “And how likely is that?”

Cullen shrugged awkwardly against her lap. “The Jennies are everywhere, but given an elven rebellion is brewing… it’s nearly impossible to say. He’ll know eventually. Whether it’s soon enough?” He shrugged again.

“Thank you for trying,” Asta whispered. “If it were me, I know that I would be panicked without you.”

“I had similar thoughts,” Cullen admitted, “only it was me doing the panicking.” He tilted his head back and looked up at her. “Is it bad of me to admit that I’m very glad it isn’t you?”

Asta smiled, “Of course not. We don’t need to complicate our situation any further, I think,” she laughed. “Though it might provide me with a valid excuse to step down.”

“I think we need a better exit strategy than that,” Cullen insisted, and turned back to the book. “That is something that we need to hammer out in a bit more detail, isn’t it?” Asta only nodded, thoughtful.

“I’m worried for her,” she admitted. “A woman without support… it’s not an easy path.” She paused in her stroking of his head. “I’ll have to think who can help her while I’m gone. There must be someone.”

***

Asta, oddly enough, found herself in Skyhold’s Chantry, out of place and fully aware of everyone’s eyes upon her, a mix of criticism and reverence and everything in between. “This was a terrible idea,” she muttered to herself, and turned to go without lighting a candle or speaking a single word of the Chant.

“A little faith is not a bad thing,” Mother Giselle crossed and blocked her exit. “I confess I am surprised to see you here, Herald.”

Asta sighed, “Not for myself, Mother. For a friend. Who finds herself in a difficult position.” There was no escape from the small room, or from the fact that she had been found here by the last person she wanted.

“So you won’t chant for yourself, but for another?” The Mother’s eyebrows raised above her cowl.

“There hasn’t been any chanting yet,” Asta grumbled. “I just… she needs a little help. From anyone that is listening.”

“I am listening,” The Mother’s eyes were kinder than Asta had seen before. “And if you cannot chant, I will. But I imagine with a friend such as yourself, she will be fine.”

“I will do what I can,” Asta admitted, “But there is someone she needs more. I - we - are not enough.” Asta looked at the statue of Andraste, so cold and distant despite the bowl of flame. “And I have to leave soon for the Deep Roads. She will be very alone then.”

“Then I will help her,” the Mother offered. “If you and she will allow?”

“You didn’t approve when I asked you to marry her,” Asta challenged.

The Mother’s eyes flashed in sudden understanding and then closed. “The Maker delights in showing us where we are weak. I am mortal, Herald, no more. At the time it seemed… ill-advised.”

“I won’t have anyone preaching at her,” Asta grew fierce. “she has done _nothing_ wrong.”

“No, she hasn’t,” the Mother agreed, willingly enough. “And I will not lecture. The girl is alone and scared. A lecture does no good in such cases. A helping hand, however?”

Asta nodded, more than a little reluctantly. “A hand, then. And… a chant, if you wish,” she allowed, grudgingly. “I expect you’d do so in any case. And the Maker probably listens more to you anyway.”

“I doubt that,” the Mother chuckled. “You do His work, whether you admit it or not. Your chants reach as far as mine.” She paused. “Where is her husband?”

“On a long mission for the Inquisition,” Asta closed her eyes. “I can say no more.”

“Trials, perhaps,” the Mother ruminated. “Or Shartan?”

“Shartan seems appropriate,” Asta’s mouth twisted, wondering if she was giving too much away. “Are you a heretic, too, Mother?”

“Do not judge before you know a person,” the Mother replied. “I’ve learned all the Dissonant Verses, Herald. We may agree more than you will allow.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Asta almost laughed, “And usually to me. Truce, Mother?”

“We were never at war,” the Mother nodded, however. “Please let me know how I can help.”

“I will try.”

***

“I heard you were talking with Giselle,” Dorian leaned up against the wall of the library. “Whatever for?”

“She’s agreed to help Mireille,” Asta was defensive. She knew Dorian wasn’t going to like this, and now his disdain was coming off him in waves. “Josie’s busy and she’s alone. And I assume _you_ have little interest in babies, and are also coming with me.”

“That is true, on both counts,” Dorian admitted. “But why Giselle? You despise the woman.”

“Because this is what the Chantry should be,” Asta stated firmly. “A place to find help. And because I am guilty of judging her for her background. We’re not friends, we will never agree, and what she tried to pull with you was unconscionable. She’s been wrong on several instances. But she also wants to help a woman who it would be easier for her to revile.” Asta hesitated. “She’s a mirror image of me, Dorian. If I had become her, would you be my friend?”

“A judgmental Mother in distasteful robes?” Dorian sneered, “Hardly.”

“So allow me this chance to redeem myself,” Asta looked at him earnestly. “For she _is_ me. All the things I hate about the Chantry are things that I could have found within myself. And I’ve been taking that hatred out on her. If I’m going to heal the Chantry, I need to heal myself, and find a way to forgive her.”

“Or, you know, you could just _not,_ ” Dorian stressed.

“I don’t want to be less of a person forever, Dorian! Hating her indiscriminately weakens me. I’m better than this,” Asta put her head down on the table. “Don’t you think I’m better than this?”

Dorian hesitated, “I just don’t think it’s necessary to pull in the clergy. Surely there’s another option…”

“Not unless I sacrifice another friend,” Asta muttered. “I need all of you with me. Bull will keep an eye on Mireille, but he’s not interested in babies. Solas is gone, and would have shunned the infant. Probably. I shouldn’t assume that I know what he would think or how he would act. Vivienne and you are needed. Leliana and Varric are gone. Thom and Cassandra are needed. And I wouldn’t trust Sera within 50 feet of any baby. She‘d teach it bad language and let it play with arrows.”

Dorian choked at the very thought. “What about Cole?” He asked softly, a moment later.

Asta traced the golden letters embossed on her book. “I’m selfish,” she admitted. “As people start to drift away, I cling tighter to those that remain.”

“Holding tighter makes people squirm, not cling back,” Dorian noted gently.

“I know,” Asta whispered. “I’ll ask him. It is logical,” She got a wicked look, “and I’d love to see Giselle working with a spirit.” She snickered a bit.

“That sounds like my Asta,” Dorian approved. “It’ll be good for the old bat."

***

Asta approached Cole cautiously. She never knew if he was going to start reading her mind or telling other people’s deepest darkest secrets. She was lucky this time.

“I can talk to you!” He smiled brightly.

“Cole,” she started, and he cut her off.

“She’s not alone, but she has no one to talk to. The little one’s too small, though it hears her cry.” Cole tilted his head. “You want to walk into darkness this time, leave me behind. Let me be _me_.”

“That’s about right,” Asta agreed, not without sadness. “What do you think?”

“She sees me,” Cole frowned. “They almost all do, now. It’s hard to be noticed all the time. Eyes have weight. You understand.” He stared at his feet as if seeing them for the first time. “She feels the stares, too. The ones that call her names. Elf-lover, slut, whore to a knife-ear.”

Asta tensed, “Who says those things, Cole?”

“No one _says_ them,” Cole protested, “but they think them all the same.” He looked over her shoulder. “That makes you angry. Love is _love_.” He smiled. “I think the same. I will stay.”

“Will you protect her?” Asta asked, timidly.

“No one will hurt her,” Cole assured. “I can still steal daggers. And I’ll bring her raspberries. She wants those most of all, besides Loranil.” His eyes grew hazy. “So far away but filled with loss and pain. Will I see her again?” His face lit up, “I’ll tell her that! I can help!”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Asta smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Cole.” She swallowed her own reluctance at losing him, wrestled it into submission.

“You’re afraid I’ll leave you,” Cole looked her straight in the eyes, shocked. “Most people _want_ me to leave them alone. I _scare_ them. They think I’m a demon, abomination, ugly things in their head. You don’t see that.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I don’t,” Asta was confused, “Didn’t you realize?”

Cole shook his head, marveling. “You’re too bright most of the time. You blind me.” He smiled. “You love him. You keep the secret; tucked away in your heads, but it shines out around the edges, peeks through your fingers where you hold it so tightly.” He looked confused. “What is a witness?”

Asta laughed outright, “Someone who can sign their name.”

Cole brightened, “I’ve been practicing with Varric and Josie! Could I?!”

Asta leaned in, “Can you keep a secret?” Her grin threatened to split her face in half.

Cole beamed happily, “I’ve been practicing that too!”

 


	84. Coming Home

“You asked Cole,” Cullen’s voice was flat. “Cole the spirit-turned-man. Is he even Andrastian?” He clenched his fist and rested the other on his desk.

“Am I?” Asta threw back. “And he’s willing and happy about it!” She looked very stubborn. “And it’s not like we have a lot of choice! Unless we’re going to give in and ask Dorian to keep a happy secret for months!”

Cullen drew his hand over his face, “Asta,” he started, and gave up. “Fine. It’s not important who witnesses, after all. Just that there are witnesses that the Divine will allow.  She'll probably be okay with Cole.  Maybe.” He pulled his hand away from his face and took her hand with it instead. “You will tell him to be quiet during the ceremony?” His eyes were laughing, “I’d hate for him to blurt out what I’m probably going to be thinking about right in front of the Divine.”

“I’ll do my best?” Asta offered. Her face grew sly, “What are you going to be thinking about, Commander?”

“You’ll find out,” he teased. “Especially if you don’t tell Cole to keep my thoughts to himself.” He pulled her in and held her. “One day closer,” he sighed.

“To the Deep Roads or to…” Asta teased.

“Both?” Cullen held her tighter and propped his chin on her head. “One will lead to the other.”

“Maybe the Roads won’t be that bad?” Asta offered. “A few weeks instead of months?”

“Oh, sure,” Cullen said bitterly, “And maybe you’ll find a way to warp back to the surface every time I want to see you or you me. Why stop there? Why not just beam your way back into Skyhold as soon as the air gets a bit thick or you miss the sun? You do realize that Wardens go into the Deep Roads to _die_?” Asta nudged him. “I know,” he sighed. “It’s just better to be prepared for you to be gone for months. Then if it doesn’t happen, it will be a pleasant surprise.”

“You have the runners and supplies mapped out?” Asta asked.

“Have for a month at least,” Cullen assured her. “You’ll be able to keep in contact with my location at the port within a day or so from the first encampment. A week from the tentative second, darkspawn willing. But after that…” he huffed, “even the dwarves don’t know, apparently.” He stopped, “And if I know you, and I flatter myself that I do, you’re going to find some puzzle or forgotten something or other down there and bury yourself in it and forget all about your poor fiancé languishing on the surface.”

“Oh, please,” Asta said, indignantly, “just _one_ puzzle or forgotten something? Give me some credit.” She laughed and kissed his chin. “And I will not forget my Commander. He, however, will bury himself in construction projects and forget to eat and sleep, much less write to his Inquisitor stuck thinking about him, all alone.”

The reality hit them both, and they held each other silently. “It’s going to be a long haul,” Cullen cleared his throat. “I will miss you. Even when I forget to write it.”

“As will I,” Asta murmured. “I will miss you every moment. But time will pass.”

“Hopefully quickly,” he murmured in her ear.

“Not quick enough,” Asta added dryly.

***

Asta found herself at Mireille’s insistence ensconced in the infirmary seven days before their departure, in an attempt to determine how far along the woman was, and also how long it would take for the baby to be born.

Ellandra was embarrassed by her ignorance, but wasn’t much help. “The gestation period for elves is slightly shorter, and the babies are smaller, Madame. I can’t really say how long or…”

Mireille looked even more scared. “You mean there’s even _less_ time? Fenhedis,” she cursed, turning white. The healer rushed to her side and had her put her head between her knees.

“Breathe, Mireille,” Asta rubbed her back.

“When was your last cycle?” Ellandra asked, kindly but professionally.

“Two and a half months ago? Approximately?” Mireille threw her hands up awkwardly. “I haven’t really been keeping track. Other things were going on. And I told the surgeon as much.” Asta sympathized.

“Then I can estimate?” the mage hesitated. “Probably five or six months, depending if the babe takes more after you or your husband. But no more than seven or so…” She folded her arms defensively. “There is little information about the gestation of half-elves.”

“Perhaps I can help?” Fiona came in, hesitating. “I heard you speaking outside and… I have some experience that might be useful.”

“We would welcome your help, Grand Enchanter,” Ellandra deferred.

“That is not my title,” Fiona deflected. “In the instance I’m thinking of, the pregnancy lasted eight months instead of nearly ten, and the infant… was small for a human infant though large for an elf, but physically human in… almost every way.” She swallowed and hurried through. “He was perfect, with no problems breathing or other… issues. There were other complications with the mother, however, and while I don’t think they contributed to the short pregnancy, it is always possible. I can tell you that elf-human children are usually undistinguishable from pure,” she winced, “humans.”

“Another word to replace,” Asta muttered. “Such connotations. Full blooded? Why can‘t we just be people?”

Mireille’s face was a picture of frustration. “So he won’t look like Loranil?”

Fiona smiled sadly, “He or she could have his eyes, his hair color - a slight point to his ears is not unusual. A slender build, but will likely favor you, “ she sighed, “most half-elves and their parents find that convenient, honestly.”

Mireille thrust up her chin, “I do _not_ care about convenient! My child will not be _lesser_ because he shares both of us!”

“I like your resolve,” Asta’s mouth twitched. “But ‘he’?”

“Better than ‘it’,” the woman shot back. “My baby is _not_ an ‘it’. And never will be!”

“Has someone been saying such things?” Asta asked gently, making eye contact with Cole and Mother Giselle.

“I am not made of glass,” sneered Mireille, looking away. “I can defend both of us.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Asta said even more gently.

“Two men in the tavern,” Cole’s eyes glazed. “’She’s wasted on that elf. Found out and took off, like all the Dalish wanderers. Vows didn’t stop him. Married, Andraste’s Ass.’” He stopped, frowning and continued. “’Too bad he knocked her up. Who’d want the knife-ear’s whore with it tagging along.’” He refocused. “I don’t like them.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Mireille muttered. “Loranil will be back soon, Maker willing, and I’ll…”

“Good,” the Mother answered. “Hold on to that. In the meantime…” she hesitated.

“In the meantime, those men will be disciplined.” Asta was firm. “The Inquisition doesn’t tolerate such things. It’s harassment.” She stood up. “I should go. Cole, report those men to Cullen. He will handle it appropriately.”

“Why does everyone talk about the Inquisition like a person?” Cole asked. “It’s not even a thing.”

Asta sighed, “Good point. But these men need to be taken care of. No daggers,” she warned.

Cole frowned deeper, “I don’t do that. Not any more.”

“Good,” Asta smiled. “Mother, Ellandra, take care of Mireille? I don’t want Loranil returning to an ill-cared for wife. We promised, Cullen and I, but we leave for the Deep Roads in a week, and...”

“I can take care of myself,” but Mireille had a relieved look in her eyes.

“Yes, but you don’t have to,” Asta pointed out. “Also, if you want to write to your aunt? She might like to hear the news.”

Mireille cursed sharply, “She will lecture me on the wisdom and timing of getting pregnant right now, as if I did it on purpose, and then spoil the child rotten with impractical things.” She smiled and touched her stomach lightly. “No wonder my mother limited contact.”

“The child will surely have an interesting upbringing,” Asta laughed, “with Orlesian nobility on your side and Dalish customs on the other.”

Mireille seemed confident, “Our cultures have more in common than otherwise. There will no doubt be more exceptions, but we‘ll figure it out.  We have to.”

***

The spy sat in the corner of the tower, working on his latest letter - a simple cipher from the Empress‘ court that was barely worth the trouble of coding in the first place. Another scout entered and approached their commanding officer and started speaking without fanfare. “We’ve intercepted a letter from the Commander of the Inquisition,” the scout stated bluntly. “It’s bizarre, but it sounds like they are helping resettle that village in the Exalted Plains, Montvelan?”

“That place was trashed in the civil war!” the officer scoffed. “Nothing was left but ashes and rubble. How could they resettle? It’ll take more effort than it’s worth.”

“I dunno,” the scout replied, “but look - it’s in the letter. Chanter, that’s the Commander, everyone knows that. And the letter to this ‘ED’ says that they are resettling Montvelan, and that the village is in a ‘delicate condition’. The scout puzzled. “Odd phrasing for a village that doesn’t exist any more. Think it’s a code? Or a red herring?”

“Probably a code,” mused the elven officer. “But for what? Troop movements? Short letter for that. Anything else?”

“Just that this ED is advised to return to the village immediately. That the Inquisition will assist until he does.”

“That village is in the middle of the Dirth,” the officer noted. “It’s central enough to send a patrol out there, see what they find. If nothing, then we‘ll ignore it. I‘ll check with Fen‘Harel to make sure he agrees with our assessment. We hardly want humans resettling the Dirth in any case.”

The scout bowed and left quietly, ignoring the spy quietly working in the corner, trying to look busy while listening and observing with every enhanced sense he had. Once the scout departed, Loranil lifted his head, his eyes tormented. It would take a while, but he had to get back.

Getting out would be harder than getting in. Getting in had been a matter of showing an interest in certain company in Val Royeaux, letting them see his vallaslin. He still hadn’t met the man in charge, the man claiming to be Fen’Harel, but with the knowledge that the group had of the Inquisition it could only be Solas. He knew all the code names, and some of the ciphers, and they had been shared freely, thanks to Charter‘s work. Loranil had spent a lot of time proving that he knew them just as well, and had landed himself a spot at the top of the supposed trickster’s spy network, with the caveat that he wasn’t to work on anything that would require him to meet Inquisition operatives. He was a deserter, he told them, wanted for abandoning his post. Thus far, he had been completely holed up in the remote tower that housed the nexus of Fen’Harel’s spy network.

Up until this minute he had dreaded running into someone he knew most of all. Now… he had something far worse to fear. His emergency bags were packed and ready in a secret location, but getting to them… He couldn’t just request leave - they weren‘t an army, not yet. He would have to run for it, and hope that they wouldn’t notice his absence until he was gone. He had no mount, and would have to flee on foot. The people he was fleeing from were his people, lithe hunters, not the loud and clumsy of foot. He might not even hear them coming for him. His mind whirled with the necessity and danger of what he would have to attempt.

And yet to not flee, to not return to his wife at such a time. He shuddered involuntarily. She would find him and murder him. And he would deserve it. Not to mention his commanding officer had told him to return, however indirectly. That was by far the lesser consideration, though.

“Cold, Loranil?” The officer chirped. “It does get a bit drafty in these ancient towers. Surprised they lasted this long, as long as it has been.” She looked at him kindly. “Why don’t you get some air? You’ve barely been outside since you arrived. And you’re Dalish, not city. You’re used to the outdoors. Go get some sun, some exercise, maybe do a little hunting?”

Loranil couldn’t believe his luck. “Maybe I’ll do that.” He stood and made a point of stretching. “I‘ll check in tomorrow, if that is acceptable?”

The officer waved him on. “That’s fine. Slow day in any case. It’ll remain so, until just before Fen’Harel is ready to make his move. We’ll do without you until tomorrow. Just don’t get lost,” she joked. “Good hunting,” she offered, and went back to work.

“I will try,” Loranil smiled, and grabbing his bow, left the room and the building. He was outside the tower and kept a steady pace, dipping behind a hill as soon as one offered the chance. The rolling hills of the area didn’t offer much opportunity for cover, but he did the best he could with what he had.

He needed a Jenny, but the Jennies were in cities. The closest city was Halamshiral. That was not an option. He had to avoid cities, even outposts, lest he encounter other elves. He was alone until Skyhold, that meant. At least two weeks journey without a horse, and that’s if he could move fast and barely sleep.

And he needed his wife and… he shook his head in denial. How had it happened? They had been so careful and it was a rare thing for a couple like them to conceive in the first place. He counted backward. She had to be months along, were there even any midwives in the Inquisition? No one had needed such a thing, to his limited knowledge. The Commander had said they were taking care of her…

He shrugged off his worries and kept walking. He couldn’t allow for distractions right now. First, he had to cross the Dirth. That would get easier when he reached the trees… if he could avoid the giants and wolves. It had been ages since he had to do such things, but he remembered. A lifetime of woodcraft didn’t just abandon him when he abandoned it.

He had never done it alone, though. Not for this long. It was going to be a long, cold, hungry trip. He prayed to the Creators to keep his wife and child safe from the Dread Wolf, never even thinking of praying the same for himself.

***

From the top of the tower, Fen’Harel watched him leave, and looked away. He knew full well what the message meant, and was inclined to allow the desertion, even while he cursed himself for being a sentimental fool. The spy knew barely anything, and could do nothing with what he had. Perhaps it was better to let him take what joy he could with the time he had left.

He returned to his research, his mind preoccupied with the young elf and his wife and soon to be child. Did the shemlen so quickly forget who had been there when the young elf had joined the Inquisition and handed the Inquisitor his letter, hope in his eyes? Or who had been forced to marry them, using the words of a ceremony that meant more in the past than it did in the present?

He certainly did not forget so easily.

***

_Dearest Asta,_

_I imagine your upcoming trip to the bowels of Thedas is occupying much of your time, but I thought I would write you a quick letter to wish you good luck. I do hope it arrives before your departure._

_I never told_ _you, but I picked Victoria as my name to piss off your former Revered Mother. It worked. She is now in my shadow, instead of yours, completely discredited. I have a few things you could do in gratitude. Once you come up for air, visit me in Val Royeaux and I’ll fill you in. No rush, just little things. I imagine you’ll be delighted with them, so please, don‘t worry about what I might ask.._

_Our mutual friend Veilfire has been very, very busy. Charter is kept hopping with everything he wants to see. Poor busy little spy. I keep her very active as well - she hardly has time to sleep between the two of us. People are beginning to disappear right and left - I decided that the Forbidden Oasis was a good option as well as the Hissing Wastes. Never the Dales, though. I don’t necessarily want them to_ die _after all. And I’m fairly certain that is exactly what would happen if we arranged for them to end up there. Veilfire has no compunction about removing those in his way, though so far he has been circumspect._

_Speaking of the Dales, our friend Fairbanks had some very interesting information about an eager person of our acquaintance. His lookout saw someone matching his description fording a river and heading north in the Plains, but skirting any and all encampments. He looked rough, but was whole. I thought you might like to reassure a certain person. I received the raven yesterday, so it’s in good time._

_My contacts tell me Skyhold is about to have it’s first birth. I’ve had several requests here in Val Royeaux for similar ceremonies like you provided for the young couple - a Chantry sister and an elven elder, but all city elves. It makes me want to sing. I’ve performed them all except one - and one of the people was already married in that case. They received a severe lecture and a consoling shoulder in turn. Some people think they can get away with anything, just because I’m new._

_The window is_ _being repaired beautifully. I’m having an artist render the finished product for your approval. Perhaps when you visit we will take an opportunity to view it together? It… resembles someone. Coincidence? Stained glass is a difficult medium for accuracy, after all. Were all the Elvhen you encountered bald? I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned. That might explain the resemblance, if so. Perhaps the secret to their long life is having no hair. I’ll stay mortal, thanks._

_Do stay in touch, even while a mile underground. I know you and the Commander will be sending more of those saucy letters. How I miss them. Tell Cassandra that Varric’s are positively naughty, and watch her blush for me. Harding has been_ _making copies and sharing. They have quite a following in the Grand Cathedral. You don’t mind, do you? Truly, I haven’t bothered intercepting anything else fun. I have enough to do supervising Charter‘s activities and the entire Chantry._

_I still need a Right Hand. Cast your mind on possible candidates, would you?  Unless you'd be willing to give up your Commander after all?_

_Her Holiness,_

_Divine Victoria_

***

_Your Holiness,_

_Quit asking.  My answer is no._

_Thanks for the information.  Sending Peaches out to intercept._

_Note the new signature.  It's time to let things go.  Little Sister recommended this one.  Gallantry, apparently._

_Sweet William_

_***_

_S.W._

_I would have gone with Goldenrod myself.  Be cautious?  And also the phallic imagery.  I'm sure that LS appreciates yours._

_V_

_***_

_V_

_Quit making dirty jokes.  Think of your position.  Dragon Lily is cackling.  That was my choice._

_SW_

_***_

_SW_

_What good is my position if I can't make dirty jokes?  At least DL appreciates me.  Note how I am not making jokes about positions.  Reserving that for Peaches._

_You are right about the handles._

_Andraste's Grace_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New code names! Needed to be done, with Solas taking advantage of Charter.
> 
> Sweet William/SW = Cullen (Not just gallantry, but also 'one smile'. That smile in the Trespasser epilogue nearly killed me.)  
> Dragon Lily (because inner power) = Asta (She never liked Little Sister anyway, and Dragon Lily as a handle is bad ass, as Bull would say. :)  
> Andraste's Grace = Leliana/Divine Victoria (Remember from Origins? She would totally go there.)
> 
> I love the language of flowers. Have I mentioned that?


	85. Love Means...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5000+ hits. I'm blushing and I think I adore each and every one of you still reading Asta's crazy adventures. When I started writing this in February and wondered if I was brave and if it was good enough to post - and debated with myself for four months, just sitting on my AO3 membership for a full month before I actually started posting - I would never have expected this. That's a lot of hits, even spread out over 85 chapters. And yes, the story is done, straight up through the epilogue. I just have to do more lore checking (because research and consistency!) and a little editing because my computer insists on auto-correcting Bartrand with Bertram. I thought I had Dragon Age proofed it. Apparently not.
> 
> Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Maybe one day I'll actually be brave enough to join Tumblr and talk to people a little more directly.
> 
> This chapter is a little NSFW at the beginning - as a mini-celebration - but fades to black before it gets explicit.

“Do you have some time?” Asta leaned wistfully against Cullen’s desk, covered with partial maps of the Deep Roads and letters from the Legion of the Dead commander that they would be working with. He looked at his desk hopelessly.

The answer, of course, was ‘no’, and she knew it, not that she let that stop her. “Is there something on your mind?” He asked at last, knowing what was coming next, and unable to resist, despite the piles of parchment demanding his immediate attention.

Asta’s mouth quirked up on one side. “I need to borrow you.”

Cullen started laughing, and it took him a second to recover. “By all means. Give me a moment?” He met her eyes, still laughing inside. She climbed the ladder and he shook his head. She had been insatiable for the last few days, dragging him away at every opportunity that presented itself. He didn’t - couldn’t - stop her. This was all they had for months to come, after all. He could work after she was in the Deep Roads, when there wasn‘t a chance of being distracted.

And that was going to be a lot less fun. He corked his ink and wiped his quill and followed her up to his old loft, grinning with anticipation. Dane sighed from his place by Cullen’s desk, shook himself in disgust and left through the door Asta had left open, shutting it dexterously behind him and woofing derisively.

She fell on him as soon as he was clear of the ladder, already bare. “How do you do that so fast?” He muttered between her kisses, stroking her back down the length of her spine to make her shiver. “I forgot to lock the doors.” He started to draw away and she pulled him back insistently.

“Have to be quiet, then,” Asta giggled. She tugged off his coat, impeded by his mouth against her breasts, unwilling to pull away for long enough to remove his clothing.

“We have never managed to be quiet,” Cullen indicated, his lips against her skin. “Not even in the Chantry.” He let his hand drift lower to start stroking her between her legs. She moaned, instantly proving his point and pressing against his fingers. Maker, she was already wet. She was always wet, lately. He wondered what she had been reading or thinking about that was driving her this way. Not that he was much better - all it took was her propositioning him when he was supposed to be working and he was nearly ready to go.

Asta laughed and caught her breath as he nipped her breast in appreciation. “That was fun. Care for a repeat? We could get dressed and…”

“Maker’s Breath, NO!” Cullen was horrified and pulled back slightly. “It will never happen again!” He still shuddered when he thought about the Divine confronting them about it. “That was humiliating!”

Asta pouted. “What about your desk?” Asta offered, “I’ll help you clean up.”

“No locked doors,” he repeated. “You’ll have to settle for a bed, you voracious thing,” he laughed against her and hauled her up against his erection, already prominent and rather uncomfortable. She wriggled temptingly in his grasp and grabbed him through his breeches. “Stop that,” he ordered. “Or I’ll…”

“Oh?” Asta writhed against him and cupped him tighter. “What will you do, Commander?”

“I will think of something,” Cullen promised from between his teeth. She pulled at his laces and slipped her hand inside, stroking him gently. He shook a little in her grasp and backed her towards the bed, heat in his eyes. “I’m thinking about something right now.”

“Really?” Asta’s face lit up. “What’s that?”

“I’m thinking about burying myself in you,” he said bluntly. She flushed and bit her lip. “Again and again until the guards hear you crying out my name. But first, I’m going to suck and nibble at you until you beg.” She bumped into the bed, and let him go, falling onto it awkwardly. “I’ll let you choose where,” he promised wickedly. “Have a preference?” He leaned over her with one arm supporting him and traced the other hand down between her breasts to her belly.

Asta laughed at him. “Surprise me?”

He raised an eyebrow and bent to work.

“As you command.”

***

The preparations were complete, and they were loaded and ready to go. The port at the Storm Coast was prepared for their arrival. Cullen was choosing to camp in the smaller, older camp just up the hill - a little closer to the Deep Roads entrance and not the cave of the port itself - and further from the red lyrium that was inactive but still could manage to give him nightmares about Meredith.

They moved out across the bridge without fanfare, no known enemy to declare themselves against, no speeches to give, but this time he was at her side, for at least a little while. The knowledge of where she was headed oppressed them both, despite the goal that awaited them at the end.

Asta snorted and Cullen turned towards her horse slightly, a question in his eyes. “Nothing,” she muttered, looking around her at her companions, their dog and the entire miniature army complete with an engineering corps that Cullen had managed to bring with him. “Just thinking that apparently all it takes to get me into the Deep Roads is a carrot.”

“A carrot?” He tilted his head. “Is that what I am?” Dane moved off into the woods, nose to the ground. “Don’t go too far,” Cullen advised him. “The nug might be close, but there are other dangers.” The dog woofed in acknowledgement and disappeared into the trees.

“Not just you,” she moved her horse a little closer. “The chance of more time with you after this is done, though.” She smiled at him, a little shy. “I don’t think I would have gone, otherwise.”

“Of course you would,” Cassandra butted in. “You have nothing but the good of Thedas at heart, after all.” She apparently had not put two and two together, absorbed in her own romance instead of theirs. Asta intended to ask her to witness their ceremony once in the Roads - where there was less chance that her excitement and exuberance would give away the plot to the world. “And it is hardly in Thedas’ best interests to allow earthquakes to happen in Fereldan when there is a chance we could prevent them.”

Asta nudged her horse back away from Cullen reluctantly. “Yes, thank you, Cassandra,” she sighed and pitched her voice slightly higher. “You know, I think all of you have some extreme idea of how much altruism and goodwill I have towards Thedas. Most of the people I’ve interacted with in Thedas are incredibly stupid! Seriously, who decides that corrupting an entire order just to give them purpose is a good thing? Or putting a god into a dragon? That’s happened more than once, so maybe it could be considered a habit?”

“That’s one bad habit,” Cullen said to himself, flashing a smile at his beloved, who continued.

“Ameridan was clever, but he was 800 years ago. King Alistair is doing a bang-up job, more power to him, despite his missing wife, but Celene?” She looked over at Cullen, “She’s a fool. Although I can sympathize with her reasons. Love makes fools of us all. And don‘t get me started on Brother Sebastian.” But it was already too late because Asta launched into a lecture. “What kind of an idiot tells his true love that he wants to marry her and in the same breath suggests they don‘t have sex? EVER? He was lucky she didn‘t just kill him right there. Fuck that, if I‘d been in Kirkwall when it happened I would have done it for her.” She paused. “If I had been able to get close enough, anyway. I’m a little better with my knives now than I was then. Probably. And then he gets pissy when she turns him down so he decides that he‘ll take back his throne instead of fucking her senseless. According to Varric that’s what she wanted him to do _,_ but instead of asking her to join the party he just shows up three years later and decides ‘Oh, I‘ll invade the city she spent a near decade trying to save! That will show my devotion!’” Asta blew her hair out of her face. “Men.” Cullen blinked, trying to keep up with her tirade.

“Enough of talking about sex and who isn‘t having it,” Dorian spoke up, apparently having only heard the words he was interested in. “If I’m not allowed to have my Amatus along you two will have to curtail your activities.”

“Fuck off and die, Dorian,” Asta said. “I won’t see him for months. I’m not curtailing anything.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “Don’t I get a say in this?“ Asta stuck her tongue out at him.

Vivienne sighed. “Honestly, none of you have any social graces. Asta, darling, you could use a good finishing school, if such schools would take 30 year old spinsters.” Asta narrowed her eyes, and Cullen grabbed her before she could launch herself at the mage. “Perhaps then you’d learn not to talk about such things in public.”

“This is public?” Asta asked, looking around at the troops and her friends. “Fuck, Viv, this seems positively private compared to Skyhold.” True, the soldiers were smirking, but most of them had heard Asta’s foul mouth and lack of filter in the Arbor Wilds or in the Frostbacks. “Cass, do you think I need a finishing school?”

Cassandra sound of disgust echoed through the hills around them. “I would not know. I left home to join the Seekers before my uncle could send me to one. Thank the Maker.”

Vivienne laughed cruelly. “That explains much.”

“Can it, Viv,” Dorian advised. “You’re crossing lines with this one, and while I was sent to finishing school, I hardly needed it.” He stroked his mustache luxuriously. “Besides, you were in the Circle when you could have gone. If they don‘t accept 30 year old spinsters I doubt they‘d accept 40 year old ex-mistresses.” The woman glared at him imperiously.

“They send men to finishing school in Tevinter?” Thom bent over his horse wheezing. “Do they learn how to curtsey and which forks to use?”

Dorian looked down his nose at him. “Yes, they taught me etiquette, grooming, and hygiene, amongst many other things. It might have done you some good.”

“So wait, the only one amongst us that has gone to a finishing school is… Dorian?” Asta laughed and laughed, forcing Cullen to grab her reins to keep her horse from bolting. “Oh, oh, that’s too good.” She wiped tears away, ignoring the glowering mages. “Truly, that does explain a lot.”

“Josephine has,” Cullen interjected before Vivienne could start in again. “She met Leliana while she was there.”

“And she is a credit to her education,” Vivienne approved. “Myself, I learned the social graces the hard way - by being tossed into the crucible of the Orlesian court. I came out refined. A jewel - cut and polished.”

“Bet having your fancy Duke take you in hand didn’t hurt,” Sera tossed at her. “Heh, ‘in hand’. Bet he did,” she snickered.

“Don’t be crude, Sera,” Vivienne admonished.

“Yes, ma’am…” Sera mocked. “Not the Bull, Viv. Not going to fall in line just because you have horns.”

“Don’t talk about Bull that way,” Dorian said. “He’s not here to defend himself.”

“Not that he would from Viv,” Sera scoffed. “She’s got him by the horns. Heh, horns. Funnier every time I say it.”

Asta sighed audibly, “Cullen, this is going to be a very long trip. They are already fighting amongst themselves and making crude jokes at each other’s expense. Care to take my place in the Deep Roads? Is it too late to turn around and go back to Skyhold and call off the entire Inquisition?”

“Not for the world, love,” he replied cheerfully. “May I say you certainly know how to pick them?”

“Too right,” Thom agreed. “What were you thinking, milady?”

“Mostly? That I didn’t want to do this and how much I hate stairs,” Asta confessed. “But that I had no other choice since my hand was killing me slowly before we sealed the Breach the first time. After that, it seemed like a good idea at the times I met all of you. That was _before_ I knew you.” She sighed exaggeratedly, “Oh, to have my innocence back.”

Sera snorted, “No you don’t. Cully-Wully took it. And from the sounds coming out of his office you love every minute of it.” The elf dodged Asta’s backhand and rode off to the front of the group cackling like a witch. “Have to move faster than that!”

Cullen blushed redder than his coat. Thom whacked him on the back, “Good man,” the chevalier winked.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen’s voice broke. “Perhaps I will stay in Skyhold for the duration of this… excursion. Or perhaps I should supervise the supply wagons…”

“The fuck you will,” Asta was just as red. “If I have to put up with it, so do you. At least you get to be left behind at the Storm Coast. Imagine me putting up with this shit for months underground.”

“I still require details, Inquisitor,” Cassandra informed her.

“Only if you’re going to share Varric’s letters,” Asta countered. Cassandra stopped her horse dead, a mottled red covering her cheeks. “Oh, come on, Cass, he writes romances for a living! We all know they’re steamy.”

“Yes, well,” Cassandra swallowed roughly. “Perhaps I do not require details after all.”

Asta eyeballed her approvingly, “That good, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Cassandra blushed to her ears. “And you never will,” she swore. “I will burn them after this, Dorian, so don’t go looking through my saddlebags like you do Asta’s.” She looked regretful, but determined.

“I knew it,” Asta turned back to the mage. “I knew you were reading my mail.”

“Everyone reads your mail,” Dorian replied. “You are the only person who takes their time in camp reading all of those moldy old books and letters that you pick up everywhere and making notes on them. There are only so many games of Diamondback and Wicked Grace you can play before you lose everything. Though with Bull, Varric and Solas absent, some of us have a chance again. Losing will be less fun, however.” His face fell.

“All of you?” Asta looked askance. “Vivienne? You too?”

“Well, you lied to me once,” the mage sniffed. “I felt it necessary to keep myself abreast of the Game, my dear. I didn’t do it because they were _interesting_.”

“Thom?” Asta turned to him, eyes wide in shock.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Well, I kind of suspected you knew I wasn’t a Warden…” he smiled a little. “I liked the bear rug idea.” Cullen choked and coughed. Thom whacked him on the back several times. “Sorry, Commander,” he apologized. “Hope it went well, at least.”

“Oh, it did,” Asta giggled and then attempted to make her face solemn. “Maker’s fucking mercy, none of you are my friends any more,” she declared. She paused, “Did _Solas_ read my mail?!”

“Darling, it was his idea in the first place!” Vivienne insisted, startled. “He had Cole pop into your tent and steal the letters and make you forget!”

“Cole?” Asta looked heartbroken. “Cole did that?”

“Well, Solas told him he was helping,” Dorian explained. “He’s a little less gullible now, I think.” He met Asta’s sad eyes and softened, “Maybe. He wouldn‘t shut up about how happy the letters made you so they got put back right away. You never even knew they were gone.”

“So how much,” Cullen felt his pulse pound in his ears and heat radiating off his skin, “did you all read?” He stared up at the sky. Why couldn’t Asta have burnt _his_ letters after reading them?

“Enough to know that you ‘take yourself in hand’ pretty often when Asta’s gone,” Vivienne scoffed critically. “Honestly, a man of your age should have more self control.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen cursed. “Asta, would you care to ride ahead of these barbarians?” He could hear his troops sniggering all around him. Forget the Divine knowing they had done it in the Chantry - this was the most embarrassing moment of his life.

“Gladly,” she agreed. “Honestly, you all are assholes.” She clicked her Taslin Strider into a trot and rode on, followed by Cullen.

“We are your friends,” Dorian projected loudly. “Like attracts like. And watch who you are calling a barbarian!” He yelled after her. “So sensitive,” he sighed. “Honestly, in Tevinter, reading someone’s mail in secret means you’re family.”

“Not so different in Orlais, dear,” Vivienne agreed, “With perhaps a little more poison involved.” She looked after Asta thoughtfully. “I’m getting much better at alchemy,” she noted.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassandra threatened. “We should all be ashamed.” She smiled a little. “I liked the bear rug idea too.” She grinned irrepressibly at Thom who returned it.

“I wondered what she was thinking with the ladder, personally,” Dorian chirped. “Just couldn’t figure that one out on my own. And I‘m very inventive,” he assured anyone who was listening.

“I hope she didn’t follow up with the tree,” Vivienne mused. “That tends to be sticky with sap.” The other companions turned to face her. “What? I was in love once,” she defended. “The Duke had a fine orchard outside of the city.”

“And leaves and twigs are hard to get out of longer hair,” Cassandra agreed. All the focus turned on her. “I did travel with Galyan,” she explained. “Do I have to spell it out? There’s a reason my hair has been shorter for a while. I got tired of breaking combs in my ponytail. My hair is extremely thick. Well, that and that hairstyle is extremely uncomfortable under a helm. After a while it bruises.”

“I feel like I don’t know any of you at all,” Dorian breathed. “What have we been talking about for all these years?”

“Corypheus?” Thom shrugged, “And there was a lot of sexual banter between you and Bull. Cole spilled all of our deepest secrets - like your little wooden duck.” The bearded man chuckled. “Bull and Solas played verbal chess. Cassandra and Varric came to terms and then nearly choked all of us with unresolved sexual tension. Sera and I discussed peaches a lot - she was very helpful, actually - the ladies aren‘t complaining, at any rate. Vivienne made sure all of us knew our place in life was beneath her. And Asta talked about social justice and equality and Andrastian cults and her crackpot theories. And a ton about the Commander from the very beginning.” The other companions looked at him, now, shocked at the amount of detail. “What? I was listening! Weren’t you listening?”

“But we didn’t talk about any of the things that _matter_ ,” Dorian shook his head. “Honestly. It takes Cole being gone for us to start really talking.” He thought a moment. “Wonder if he realized that.” He shook his head. “At least she never made Cullen cookies.”

Every one of them shuddered in unison. “Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathed.

“Some things are too gruesome to contemplate,” Thom grunted.

***

Up ahead of the next curve Asta stopped, and thought hard. “Cullen, did we discuss our… plans in any of our letters?”

Cullen paled, “I’ll have to check,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. I was careful in mine, but…” he swallowed. “Well, if we did either they know what we’re planning and we haven’t given them enough credit or…” he smiled.

“Or?” Asta prompted, her head tilted sideways.

“Or we’re going to have a lot more witnesses,” he grinned sheepishly. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes,” Asta hissed. “Secrecy. No bees. No nobles or elaborate staging. Do you _want_ Dorian to force you into your dress uniform? Do you _want_ Cassandra to insist on a ten page reading from the Chant regarding the Maker‘s union with Andraste? Do you _want_ Vivienne to insist that we not see each other for a few days beforehand because it wouldn‘t be ‘proper’?” She paused. “On the other hand, maybe you’d like Bull to throw you a stag party. There would definitely be Maraas-Lok and dancers.”

Cullen shuddered. “Time to start burning our letters, then,” he sighed wistfully. “I liked rereading them.”

“Me too,” Asta smiled at him. “We could just take our chances, I suppose.”

“It might be worth it,” He returned her smile with a smirk. “Does this mean I don’t get any more sexy letters?”

“You aren’t that lucky,” Asta nudged her horse a little closer again.

“On the contrary,” Cullen leaned over as she leaned in for an awkward peck. “I’m very lucky. I have the smallclothes to prove it.” She shoved him. “What? You give a knight a favor…” he smiled, “I have the ribbon, too.”

Asta beamed at him. “And I have your coin.”

“Well, with that much luck between the two of us how could anything go wrong?” Cullen joked.

“Quit jinxing us, Commander,” Asta laughed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm double (triple?) checking my Descent lore to make sure I've got it right. Might be a couple of days delay in posting what I've got while I check on things. If you haven't played Descent, from here on out there be spoilers. You will be warned once more at the start of the next chapter. We've already crossed into Trespasser territory so I won't have any more warnings for anything except the normal triggers and NSFW stuff.
> 
> My version of Descent is (I hope) a lot more suspenseful. :D


	86. Kiss Me and Smile for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers for military couples. Asked a friend to read it and she cried a little. I'm sorry if it hits a little too close to home but I'm going to post it anyway. I really don't want to tone it down, and she assured me that it was okay. I hope she was right. I'll update my tags. Again.
> 
> NSFW in... several places.

Their first sight of the Storm Coast, as always, was wet and dismal - and again, it matched Asta’s mood. “I hate it here,” she muttered under her breath. “Some of the worst things happen on the Storm Coast.” She brooded a bit, remembering her last visit to the coastline and the choices she had made for Bull and his Chargers. “At least I didn’t drag Bull back to remember it,” she added, relieved. “I know the price I paid for his Chargers still haunts him.”

Dorian patted her shoulder. “Yes, but he insists that the Inquisition is where he wants to be. _I_ am there, after all.” The mage’s confidence wasn’t particularly reassuring, Asta noted. How much was bravado?

“And what happens when you aren’t?” Asta asked her friend, frowning. “Is he just going to wait around while you go back to Tevinter and kick a few asses?”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” the mage ordered, turning away. “I‘m his Kadan. He‘s my Amatus. We will work it out.” Her friend rode away to the front of the group, but with a troubled expression that Asta could read only too well. Once again there was nothing she could do for her friends.

***

“Commander!” The requisition officer stepped up to meet the party as they approached the camp. “Word for you from the Legion of the Dead and the construction crew!” Cullen took the letters and read them quickly.

“They want you to meet with a Shaper Valta,” he told Asta. “I’ll send word that you’ll meet them tomorrow morning.” He looked at the sky. “That should give you most of the afternoon to finish pulling together what you need, and I’ll get the officers hopping on their supplies. With luck, we‘ll have the first wagons rolling in that general direction in an hour, assuming they packed them like I showed them.” He scanned the next letter. “Good, the crew I sent has finished the initial lift. They’ll get to head home and I’ll keep the corps I brought with me to send to you as necessary.” He beamed. “It’s going well, so far!”

“A little soon to be celebrating,” Asta drawled dryly. “I haven’t even rode the lift. Have they tested it for load-bearing strength?”

“Yes!” Cullen laughed. “They learn from their mistakes, apparently.”

“Good, I bet it’s a long way down,” Asta approved. “Not a time for the ropes to fail.”

Cullen blanched, “I would say not.”

Asta looked around the camp, and the steady stream of traffic traveling to and from the caves that led to the port. “Where is your tent?” She paused. “I assume I am staying in it. At least for the one night?” She tried to cheer herself up.

“Of course,” Cullen blustered. “It’s just one night. Surely you can put up with me that long?” His mouth twisted. It was easier to joke about the inevitable separation at this point than draw out the misery they were both already feeling.

“Oh, Commander, I would put up with you a lot longer than that,” Asta didn’t have a joke left in her.

“Soon,” he whispered. “I will wait.” He straightened up. “I’d better get to work. I’ll see you shortly?”

“Of course,” Asta looked up. “I’ll meet with you and your officers after I find the tent and drop off my things. Try to keep them dryish, at least.” She pulled away from his presence reluctantly. “Better get going, Commander. Go keep them on their toes. They all have a big day tomorrow.”

***

The necessary meetings over with, and Cullen dismissed from his responsibilities, they met back at his tent, thoughtfully placed far enough from the others to provide a modicum of privacy. Asta had spread out their bedrolls, but they could barely look at each other, the weight of the time, depth and distance of the Deep Roads already pulling them apart.

Asta lost it first, predictably. “I _hate_ this,” she fumed. “It’s our last night together in who knows how long and we can’t even…” she choked up and tried to change the subject. “Where’s Dane?”

“I asked him to find another place to sleep for the night. He rolled his eyes and woofed irritably but I think he understood. We can…,” Cullen said. “I hope we will…” he stopped. “But it is difficult,” he admitted. “It’s like I don’t want to have any regrets, but just… thinking about you going is a regret in itself. And I‘m scared,” he offered in an undertone.

“You signed the paperwork?” She finally met his eyes, fear and longing behind them.

“Yes,” he breathed, resigned. “I have. I don’t like it, but I will do as you wish, if…”

“Cullen, just because Wardens go into the Deep Roads to die doesn’t mean that it’s inevitable,” Asta drug her eyes away from his and stared at the corner of the tent. “I have no intention of such a thing, and surely having a fatalistic mindset contributes to such a fate?”

“I’m sure it does,” he agreed, slouching, “But there is so much to fear…” he straightened himself up and tried putting on his Commander hat. “You have to check in every few days at the most. We have plenty of parchment and we‘re sending most of our current supply with you. If I don’t hear from you every 3 days, I am coming in after you, like it or not. Also, you will send us as accurate maps as possible of your most current location, in case you get lost, or something happens to your guides, or…” He rubbed the back of his neck. He leaned in towards her, deadly serious. “That’s an order, Inquisitor.” His fear echoed her own, so she stroked his face, feeling the stubble against her fingertips and tried to feel reassured.

“Of course, Commander,” she tried a weak smile. “I will make sure that we map as we go and send you copies. It could be a useful resource once we… get back.” Her face crumpled.

“Asta, Asta,” Cullen took her shoulders in his hands. “In this, like so many other things, you will come back. You are courageous, and a fighter. I don’t know any other archivist that would be venturing into the Deep Roads.”

Asta laughed a little. “Actually, that’s exactly what Shaper Valta is. The dwarven version of an archivist. I read a book before we left Skyhold about the Shaperate. It‘s more than a little odd though that she has left the Shaperate. She might be a little rebellious. Dorian will like that.” She tried to giggle, but it sounded like a sob. “We’ll have a lot to talk about, maybe.”

“That’s my girl,” Cullen said, choking back a lump of his own, “making friends everywhere she goes.” Asta lunged against him and his arms were already open. “I’m not sure I can do this,” he muttered. “It seems like bloody forever looking forward.”

“No,” Asta was trying to find her bravery. “Forever is what comes after.” She pulled back from him and settled across his lap sideways. “You’ll find your courage, Cullen.” She seemed so sure. “Your faith will bring me back, more than any luck or charm or fighting skills. I will remember that you believe that I’ll return and so I’ll come back.” She leaned against his shoulder. “After all, I have someone to come back to. That’s still pretty new.”

He laid her down and curled around her and they fell asleep, encircling each other. That comfort seemed more important right at that moment than anything else - just to touch and hold and guard against the dawn and their mutual separation.

He woke in the early morning with urgent kisses against his shoulder blades and neck as she curled against him protectively. He rolled and met her mouth with his own, his mouth begging hers to remember what he tasted like, the warmth of his lips on hers, the ridge of his scar under her tongue, the scrape of his teeth on her neck. They traced each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths as if they were memorizing each other, every inch a precious picture that they needed to recall in the lonely days to come: the shape and weight of her breasts in his hands, the slickness between her folds, the shallow curves of her buttocks and the concave dips of her waist. She drew lines and circles over his chest, his back and subtle muscles over his ribs, rubbing against him as if she wanted to leave their impression on her torso, and sunk her fingers into the taut muscles of his ass.

Eventually, he made his way down between her thighs, and reminded himself of her unique taste as she moaned above him and begged him to return, even while she arched against his mouth in desperation, trying to ride his hands and tongue to a finish, and yet not wanting the moment to end. She tugged on his hair, her fingers twisted into it tighter than the curls it insisted on making and he rose above her and rolled over to his back, pulling her with him.

She settled on top, sitting back and covering him, just like another morning in a tent that he remembered as clear as if it was yesterday, and he stroked her hair back over her shoulders gently, wanting to see all of her. “You are beautiful,” he said in the grey morning light as it sifted through the clouds - still raining, but trying weakly to break through the gloom of the next encroaching storm.

“You are the only one who has ever said so,” she replied, but bent to kiss him all the same. “You have odd taste, perhaps.”

“Lucky me,” he whispered against her, capturing her hips and raising her to sink inside at last. They rolled together with the rhythm of the surf in the distance, the waves overtaking them, driving them deeper into the other, trying to drown themselves as if then the one wouldn’t need to watch the other leave, as if death would be preferable to such a fate.

Lightening struck a tree nearby, and they didn’t notice, their own tempest in the tent being far more crucial than the more pedestrian concern of the weather outside. For her, it struck the same place twice, and she cried out, the wind and rain burying their sounds as it whipped through the scant protection the camp offered, ruffling and snapping the canvas tents and drying the sweat against their skin almost as soon as it formed.

He flipped her over, and dove into her mouth and body, so afraid of losing this, of losing what she was to him. His love, his friend, his strength, his protector, his words. She demanded all of him, and he answered at last the only way he could. Wordless, perhaps, but no less heartfelt.

They lay awake together, finally hearing the storm and held each other, silent, spent and tired, and no less despairing, but not willing to spend the last hours together asleep or apart.

“After this, never again,” Cullen swore at last without prompting, just before they rose to the guard’s whispered reminders that the sun - such as it was - was coming up.

“Never again,” Asta repeated, and kissed him in a simple promise that she longed to make official.

***

_My Most Captivating Cassandra,_

_So… funny thing happened here in Kirkwall. After all these years of watching other people collect the titles, apparently I ask a few too many pertinent questions, back a few too many important projects and… they made me_ Viscount. _I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t hate me. I’m pretty sure my Seneschal, Bran, already does - he remembers me from the days when I hung around with Hawke, unfortunately._

_Now I understand completely when people like Asta and Hawke say they never asked for this. I was just elected and BAM! Fancy house, fancy office, all the scrutiny in the world and all the criticism every time I make a fucking decision. There’s no pleasing everyone, or anyone._

_But honestly, right now all I can think about is pleasing you. My new house - quite a step up from my rooms at the Hanged Man - has a massive bathtub that a dwarf could drown in. And I nearly did when I got far too carried away thinking about you this morning and slipped under the surface. And by ‘thinking about you’ I_ _mean I was getting myself off thinking about what would you look like naked and writhing above me in this massive bath. Unlike Curly, I’m not ashamed of admitting that I have certain fundamental needs that your memory is helping me overcome. Will you read this letter and picture me with my hand on my cock, thrusting up into it while I groan out ‘Cassandra’ and come all over myself, messy and spiraling into my bath? And then immediately think about starting over, because the release was so unsatisfying without the object of my affections?_

_I was thinking about how you don‘t wear smallclothes to start. When you dropped that little tidbit of information where you… teasing me, my Seeker? Do you know how often I’ve thought about that, staring at your leather-wrapped ass while Asta dragged us through some ancient temple or other in the wilderness? What do you think all those attempted games of ‘I Spy’ were about anyway? I spied something, all right, and the memory haunts me. I want to play games with you, and I’m not talking about Diamondback or Wicked Grace. Your grace is wicked enough for me._

_Should we play hide and seek when you finally come visit? I’m pretty good at seeking, if I do say so myself. Where would I have to touch you to make you hum? Moan? Shout my name? Scream? Are you even a screamer? My house has many spare bedrooms… not that I would let you use one. No, when you visit me I think I’ll hide you away in my chambers, with this massive four poster bed with red velvet curtains that I have to use a stepstool to climb into. It looks like a bordello - except that the bordellos I’ve had the… pleasure to visit were never so fancy. And then I would seek you out amongst my far too many pillows, finding those places that you’ve been too shy to ever admit you wanted someone to touch._

_There are three candelabras in the room too. It’s like some kind of gothic daydream. Does the idea of making love to me in such a setting make you want to visit more? How can I get you to the surface again? Honestly, my sweet, shy, brave, strong Cassandra - tell me what you want and I will comply. I am still your prisoner, at the mercy of my captor._

_I am going to start all over again tomorrow morning in my bath, and picture you reading this letter and thinking about how to reply to such direct questions without giving too much of yourself away. I will repeat the process every morning until you answer some of my questions. Whether in person or in a letter. I will find out your secrets, Cassandra. I just need time and opportunity. I am a rogue, and a spy, and am a very dangerous man. I suspect you like that about me. It’s always the good girls that want the bad boys._

_I also have a garden, believe it or not. Have a dark red rose for the depth of my passion, and… dare I say it… no, I do not. Adoration, then. And perhaps some lavender to show devotion. At least for now. I will not declare myself in another way until you visit me and can reply in kind. Perhaps I will not have to drag that from you reluctantly, but you will offer the words freely. A dwarf can dream, though perhaps not literally. If one could, however, it would be your_

_Varric_

***

Cassandra sat cross-legged in her tent, alone for the moment, breathing hard and hopelessly aroused, once again stunned into silence and undeniable need, staring at Varric’s words. She should have expected her favorite author and would-be lover of having such depths of passion and playfulness in him, but still, she felt… inadequate to reply. And yet she must, because otherwise he would _stop_ and that was a fate worse than the Deep Roads promised to be.

_My Varric,_

_You know it’s hard for me to express myself this way. But I will try. Because you… overwhelm me with your words. We made it to the Storm Coast today, and your letter was waiting. So for now, at least, I am still on the surface and never has this coast seemed so attractive knowing you are just across the Waking Sea from me._

_You sent me flowers. You are the only man to ever give me flowers. They still smell sweet, even as dried out as they are. I will carry them with me, tucked among my things into the Deep Roads. Perhaps they will remind me of you, waiting for me above._

_I assure you, that what I have is yours to discover. I… do not know if I am a screamer. I don’t think I am. But possibly, if someone were to try. Think of that as a challenge. If you like._

_I am not one for games. Do you intend to try to get me to play I Spy with you again? However, your version of hide and seek sounds rather… diverting. Perhaps I will give it a try, if you are going to attempt to make me scream_.

_I love candles. When I visit, we will light them all, and douse the fire. I expect your hair will be the same color as the flames. Kirkwall tends to be too warm, in any case, and between us, we will not need additional heat. I will provide all the warmth you need._

_Be wary of what you write to me. Remember the eyes - and now Asta knows just how many people were watching her correspondence. She is capable of much subterfuge, much like yourself. Also, due to weight restrictions, we are not bringing tents into the Deep Roads. If you… overcome me again with your words, I will have no respite._

_And now I am embarrassed._ _I will write again soon. I should send this before I grow too cowardly._

_Please write to me again. I enjoy hearing from you._

_Cassandra_

***

Cullen and Asta stared at each other at the fissure that was her entrance to the Deep Roads, her eyes wide and frightened, and his bleak, worried and lonely in the green and black gloom of the cave they were waiting in.  Dane whined and thrust his head under her hand, insisting that she stroke his ears.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake, just get it over with,” Cassandra grumped with pent-up frustration and marched off into the fissure. “Give them some privacy, all of you,” she ordered. “Let them say good-bye without an audience for once. We all watch them too much.”

Her friends complied, some eagerly, some reluctantly, some proudly denying their interest, and the group of soldiers either followed them in or found other duties, as appropriate, doing their best to give the couple the illusion of privacy, most but not all drifting out of the entrance to the cave back towards the main camp a few miles away.

“I will miss you,” Asta whispered. Cullen took her hands. “How I will miss you.”

“I will wait here,” Cullen replied. “I will not leave the Storm Coast until you return. And when you do…” he cracked a little shadow of the wide smile she wanted never to leave his face. “Well, you know.”

Asta stretched up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Say it in front of other people, just this once. Even if they can’t hear.”

“I’ll marry you,” Cullen brushed the words into her hair with his hand, full of the rush of joy that filled him. “And we’ll build the life we want, instead of what is expected of us.”  Dane barked happily and dragged a bag that had been tucked behind a rock. Cullen cleared his throat. “I have something for you,” he admitted louder, backing away and pulling the sack towards him. “I almost didn’t give it to you, after what happened with Dorian last time, but…” He pulled out another Mabari helm, this one dragon bone and Veil Quartz to match her armor, and held it out to her. “Will you… wear it?”

“Of course I will,” Asta smiled at him. “It’s far better than what I’ve been wearing since the other was damaged,” she leaned it, “And it came from you, my love.” She dropped her other helm without preamble and took the other.

“Good,” Cullen smiled a half-smile. “That will make me feel much better.” His face fell again, his gaze dropping to her feet. Asta shook her head and grabbed his jaw, sliding her hand around to the back of his neck and pressed to him, as close as their armor would let her get. “Kiss me?” He asked, holding her tight.

She crashed her lips into his without hesitation, and he tasted salt as he slanted his mouth again and again over hers in an impossible attempt to never let her leave. They had to stop for breath, and she traced his scar with her gauntlet. “Smile for me?” She whispered. “Try to focus on what happens when I get back.” He nodded and smiled, weakly but a valiant attempt, in his opinion. “Whenever I get lonely I’m going to remember your smile.”

“Remember I love you,” he told her seriously.

She laughed, “As if there was a chance of forgetting. I love you, too.” She stopped. “I can’t watch you leave me, and I don‘t want to leave you,” she admitted sheepishly. “Can we do it at the same time?”

Cullen nodded. “All right.” He embraced her once more and pecked her on the lips, chaste and necessary. “Until we meet again?” He took her left hand in his right, wishing he could feel her heat.

“Oh, that’s better than good-bye,” Asta sighed, relieved. “Until then,” she managed a smile, and together they turned and left, their hands the last thing to part, their eyes closed to keep from seeing the other depart. Asta opened her eyes, jaw tight, and kept walking. Cullen turned back, hands clenched, to watch her disappear through the cleft in the rock, years of memories of watching her walk away from him reflected in his eyes.

Asta faced her friends once inside and wiped the tears away carelessly. “All right,” she braced herself with determination and put on her helm. “Let’s start the descent.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from possibly the saddest and sweetest going away song ever, "Leaving on a Jet Plane". Peter, Paul and Mary are the classic version, but I have to admit I like Bjork's version a little better.
> 
> Richard Marx's 'Right Here Waiting for You' is good too, but that's a lot of sap for one chapter. And after I let my friend read this and caused tears I'm not sure I want to make anyone else cry. She threatened me if I didn't post it the way it was, though.


	87. Between Bouts of Darkspawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely NSFW. Through most of it.

Cullen tried to sleep two nights later, the first letter laying next to his bedroll, and Dane‘s head on his thigh, both of them stretched out in an attempt to make the tent feel a little less empty. He had gone so far as to move in a little table and chair, and a more permanent chest instead of his saddlebags. Dane had decided unilaterally that Asta’s old bedroll was his, but Cullen had claimed her pillow. Instead of sleeping, he turned up his lamp and re-read her letter for the fourth time that day.

_Cullen,_

_We’ve reached the first camp and cleared it of darkspawn and caused a cave-in that sealed the entrance that broke its seal during the earthquakes. Believe it or not, we’ve already killed an ogre, and a variety of other darkspawn. I’ve received plenty of good advice on fighting them from Lt. Renn, the representative of the Legion of the Dead that met us here. I’m in good hands, love. I hope that reassures you._

_Already we’ve made_ _a little progress - the doors down here are sealed shut - and the mechanisms are missing the gears - so we have to collect them in order to get through the doors. Valta assures me that if we didn’t need to go deeper to get to the source of the quakes they would never be disturbed. I hope she is right. It seems rather - shortsighted to leave the access so open. But if they destroyed the gears I suppose we would have bigger problems than a scavenger hunt._

_Valta herself is… unique. She’s determined, and has her own crackpot theory involving something called ‘Titans’ causing the earthquakes. Renn says it’s probably just a bedtime story. They are… quite the interesting couple. She is a little scary for an archivist. I’m more than a little intimidated and haven’t dared compare notes with her._

_Renn is fascinated by dragons. I think he’s secretly hoping we’ll meet an archdemon down here so that he can have a go at it. He’s in awe of me because I’ve killed three. I made a point of describing the downsweep of their wings to him, and how they can breathe lightening and ice as well as fire and he toasted me and our friends with the other Legionnaires. Bull would love these guys. When we blew up the entrance to the deep roads they cheered while Cassandra, Dorian, Vivienne and I cowered behind a rock. Sera and Blackwall adore them and cheered right along. Nothing like a good explosion, I guess. Sera immediately started flirting with one of the women responsible for the explosives, who flirted right back. Don’t tell Dagna. It’s just a flirtation._

_I think they have the impression I’m a better fighter than I really am. Honestly, they keep handing me these amazing daggers they’re carrying around with names like ‘Silencer’ and telling me to keep it. It’s a little alarming. I have a collection of daggers already to rival Cole’s. They gave Vivienne a schematic for a lyrium infused staff that had her positively fawning. I appreciate that they want us to be prepared but these gifts… I feel like we should have brought them something. Are gifts a part of dwarven culture? Varric’s never mentioned. I’ll have Cassandra ask him. His letters must be fantastic - I’ve never seen her so grumpy and that‘s saying a lot. There is no privacy down here._

_We’re going to need some more support down here, as you suspected. I think that you should at least send the basic blacksmith equipment and the quartermaster we talked about. Already there has been damage to our armor and other gear - Ogres are tough, love. And no, I haven’t hit my head. I’m being very, very careful. This place is not a playground._

_Oh, and when Dorian saw the helm he made a disgusted noise that rivaled Cassandra’s and said, “Fasta Vass, he made you another one,” and then went off to write to Bull, probably about how ridiculous we are. But I know for a fact that the sweater is in with his gear. I packed it for him. And don’t doubt that I love the helm. Now it reminds me of you and Dane. Our strange little family. That makes me incredibly happy._

_Please find the expected map attached. After we kill the darkspawn in an area we’re sending the cartographer you insisted on sending in to draw details. I hope he can draw well enough to allow your engineering team to make plans for bridges. I suspect we’ll need them, though not right away. With the amount of little tremors we’re getting - are you getting them too? - I can only imagine that the bridges are largely destroyed._

_My heart aches for you. I’m not even going to try to explain how much because I might cry, and my reputation for being a tough broad amongst the Legion will be ruined forever. We wouldn’t want to do that, though Cassandra would probably be able to pick up the slack._

_I love you,_

_Asta_

***

Asta,

You told me to try to focus on the future, so I’m trying, but not having much success. Dane is keeping me somewhat in the present, as are my headaches - constant, I’m afraid to say, with the inactive red lyrium present at the Port. Also the nightmares are bad. Falling rocks, lots of lyrium, red and blue, and you mixed up in it all like a phantom. I won’t go into details. So instead of the future, I’m caught in between memories of the past and Dane’s needs and what I need to get done here.

I’m afraid once again your absence has made the troops start complaining about me. But things are getting accomplished. The Port is up and running and we took a small boat out to the island in the near distance. Something… large lives there. We think we’ve found the dragon’s nest. Think I could convince Bull to come out from Skyhold with the Chargers to fight a dragon with me? I also found an interesting set of chain mail - it seems… inadequate. More of a necklace or amulet, really. I’m going to send it to Dagna to make you a coming home present. I think you’d look lovely in it. Just don’t use it to fight in.

I reconnected with the Blades of Hessarian as well, and they say they haven’t seen any darkspawn in the area since your descent. That’s good news, and I thought you’d like to know. They haven’t seen further Venatori, either. I might end up being a bit… bored. At least there’s Dane to keep training. He is dodging balls properly now instead of catching them. Some of the scouts are mumbling about me spending time playing with my dog instead of working, but I’ve planned extra drills for them later this week. That will teach them to keep their mouths shut. Besides, Dane could take them. I’m planning a demonstration with a Fereldan mage who suggested the idea. I think Dane understands that he’s just supposed to dodge and parry, not attack to kill. I hope. The mage seems confident in his shields at least.

I wonder where we could find some Kaddis. I think I may have to write to the King and find out where the Warden gets hers. And I think Dane needs a spiked collar. He’ll look more intimidating that way, even when he pants in that goofy way, and it will protect his throat. The Blades have their own Mabari, and they think I’m doing good work, but have also suggested teaching Dane to track. The thought hadn’t occurred to me, but with Ivor’s assistance, I’m going to start in a few days.

We have started a comprehensive map based on the information the cartographer provided. Tell her to keep it up. I’ll be able to find exactly where you are with pictures like she is providing. Tell her to draw each door you go through exactly - and include approximate distances. I don’t want to be caught unawares if I need to get in there after you. Are you sure that I can’t send the rest of the soldiers in - just in case? At any rate, the engineers are on standby. Just let me know when.

I kept a shirt of yours, and put it over my pillow. Your scent is already almost gone. What do you use on your hair to give it that herbal smell? It’s so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. Is it something I can find here?

I miss you, if that wasn’t obvious. Of course it’s obvious. Maker’s Breath, I will never get better at these things. And I won’t, can’t mention anything else because every time I try I get inhibited by the fact that your so-called friends read everything I write. Not to mention the fact that Dane gets fed up with me every time I kick him out for private time. I still hate that euphemism. Last time he chewed up a pair of good socks in retaliation. Maybe we need to find him a girlfriend. He might understand, then. However I’m not prepared to raise a whole litter of Mabari puppies, so maybe not.

You can tell Cassandra that I intercepted her latest letter from Varric, and… well. I didn’t need to know those things about Varric. At all. And neither do you, so don’t go looking for her letters. I’d rather write such things to you myself, however humiliating that may be, rather than have you reading that about your friends. Please give them their privacy, even if they didn’t give us the same.

However, I think about you in many ways, almost constantly. I see you in my dreams, both the very good and very bad. I’m putting some of our plans in place, as we discussed.

I love you. Come back soon.

Cullen

***

_Dearest Cullen,_

_One of the Legion has a lute and knows the song you sang to me in the tavern. I nearly fell off my bedroll when he started. He says he learned it from a Fereldan Grey Warden, but not the Queen. All I could hear was your voice, playful and light and warm. There aren’t enough deities for me to blaspheme to tell you how much I miss you._

_It’s dark here, and gloomy, and the only light is that of fire and molten rock. It’s oppressive and horrible. So basically the exact opposite of the sound of your voice. Our guides are kind and definitely up to the challenge of keeping me safe, so rest assured on that count at least. No, if I die, it will be for the lack of your presence - I miss you more than words._

_I wonder how many of these little tremors we are experiencing daily make their way to the surface. With the way these roads tunnel under Thedas, if they collapse the entire continent will likely be rubble. The death count will be enormous, and what is left of the dwarves will be wiped out. I can’t let that happen, lyrium trade or not. Do you know anything about economics, Cullen? My understanding is sketchy at best and I wonder how important the lyrium trade is to the Thedosian economies - all of them. I know it’s crucial for Orzamaar, but… what I wouldn’t give for a basic economics textbook right about now._

_Well, it’s a point of interest, but hardly the thing I should be worried about right at this moment. At this moment we are trying to open doors that seem to be blocking a massive amount of darkspawn that apparently want nothing more than to swarm to the surface. Why are they drawn so to the surface anyway? I should write a letter to Stroud. The least he can do is provide me with sensitive information since I’m down here fighting his darkspawn. The tentative location of our second camp is just beyond the mass of darkspawn, go figure. So we retired back to the main camp for now, so that you can get your expected letter and updated map and we can stock up on potions and repair armor. Not mine. The helm is perfect. I wear it almost constantly down here, since we can never tell when we may be swarmed._

_We’ll be here for a few days more, at my estimate, since we can’t open the doors without these bloody (literally, I’m afraid) fucking gears._

_I’m very impressed by the Legion of the Dead. They are excellent warriors and Renn is darling. Don’t be jealous. I’m pretty sure he and Valta have some sort of agreement - they’ve been down here together for years. Too bad we can’t invite the Legion back to the surface and throw them a party, or at least buy them a drink. They’d love Maraas-Lok. Apparently even catching a glimpse of the sky is enough to make a dwarf a surfacer. That seems… extreme, but it’s their culture, not mine. No doubt they have their reasons._

_I keep finding these steins… I’m building a collection for Bernadette. I think she’ll love them. Not for drinking out of, just for looking at. Some of them are positively disgusting._

_I had a dream last night, of you against me, curling your fingers inside me the way you do, and heard your voice telling me to let go, that you wanted to see me lose myself. I woke up in a sweat, unsatisfied and longing for you to touch me like that. Fuck, for you to touch me at all. Not quite a week in… and how much longer, my love? If I already miss you this much I’m afraid I’ll go crazy by the time we are done with this mess._

_Attached you’ll find the updated maps and a few schematics. Might be helpful for the troops that you send down here. Send them only with the best gear, Commander. Even our best is getting tested against these Emissaries and Ogres._

_Valta approves of me bringing order to the chaos, apparently. I’m afraid I beamed at the compliment and she seemed a bit taken aback. She’s so impressive, both as a warrior and an archivist. I want to be her when I grow up. It’s a shame you can’t meet her. Her theories about the Titan are about as popular as mine about Andraste. I tried to explain and she just shook her head at me. Ah well, every scholar has their pet theory. It’s a bit hard to explain the Andrastian religion to an Orzamaar dwarf who is a devout worshipper of the Stone. You end up sounding more than a bit insane, even if you leave out the parts that I haven’t proven yet. Dagna’s familiarity with the subject had me fooled. Leliana is going to have a hell of a time trying to get the Chant sung there, though Valta says that there used to be a Chantry there, only the dwarf brother was assassinated._

_I love you. If you are going to fight that dragon, don’t forget the bees. Oh, and it shoots lightening, I saw it fighting a giant when we first came to the Storm Coast - so that’s at least something you have experience with. Good luck! Don’t get fried in your armor. I like your body the way it is - non-electrocuted. Read Serault if you need any pointers. I bet Bull is extremely bored, and would love to come out and kill a dragon with you._

_You know, I’ll send you a belt I had with me. Electrical Resistance. I don’t think I’ll need it down here. I need enhanced damage, not electrical resistance. Have fun and think of me. I’d rather fight a dragon than another Ogre. Dragons are fun._

_Wish I were there, for more than that reason,_

_Asta_

***

My love,

I hardly know where to begin. How can we have so much to say to each other after just a few days?

I’ve sent for a book on basic economics for you. I’m assuming you were serious, and perhaps if you start studying economics then you will keep yourself out of trouble. Even as I write that I realize how ridiculous it sounds - staying out of trouble in the blighted Deep Roads? I repeated that out loud and even Dane is woofing in what sounds like laughter. Still - try for me?

I miss your voice as well. Your laugh, mainly - like a bubbling spring or something far more poetic which is beyond me, as you try to hold it back and yet it just overflows. But I also miss your lectures on taking care of myself. You must have spoken to Dane, because he is _nagging_ me at mealtimes and bedtimes. I may not be sleeping much but he’s making sure I stay in the tent long enough to rest. And he drags me away from the Port when the lyrium starts to overwhelm me. Did you tell him to wake me up if the nightmares start? He’s been _licking_ me. He knows that’s forbidden but does it anyway. I suspect you had words with him. Confess, Inquisitor.

The Blades are very impressed with him, and say he’s intelligent even for a Mabari. He just barked derisively and went to dig a hole. He also brought back some elfroot, two lengths of plaideweave and a dagger. He and Branson are going to love each other.

Elfroot is not the scent you use in your hair, I’ve determined. It’s not blood lotus, or spindleweed. I will find this out, Asta. It is becoming an obsession. I know I’ve smelled it before, and often. I just can’t remember where.

Bull is on his way out, with electrical resisting everything and the Chargers in tow. The dragon flew over the camp yesterday and half the recruits lost their composure. Dane did not. Do you think I should take him with us? I am inordinately proud of his progress, but don’t want to lose him to a dragon, either. The Blades have agreed to join us - apparently the dragon attacked one of their outposts recently and a number of their members were shocked severely. I offered our medical services. I knew that’s what you would do. Ivor is a nice sort. I remember you telling me that I would enjoy his company, and as in so many things, you were right. He plays chess.

The engineers are restless. Please tell me that you have something for them to do? Now that the Port is repaired they are drinking too much and annoying the rest of us. Yes, I make them do drills and train like everyone else, but I’m going to start making them gather plants and metals if you don’t give them a better purpose.

I agree, the dreams of you are maddening. Dane doesn’t wake me from those, at least. But he looks at me after I wake and doesn’t even woof - just leaves the tent and finds something else to do for a while.

I love you. I’m glad you’re wearing the helm so much. Please be careful.

Cullen

***

_My Seeker,_

_Oh, so you want me to seek you out? Pull your hidden desires out into the open and shine a light on them? What are you hiding, then, I wonder?_

_Your last lover was a mage, you said. Anders told me a little of what mages get up to in the Circle - was he adventurous? Did he expand your horizons? Probably not, if you don’t know if you are a screamer. You were fairly young, though, and I know you were innocent. So, tell me about him. What did he do that you loved? That you hated? I will do it all better, given a chance. You just have to get that fine ass back up here and let me try. I’m pretty competitive, and I find I’m a little jealous of him for having the chance to meet you first. I wonder - did you clap him in irons too? Stab any books? Or did you just throw him to the ground and pin him there? That’s what happened, I’m sure. You’ll have to try that on me when you visit._

_I wondered this morning about the color of your breasts. Your skin is olive - are they red like raspberries? As red as the blush that is probably staining your cheeks right now? Pink like a peony? Or brown like the finest Antivan chocolate? I long to find out, and then I’m going to match their color to a taste. I’ll feed you strawberries and champagne if they are pink, and then taste you with my mouth full of the bubbles. If they are brown, I’ll dust you with cocoa and lick you clean. And if they are the color of raspberries, you and I have a date with some jam._

_And because you are so practical, I know you are worried about cleaning up. I’ll take care of that too. I have a massive bath. I believe I’ve already told you about the bath? The one that is getting so much use lately that the housekeeper is complaining? I offered to take care of it myself and she was horrified. You’d better get back soon or I’ll have a servant revolt on my hands. I can’t win._

_I started the next chapter of Swords and Shields for you. Perhaps if my personal charms won’t do the trick, my writing will? I won’t send it to you, though. You’ll have to come and get it. You’ll have to come and get_ me.

_I’ve been thinking of a few other games we could try. “Red Rover, Red Rover, send Cassandra right over?” No? Perhaps we could play tag? I could let you beat me at Wicked Grace?_

_I want to lose to you, Cassandra. That is new._

_Your Varric_

***

Varric Tethras,

If you do not cease writing me such things I will… ugh. There is nothing I can do about this. We are making our move on what will hopefully be our second camp in the morning and a horde of darkspawn is between us and its location and I cannot abide. There is no privacy here, dwarf. How many times do I have to tell you?

I do not want anyone to lose to me on purpose. We are both better than that. Perhaps we could both play to lose, in that case? I find I don’t want to beat you, either, and if I play to win, I will win. I have been told that I am very stubborn and determined. We will not be playing tag or ‘Red Rover’. What gives you such crazy ideas? You are an adult. Act like it.

Galyan was… sweet. Kind and thoughtful. He was very focused on me, and it was nice, while it lasted. As experiences go, I remember it fondly. Wistfully, even, though it could never be permanent. We saw each other rarely in later years, since our increasing responsibilities kept us apart. I’m sure I wasn’t his only lover, Circles being what they are, but he only treated me with reverence. I liked that a great deal. It is unusual for me to be treated gently, as I am not the standard noblewoman. You may have noticed that. Usually I don’t like to be treated as if I am glass, but he made it seem respectful, not as if I wasn’t capable. Ugh, I cannot put it into words.

As for what I didn’t like - I do not know. Our chances were few and far between. More frequency, perhaps? You are probably laughing at me. Some of the things you ask I just cannot answer, however. I would like more poetry, but you said you were stuck. What could you possibly be stuck on? You are a professional. Galyan did not read me poetry, as when we were together we were usually in the wilderness tracking down blood mages or rogue Templars. Poetry books do not manifest themselves in the woods. More beds would be nice.

I know you are laughing at me now. Keep your derision to yourself, please. We do not all have the sort of sexual opportunity that you seem to have had. Jam and chocolate, indeed. It sounds sticky. We will need that bath. But…they are reddish, I suppose. When I see you, you will have to decide if they are more pink or red.

This is a very long letter. I’m not sure how you keep managing to make me write so much. And… I am embarrassed again.

Cassandra

 


	88. Depth of Regard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of minor spots of sexy talk, but safer overall.

Cullen and Bull hovered behind the convenient rock, watching the dragon. “Is it sleeping?” Cullen asked Bull. The dragon didn’t seem to be moving.

“Possibly,” Bull grunted in an undertone. “I find it likely he won’t stick around this area for much longer. There isn’t so much as a nug on this island. We should take it out before it decides to move on to greener pastures.”

“Well, Asta did give her blessing,” Cullen muttered. “Probably because it had attacked the Blades of Hessarian.”

Bull eyed Cullen a little derisively, “So you’re saying that if she had told you not to kill the massive electricity-breathing monster you wouldn’t have? You buy into all her crazy talk about local ecology needing predators and all that? You realize that there are bears here?”

“I find it unlikely, Chief, that a bear is capable of wiping out as much of the nug population as a flying dragon that shoots lightening,” Krem drawled. “In fact, other than the ones intent on eating us, we’ve only ever seen them eating fish and berries.”

“Yes, well, most of them did try to eat us,” Bull grumbled. “We’ve killed a fuck-ton of bears since we joined the Inquisition. And if they could catch a nug, I’d bet they’d eat it.”

“This is all irrelevant,” hissed Skinner. “Are we going to kill the thing or not? Because if you don’t have better things to do, I do. I have a arm-wrestling date with that requisition officer back at the camp.”

Bull rolled his eyes, “Don’t stab them in the arm when you lose, Skinner.”

“Why not?” The elf grinned sharply, “That’s half of the fun of losing.”

“Shh,” Cullen hushed them, “It’s waking up. I think we’re going to have to make a move.” Next to him, Ivor of the Blades tightened his grip on his weapon and tensed, waiting for the order.

Bull gathered his team. “Dalish, you sling… arrows at it. Not electric ones. Stick to fire or ice.” The not-a-mage looked at him suspiciously. “Just do what you do best. Skinner, Asta usually attempts to hamstring it, with varying degrees of success. Avoid its mouth and tail, though, and if it starts pulling you in, run in and take cover underneath it. The wings can’t hurt you there. Just watch out for its feet. Rocky, you’re in charge of the bees.” The dwarf grumbled. “Yeah, I know it’s inelegant. But shit, man, they work better than making a huge explosion - trust me, anything you can throw at it won‘t be as big as what it can throw at you. Stay at a distance otherwise - they can tear you up when they’re panicking. Krem, Ivor, you’re on flanking with Cullen. Keep its attention divided between you. And I’ll do my thing.” His eye sparked with excitement. “Let’s fuck this thing up.”

***

Asta was exhausted. She stared off into the recently established fire at their new camp, knowing that she needed to write a letter confirming their success but completely unable of even thinking about picking up a pen.

It had taken nearly two full days for them to claim the next room, for the waves of darkspawn to quit coming and trying to overwhelm them. They had lost three Legionnaires, and four more were wounded and unlikely to survive the taint making its way through their blood. The Legion claimed they could hear more on the side of the doors they had yet to unlock with more as-yet-unfound gears. Asta pitied the Wardens, pitied Clarel. This isn’t how she would choose to die, either.

Renn came over and plopped down next to her, handing her a flask. “This area is definitely secure. Shouldn’t find anything coming up or through anything and attacking us while we sleep.”

Cassandra overheard him, “Thank the Maker,” she shuddered.

“Those darkspawn,” Asta asked curiously, “The Emissaries. They don’t act… unintelligent.” She accepted the flask and took a tentative sip, coughing. “Maker’s Balls, Renn, that tastes like burning!”

“It’s Lava Burst. It’s supposed to. And they aren’t.” Renn grinned and took his flask back. “Emissaries are intelligent, or at least more with it than your average Hurlock or Genlock. Don’t know why, but they have enough brains - or what passes for brains in a darkspawn - to sling magic at you.” Thom came up and listened carefully, without saying a word.

“So they’re mages?” Dorian asked, flinging himself down and managing to make even the Deep Roads look good.

Renn shrugged. “I suppose. Don’t think about it much, honestly. Not my job to think. I just protect Valta and kill darkspawn. Been doing that for years now.”

“Right,” Asta stood. “I’m going to try to get some rest. We’ll need to trek back to the other camp, get our gear and send in the cartographer in a while, but I’m completely knackered. I’d recommend you all do the same.” Her friends all nodded and watched her retire.

Renn turned to Dorian and Cassandra. “She’s not a natural fighter, is she.” It wasn’t a question.

Cassandra sighed, “You are correct. She has only been fighting for three years now. Since the Breach tore the sky open.”

Renn whistled, “She’s doing pretty well for someone who hasn’t done this her entire life.”

Dorian grinned, “We know. It’s lots of practice, mainly. But don’t try to tell her that. She’s convinced that she still doesn’t know which end of a dagger is sharp.”

Cassandra butted in, “And her heart isn’t in it. She’s an archivist, a researcher. She kills because she must, not because she enjoys the fight.”

“She enjoys killing dragons,” Dorian pointed out.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, “Everyone enjoys killing dragons. It’s the adrenaline rush, the chance to pit yourself against something so much larger than yourself and come out victorious. But she doesn’t go seeking them out either. If she had a choice, she’d never leave Skyhold’s library.” She turned back to the Legionnaire. “Honestly, Lt. Renn, she has a fine mind for strategy, and can hold her own, but…”

“You spent most of your time on that field protecting her,” Renn cut in bluntly. “Why?”

Dorian answered, “She’s our friend. She’s the only one who can seal rifts, and there are still rifts on the surface.” He paused. “I wonder why we haven’t seen any down here?”

“That would be a question for Solas,” Cassandra answered dryly. “Don‘t borrow trouble.” She faced Renn. “She is our friend, but she is also the Inquisitor. If she were to die or disappear down here the consequences for both Orzamaar and the surface would be unthinkable. It is our job to see her safe.”

“Not to mention a certain Commander would have us drawn and quartered,” Dorian huffed.

“Commander?” Renn looked confused, “Commander Rutherford?”

Cassandra smiled slightly. “They are engaged.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “Have been for a year, though. What is the likelihood they’ll ever actually _do_ anything about it?”

“The Inquisitor is engaged to her Commander,” Renn’s face was blank. “The same Commander who insisted that all the dwarven engineering be triple checked for load strength? And inquired what precautions we were taking against further earthquakes? And said that safety railings were non-negotiable?” He laughed, “He has a lot of dwarven engineers pissed off at him. Hope he never has to meet one. They were incredibly insulted that he thought they couldn’t do basic math. Half of them are convinced that humans aren‘t smart enough to stay away from the edge of a cliff now.”

“The very same,” Dorian held out his hand for Renn’s flask. “They are disgustingly cute together.” Renn surrendered it and Dorian sniffed it appreciatively, raising his eyebrows and toasting him before sipping.

Cassandra sighed, “That does sound like Cullen. He’s a bit… overprotective and extremely cautious.” Dorian snorted. “It’s endearing,” she glared at the mage. “He’s also very proud of what she’s accomplished. No one else…”

“No one is denying that, Cassandra,” Dorian butt in. “But honestly - safety railings?”

“Asta has no fear of heights,” Cassandra shot back. “And she should have learned her lesson by now!”

“Guys,” Asta sighed from behind a nearby rock. “I’m right here. And while I love to hear people talk about my relationship with Cullen, I fucking need to rest.” She paused, “I didn’t know you guys thought I was a decent fighter though. Thanks. Coming from all of you, that’s really saying something.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dorian advised. “Otherwise we’ll be peeling pieces of you off the walls after the next battle.”

“No worries, Dorian,” Asta yawned. “I’m not the sort to rush in headlong.”

Cassandra made a disbelieving noise and settled back against the rock and closed her eyes.

***

_Commander,_

_We have established the next camp, so please expect any mail to be slightly more delayed. I’m not sure if I can promise you updated maps and letters every three days at this point, orders or not. The Deep Roads are turning into a rabbit warren, and the roads and bridges are largely destroyed by the tremors._

_It’s definitely time to send in the building corps. I’ve marked several places on the attached map that need bridges. You will no doubt notice that many of them lead to objects of historical significance rather than strategic destinations, but… well, the Deep Roads suck. If I have to be here, I want to be learning something as I go. Time to build me some bridges, Cullen. I wish you could come yourself. I’m sure the results would be far more… attractive with your presence. Just hold off on the ale requisitions?_

_I keep forgetting to ask how the restoration of the stone bridge in Emprise is going. Perhaps it will be finished once I get back to the surface? Valta thinks we have a ways to travel yet, however, so it won’t be anytime soon. How I wish it were…_

_But there’s no point in dwelling on it. Maker, I miss you. I miss you to the extent that everything down here seems absolutely pointless. I know it isn’t, but…_

_We lost three Legionnaires in the last drawn out battle with the darkspawn. Valta has recorded their names to honor their sacrifice. So far the Inquisition soldiers remain uninjured, but we are sending some back with this to rotate out. Morale down here is… not good._

_I am not well. I’m not injured, but this place… I understand why Clarel never wanted to die here, now. The Deep Roads do not offer an attractive death. You might as well hurl a rock into a flood and expect it to float as to expect a single death against darkspawn to have any results. I respect the Hero of Fereldan and the Champion even more now - that they descended like this and then came back - multiple times, even. They truly are the heroes of our age._

_I love you. I hope I have the chance to tell you that again in person. A hundred, a million times would not be enough. The written word will have to suffice. So inadequate. I would punctuate it with a kiss for every phrase if I could._

_Your Asta_

***

Dorian,

I hope you get this before you leave the first camp. Your letter was hot. I totally got off on it. Sorry I had to stay behind. Those Ogres sound like fun. I wish I could see you bring one back like you do and watch while you make it attack another one. That sounds bad-ass. You have all the fun, Kadan.

Well, not all the fun. I’m at the Storm Coast preparing to hunt down another dragon with Cullen. He’s seriously bored, but Dane‘s training is going well. He dodges fireballs and everything now. Cullen’s doing a good job with him. But Cullen definitely has a little too much time on his hands now that the war‘s winding up. Dane’s complaining about having to sleep in the rain.

I miss you. If you were here I’d show you how much. When you get back we should pull out a few things we haven’t used in a while so I can prove it. You up for that?

Talk to you later, Kadan.

Bull

***

_Bull,_

_Do you think it’s wise for you to be hunting dragons without me? You have not shown yourself particularly restrained after fighting those beasts. Or during, for that matter. If it gets back to me that you have committed an indiscretion I will be severely put out. You’ll have to make it up to me. I will not be gentle. But then you enjoy that. Do not take that as a challenge._

_I find despite the lack of bathing, I miss your scent, as bizarre as that sounds. I’m probably going insane. Not too surprising after what we’ve been through._

_I’m sending a Darkspawn battleaxe that I pulled off a Hurlock Alpha. Thought you might want to add it to your collection. You don’t already have one, do you? If so, forget it. Maybe you can sell it or something. No, really, it’s fine. Don’t keep it on my account._

_Did you pack that sweater for me? If so, thank you. It’s surprising chilly in places down here, and I’ve been sleeping in it. Not because I like it, or anything, but it is warm._

_Letters are… nice to get down here, Amatus. Maker knows that the rest of this place is gruesome enough._

_Dorian_

***

Asta,

The dragon is taken care of. It was amazing. I can still smell the ozone in the air. My hair got a bit singed when I didn’t block quite fast enough, but the requisition officer gave it a quick trim (which honestly it needed anyway - this humidity is playing riot with it and driving me crazy with trying to keep it contained) and I’m as good as new. The Chargers conducted (pun intended) themselves honorably. Dalish especially. _Why_ does she insist that she isn’t a mage? But her ‘arrows’ fly straight and true and I was very impressed. I think I’ll approach her about training a few of the battle-inclined mages. They can learn from each other.

Dane did very well. Not a singe, and he took a massive chunk out of the dragon’s back leg and then dodged like he’s been taught. Bull tried to get him to try Maraas-Lok that night in celebration - but our dog is apparently smarter than anyone else in the Inquisition and wouldn’t even touch it. Such a good boy.

Ivor was allowed to make the killing blow, much to Bull’s disappointment. I thought it wise, since it was his comrades that were injured before we could take care of it. Gave him some of the loot we recovered from it as well. We had quite a party back at the camp that night. Ivor approves of some of your more far-out theories. Heretics think alike, perhaps? Discussing them with him made me long for you. Dane is more irritated with me than ever.

I’m disappointed that you think it will take so much longer. But I’d rather you be safe than make haste and get hurt. What was in the package for Cassandra? The messenger said that he was under threats of death from the Viscount of Kirkwall that it had to reach her unopened. What did Varric send her?

After that, though, a care package sounded like a nice thought. So… in this package you’ll find some extra clothes (maybe you could send the old ones back, so that your pack doesn‘t get too heavy?), some cake that the Chargers‘ cook manages to make over an open fire, a new whetstone, your requested book on Basic Economics, and a book on the Blades of Hessarian that Ivor said you could borrow. I hope you haven’t read it already. Also, the engineers accompany this. They wouldn’t fit in the crate. Just another way of showing you how much I adore you, of course. I wouldn’t want you to miss an opportunity to learn, even if it means you‘ll be away longer.

Come back soon, every week gets us a little closer. Our plans are making good headway. I’m getting rather excited about some of the possibilities. I wish I dared write them down to get your opinion. I almost slipped and talked to Bull about them. I’m a little eager, I suppose. It’s painful not being able to discuss them with someone.

I love you.

Cullen

***

_My Cassandra,_

_I was ruminating on nicknames this morning. I do like calling you Seeker, but the name Cassandra is so… formal. It suits you, but it’s a mouthful. I wonder, how do you feel about Cass or Cassie? ‘Sandra? Just a random thought. Would you prefer a different nickname? How about Legs?_

_My imagination is running wild about that part of your body. Rest assured that you feature heavily in every fantasy, every daydream. I want to run my fingers up the back of those impossibly long legs and bury myself between them until you shout my name and pull my hair out by the roots. I want those legs tangled around my head, my back, my body… I want to see them kicking in the air at nothing while I bring you to completion, bent over and fucking you until you have no thoughts in your head except for me._

_Come to me, my Seeker. I’m waiting._

_I think I’ve figured out why you haven’t been kicking ass through the Deep Roads like you usually do, and therefore found your way to Kirkwall and me. So I’m taking steps to guarantee you’ll understand the depth of my regard. Please find the enclosed, just for you. I find it likely I won’t need it anymore, given the desk jobs._

_Your Varric_

***

Cassandra stared blankly at the object that was in the box with the letter, honestly bewildered. “Asta? Do you recognize this?”

Asta looked up from where she was sharpening her daggers with the new whetstone. “That looks like a crossbow sight. It _is_ a crossbow sight. Where did you find that?”

“Varric sent it to me,” Cassandra furrowed her brow. “He knows that I do not know how to fire a crossbow, why would he…”

Sera busted into cackles from the top of her nearby rock, munching on the peanut brittle that Dagna had sent her. “It’s obvious, ain’t it? He’s sending you Bianca. In pieces.”

Cassandra blushed. “No, he isn’t.”

Asta drawled out, “Actually, I think he is, Cassandra. He must really love you.”

Sera rolled off her rock still laughing, “Just be glad he didn’t send the dwarf in pieces instead. Ew! Squishy!”

Cassandra clutched the sight a little tighter. “We have barely…”

Asta sighed, “Cass, Varric loves that crossbow more than anything in the world, and he sent _you_ a little piece of it. I suggest you draw a few conclusions.” She stood, finished with her weapon maintenance. “I think we’re ready to head back to the other camp. Wrap up your personal correspondence, my friends. Things are likely to be a little delayed from here on out.”

***

_Dear Varric,_

_It is completely unnecessary for you to dismantle your Bianca. How will you defend yourself? You know that there are entirely too many threats in Kirkwall for you to leave yourself vulnerable that way. If you are not keeping yourself safe…_

_I am worried for you. Bianca is your most valued possession. You do not have to give it up, especially for me. I am not worth that._

_I prefer Seeker, for the record. And I like the way you say my name. At least the first one. The others are… superfluous. Just Cassandra is fine._

_Sincerely,_

_Cassandra_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... more Cass/Varric? Dorian/Bull (which is going to get angsty, so beware)? You'll get Asta/Cullen anyway, and stuff from the Divine. I have a lot of letters here and don't want to post them all unless you want all of them. You might get a little bored if I do. So... opinions? Comments appreciated! If you tell me what you like I can weed through the morass of letters and figure out what to include, too.
> 
> It's finished, but damn, looking at all these letters is overwhelming. Even if I post every day it's going to take forever to finish this story! It was supposed to be done by now!


	89. Pieces of Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the consensus was: All the Letters. God, you all don't know what you are asking for. I'll probably pull a couple that aren't strictly necessary, or are inferred in other letters. Otherwise... enjoy.
> 
> My favorite of today's selection is actually Bull's. Thoughts appreciated!

_Two weeks prior:_

Varric was attempting to work for once, like a good viscount, instead of writing Swords and Shields for Cassandra or writing her poetry and letters. Really, he was, so naturally, Bianca arrived to throw the whole day into the Void with her very presence.  Her timing was diabolic.  Bran was going to have him killed.

“Hello, Varric,” the woman sauntered into his office uninvited and unannounced and propped herself up on the edge of his desk. Varric regretted ordering the new one that was scaled for dwarves. At least if he had kept the old viscount’s desk, she wouldn’t be sitting on it. Professional distance would help, perhaps.  “Long time, no see.”

“Bianca,” Varric rested his head on his desk and sighed deeply. Apparently today wasn’t the day the letter to Dagna about the effectiveness of corrupting runes on the red lyrium at the Gallows would be written. “Why am I not surprised.” He wasn’t entirely sure if he was talking to himself or to her.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Bianca smirked. “Surely the Viscount of Kirkwall can let an old friend visit his office and wish him well in his new role?”

“No, Bianca, he can’t,” Varric took a deep breath. He hadn’t woken up this morning and thought ‘Oh, I know, I’ll break it off forever with Bianca today’, but what was that Tevene saying? Carpe Diem? Seize the… oh, fuck it. He didn’t speak Tevene anyway. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Bianca was shocked, but giggled shrilly to mask it. “Oh right. Going through one of those cycles, are we? Where we say we aren’t going to see each other anymore, shout insults at each other, and then fuck each other senseless?” She looked around. “Up against the wall or on the desk? Maybe on the floor in front of the fireplace?  We could inaugurate your new office either way.”

“There won’t be any more of that, Bianca.” Varric closed his eyes. Maybe it would be easier if he did speak Tevene. He and Bianca never did communicate well. Another language might help. “I’ve met someone.”

“You’ve… met someone.” Bianca’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Who?” Her voice was flat and dangerous.

“You’ve met her, too,” Varric confessed, a little wickedly, enjoying the moment despite everything still unsaid, “You’ll remember her name. It’s Cassandra Pentaghast.” The name hovered in the air between them until Bianca shattered it with a brittle laugh.

“The Seeker.” She grinned, eyebrow raised. “You’re going to have to lie better than that, Varric. The woman kidnapped you.” She slid off the desk and stepped forward, threateningly. “She threw me up against a _wall_ in Valamaar. And you claim to be involved with that… bitch?”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” Varric braced his hands on his desk. “We are seeing each other,” _sort of…_ “And I won’t let you call her names or…”

“You’re not lying,” Bianca straightened in surprise, and involuntarily took a half-step back. “You actually… she’s a human, Varric.”  Her bigotry was palpable and Varric swallowed determinedly.

“I am aware. It‘s a little hard to miss with legs like hers.” Varric picked up his pen again and started to attempt to ignore her. She would see through any ‘busy and important’ aura he could try to maintain, but maybe she would get bored and go away. “Many of my best friends are humans, if you care to remember. I doubt you do. After all, you never even bothered to meet Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall wasn‘t important enough for you.”

“I could have her killed,” Bianca mused, almost idly.

“Touch a hair on her head and you’ll find the Crows after you,” Varric promised, never even looking at her. His head spun in panic, the words on the pages in front of him swimming in front of his eyes. He started to write ‘Cassandra’, over and over again, the repetitive nature of the act attempting to soothe his brain. “I swear it. This Viscount has connections with the Antivan underworld, if you remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” Bianca drawled. “That’s how you escaped the first three sets of assassins my family sent. I’m pretty sure you can’t call on them again, Varric. And you know my family has the same.”

“You’d be surprised how deep the Inquisition goes,” Varric stood. She wasn’t going to get bored. It was time to start the threats. “If you are just going to insult me further, perhaps you’d care to leave instead? Before I call the Kirkwall Guard and have you escorted out of the Keep?”

Bianca sneered, “Oh, come on, Varric. You can’t get enough of me. Finally you’re my equal in something more than the bedroom and you aren’t even going to entertain me?”

“I’m done entertaining you, Bianca.” Varric looked her in the eye. “It was never just about the fun for me. You should have realized that.”

“You certainly liked my presents well enough,” the dwarf cocked her eye at his crossbow, hung neatly on the wall within reaching distance. “You still lug around the evidence of your devotion to me.”

“Actually, I haven’t moved it in months. The staff keeps it dusted,” Varric claimed. It perhaps hadn’t been months, but he hung it up every morning and only took it down at night when he left his office. Evidence of his devotion… how long had it been since the crossbow was just a weapon to him? Years? “The Guards oversee my security in Kirkwall. If Aveline had known about Cassandra, she would have seen you were never admitted, and escorted from the premises. My friends have never approved of my unhealthy obsession with you. Now I see it their way. You were never good for me, Bianca, and you haven‘t made me happy in a very long time. On the contrary, you specialize in making me miserable.”

“So that’s it,” the woman was still smug, confident in her victory, “You’re just going to let me walk out and never come back? You are moving on, with a human woman that will never be…”

Varric lost his temper, “You moved on more than a decade ago, when you married what’s-his-name! Just _leave_ , Bianca Davri, before I have you removed from this Keep and Kirkwall entirely! I can do it, so don’t test me!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bianca sneered. “My clan is too powerful for that.”

“Watch me,” Varric strode across the room and rang a bell. A Guard entered and saluted. “Please see that Smith Davri is escorted to her ship at the docks. And send your Captain to me as soon as possible. We need to discuss further security measures for the Keep and the city.”

The Guard nodded, took Bianca’s arm and attempted to steer her towards the exit. She jerked free. “You can’t do this, Varric,” she hissed.

“I just did,” Varric met her eyes seriously. “And that’s Viscount Tethras, Smith Davri. Now get out of Kirkwall. You have until the next tide. Your escort will see that you don‘t leave the docks. I’m going to have your Carta thugs forcibly removed within a fortnight, so consider this fair warning. Believe me, I know exactly where they are and have for more than 10 years. Stay out of Kirkwall, stay away from Cassandra, and stay out of my life.” The Guard towed the stunned woman to the exit without further resistance. As soon as she was out of the line of sight, Varric collapsed back into his desk chair. “Fucking Maker,” Varric groaned. “What the Void did I just do?” He planted his head on his desk. “Maker, Cassandra, I need you here to keep me out of trouble,” he muttered. “I just doomed Kirkwall to a clan war. Bianca and I finally have managed to start a clan war.” He raked his hand through his hair. His eye swept over the crossbow on the wall and smiled rakishly. Maybe it was time to let her go, since he was tempting fate and throwing himself into certain doom. He grabbed his tools out of his desk drawer and got to work removing the aiming apparatus to start. He wouldn’t send her all at once, but a piece at a time. A piece of himself.

***

_Ethereal Cassandra,_

_I received your reply, and I assure you this is absolutely necessary. You, my lady, have no competition. This will prove it without a shadow of a doubt._

_First the sights, to show you how much I’d rather be seeing you. All of you. Now the grip. Any ideas of the significance of this component?_

_There are many things that I would rather be holding than the grip of a crossbow. Shall I name a few? Your hand, for one, as I showed you around the city I love (as much as you can love a dump like Kirkwall. It‘s getting better. I think.). I’d rather be gripping the back of your neck, pulling you in to my lips. I’d rather fill my hands with your breasts. I’d rather be pulling you towards me with your ass. Yes, I would say that the grip can go. My hands are far more versatile, and could be holding something far better than a weapon._

_I would say that lately, my new weapon is a pen. You know what they say about pens - that they are mightier than the sword? Well, perhaps not your sword. But just a line from you, and I’ll change that to ‘mightier than the crossbow’. With this pen, I am waging a war on your heart and mind, laying a siege against you, convincing you slowly that my body and thoughts are yours, and yours alone. It’s you that I long to care for, not some overly complicated product of a deranged Smith’s mind. You and I are the true masterwork. Let me prove my Artificer skills. Let me unmake and remake you, my Seeker._

_You know where to find me._

_Your Varric_

***

My dear Varric,

Please, do not torture yourself like this. I _demand_ that you stop mutilating your Bianca and sending me the pieces! I appreciate the thought behind it, but you are leaving yourself open to assassination attempts! And does Bianca the person know that you are destroying her masterpiece? Surely she would not approve?

What does this prove to anyone, Varric? Are you insane?

I am already yours, please cease. Please.

Cassandra

***

_My Commander,_

_We’ve had a little pick-me-up here. Get this: those packages that Varric has been sending to Cassandra - full of bits of Bianca. The crossbow, not the dwarf, thankfully. I KNOW! He’s taking himself apart for her. Cassandra is so touched it’s all I can do to keep her here. She’s trying to put the crossbow back together. We could use some more little screws and springs, if you can spare them. Write to Dagna, if you need the help. She’ll know the right size. She’s been maintaining Bianca since Varric joined the Inquisition._

_I love hearing about how you are making progress on our plans. I wish you could go into detail. Hopefully not too much longer. Valta says we’re getting closer every day. The surroundings have changed - the stone is greyer, instead of brown. Change is good. We are all very tired of the same scenery, and of each other. There is such a thing as too much togetherness._

_I finished the book on Basic Economics. Ugh. That was… something. I’m a little confused, so I’m sending it back for you to read and maybe we can discuss it? Maybe I can clear up my thoughts on the lyrium trade if I can talk about it to someone. Everyone here is refusing except Valta, who has a definite bias in favor. Not helpful. Of course, it is the dwarves who are suffering a food shortage while the countries above wage war on each other. And lyrium is their one resource, aside from precious metals and gems, especially since nugs became so commonplace on the surface. Perhaps we can manage to encourage exports to Tevinter? Additional markets for their lyrium would probably help… and I didn’t do them any favors by taking out the Templars. That move has had further-reaching consequences than I intended. I can’t win._

_I miss you desperately. All these people and I have no one to talk to._

_I love you,_

_Asta_

***

Asta,

Trust me, the desperation is mutual. It seems like ages since I’ve been able to speak, and do other… things, with you properly. Perhaps you could come for a brief visit? It’s been months and…

No, I must be practical. You are at least a week from the surface, and a waste of two weeks for a couple of days worth of seeing you... It’s just wishful thinking. You’ll find your goal and stop the quakes and come home. And I will be waiting, as I promised.

I think that the red lyrium isn’t bothering me quite as much any longer. So that is good. I’ve also received news from Skyhold that Loranil is back and safe. He had quite the harrowing trip back. Ran into someone from his former clan, dodged the remnants of Red Templars, had to avoid every settlement for fear of corruption - no wonder Sera couldn’t find him. I thought she just wasn’t interested in trying. It took him months, but he’s back and has taken back over his previous duties - in between doting on Mireille who is very pregnant by the sound of the news I‘m getting from Bull. She isn’t exactly tall, and apparently she’s almost further out than up at this point. I thought elf babies were supposed to be smaller?

This is just gossip. I should quit. I’d rather talk about you in any case. While the lyrium infused nightmares seem to be edging off, my dreams of you are increasing. Dane tried to kick _me_ out of the tent the other night and we had an argument about it. I lost. I’m going to requisition him his own tent. A dog sized one. Perhaps then I can get a little slack over how much I… miss you.

I’m spoiling our dog, aren‘t I? I don’t suppose I can blame it on your absence? Unfair? Of course it’s unfair. It’s not like you had a choice about going to the Deep Roads.

I have five options waiting for you. You know what I’m talking about. Also, Bull has requested to help. With Dorian gone, I accepted. You don’t mind, do you? I have to talk about it with someone other than Dane, who is enthusiastic but not vocal, and Bull is discreet. I was nearly about to burst.

Just come back soon.

Cullen

***

_Amatus,_

_I just read Cullen’s latest letter to Asta and I know you are keeping something important from me. I am most displeased. What are you hiding? It is something pleasant. I could use something pleasant to distract me down here. If you do not tell me, then I will find out from Asta. Even down here she has small secretive smiles and a daydreaming look at importune times. It’s going to get her killed._

_It is Josephine’s opinion that I need to return to Tevinter upon our return, and look into increased trading with Orzamaar. I hope that it helps. Valta says that people are starving there because of the chaos on the surface. So… apparently the Inquisition requires me to be an ambassador to Tevinter. While I cannot take a role in the Magisterium, my relatively high position, even without my birthright, may help me bend some ears. And Josie thinks she may be able to help me with that situation._

_We did talk about this, Amatus. We knew we wouldn’t be able to stay together indefinitely. The world is not that kind. And perhaps I have been foolish, to grow so attached. But I find I wouldn’t trade that foolishness for all the wisdom of ages past. I know the Qun is different. The fact that ‘Kadan’ means both ‘heart’ and ‘center of the chest’ denotes a practicality that hardly bodes well. But perhaps that means that you will be able to move on easier. That would be a blessing, perhaps._

_At least the weather there is more pleasant. And there will be sun. Fasta Vass, I long for sunlight. My skin is positively pale. I look like a ghost. You wouldn’t recognize me. Our Asta looks even worse - her freckles have completely faded away to a shade of grey. This cannot be good for her._

_Sincerely,_

_Dorian Pavus_

***

Kadan,

Knock. It. Off. Just because the Qun is a language where a single word has more than one nuance (Yes, I know the meaning of nuance. Fucking quit fainting and read the letter.) doesn’t mean that I’m using it that way. And if I was? You are the fucking center of my chest - if someone removed you I’d collapse. Just as if someone tried to cut me in thirds. It could work, if you went in at the shoulder with an overhand blow with a very sharp greatsword, and then cleaved back to the side of entry… sorry, I got sidetracked. I’ll try it on a training dummy later.

We have talked about this. We will again. But don’t start distancing yourself with your full name and bad jokes about your vanity. You and I - We aren’t stupid! You know Asta would agree, Dorian. Yeah, perhaps we’re a bit more ’star-crossed’ or whatever - that’s what Varric would say - but I don’t give a shit. We’ll figure this out. Like he can talk - he fell for a fucking holy warrior princess and he’s a fucking paper-pusher, whatever his new title.

And as for your skin - be as vain as you like because you have something to be fucking proud of. Your skin is perfection, Kadan, every inch of it. And when you get back I’m going to fucking prove it to you. Lotions, oils, massage - whatever you think it requires after months of dust and rock and darkspawn blood. I’ll bathe you myself if that’s what it takes.

And if you have to go back to Tevinter, well - they’d better treat you right or I’ll go all Tal-Vashoth and kick all their asses for them. I will conquer the whole of Tevinter if they mess with my Kadan. Just like I conquered you.

I love you, fucking ‘Vint. Get used to it.

And I’ll only tell you what’s up with Cullen and Asta after you get home. Maybe then you’ll get your fine ass up here a little sooner. I’d like to smack it. Been too long. Never gone this long without sex - fidelity is a strange thing, Kadan. Hurry back. I’ll make it worth your while. Break some personal records.

Your Amatus


	90. Shit You Can't Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the cameo letter.

_Hey Hawke,_

_So, a couple of funny things have happened lately. Some ha-ha funny, and some just plain weird. I know, I know, so what else is new, right?_

_So I’m Viscount now, which I have no doubt you’ve heard from Aveline. She’s the one that’s making me write to you finally. All my other news is a little… hard to_ _get down on paper. Yes, I know how strange that is, too. But I’m trying not to exaggerate, and you know that makes it harder. No lies, no half-truths, no omissions._

_So here’s the list, besides being Viscount. First up - I dumped Bianca. Yeah, for good. It feels good. Don’t want to talk about it, but I have to, because it’s likely that between her clan and the Merchant’s Guild, Kirkwall is going to be caught in the middle. Feel like coming home? Kirkwall could use her Champion if this shit blows up. I know, I know - but there was no way to break it off with her without possibly dooming us all to a clan war._

_Second up in the ‘mind-blowing news’ category - I’m sort of seeing Cassandra Pentaghast. Apparently the woman of my dreams is a little shy of six feet tall, hair black as ebony, eyes like steel traps and stabs books as a hobby. My books. Also, she is fond of kidnapping and assault and has legs that go on forever. Don’t even say it. Fuck, I can hear you thinking it from across the Anderfels._

_Also in the crazy-shit-that-I-can’t-make-up list: Bran actually thinks that it’s a good idea. Yeah, I didn’t think he could ever think something is a good idea. He’s muttering about contracts. I haven’t said much to the Seeker about it, aside from feeling her out (get your mind out of the gutter), but… I’m out of the adventuring side of things. Because last up in the ‘stuff you will never believe’ category:_

_I sent her Bianca. To prove my devotion or some such shit. Yeah. So I’m stuck with a half-assed crossbow that shoots straight when the wind is blowing inland and I’m facing the water. I know, I’m insane. But it’s a good feeling._

_And if we do get close enough to make it to the altar… I want you to be there. For obvious reasons. Who says you can’t go home, right?_

_Please don’t kill me out of shock,_

_Varric_

***

Well, shit, Varric,

You and the _Seeker_? Are we thinking about the same Cassandra Pentaghast? Do you have a death wish? Don’t answer that. I leave you alone for a few years and what happens? You get involved with a heretical organization, drag me into it, dump the girl you’ve been obsessed with for more than a decade - Shit, Varric, the Dragon Age hadn’t even started when you and Bianca got together.

Varric, have you found Andraste? Do I need to stage an intervention? Have you joined a CULT?

You inform me that you’re involved with the Seeker who kidnapped you, had you interrogated, stabbed your precious book (her largest crime, obviously), and attacked you when you lied about my whereabouts?!  What the Void am I supposed to think?

I have to admit I’m a little impressed. You have even more balls than I knew about, and that’s saying something. Name a kid after me? You know how much I hate Marian, but Hawke would be pretty bad-ass. And it’s gender neutral!

All joking aside, I guess… I’m happy for you. At least one of us has a chance at a happy ending. Sebastian being a total dick and everything. Asshole. Shithead. I know you never liked him. I… still miss him, though, since I‘m being honest. Don’t worry, it won’t last. Just as well I’m nowhere near the Free Marches or I’d descend upon Starkhaven and kick his ass into the next cycle. No, the next age. Further away.

Say the word and I’ll head back to Kirkwall and help Aveline clear out the Carta. It’ll be just like old times. Random attacks at midnight in Hightown! You and her and I against the darkest Kirkwall has to offer. Only perhaps with less blood mages and corrupt Templars. I’m assuming I won’t be arrested on sight for past crimes now that you are in charge? Can you arrange a formal pardon?

Stupid Anders. Stupid Sebastian. Odd that Isabella, Fenris and Merrill were the good influences. The Rivani pirate, bitter ex-slave and the blood mage vs. the idealistic healer and the Chantry brother? My life is so fucked up. I need a drink. Or twenty.

Enough of the brooding. Say the word and I’ll hit the road. Can’t promise I won’t go to Starkhaven first and make something explode, though. I’m pretty good at some of these new fire spells. I owe that bastard. Chaste marriage indeed. Fuck him. (Maybe literally.)

I kid, I kid. Probably.

Hawke

***

_Oh, Cassandra,_

_If I am crazy it is with love, with desire. Your reactions prove the truth of my conviction. It’s time for me to let this go._

_And with this letter, since you asked so nicely, a confession. I sent Bianca Davri packing. She is now on Aveline’s ‘bad girl’ list, and is no longer allowed within Kirkwall city limits. If she does, she will be arrested and tried for her crimes. Maybe I’ll send her to Asta. That has a certain appeal to it. Maybe she’d sentence her to hard labor in a mine somewhere. Oh, the irony of the ‘greatest smith of our age’ possibly being forced to work as a commoner._

_But it’s over, Seeker. Truly over, except for a possible clan war and massive political repercussions between Kirkwall, the Merchant‘s Guild and the Carta. My problems, not yours. Please come find me. I’d come to you, but Bran is increasingly impatient with my constant need to wander away from my desk. How any of the prior viscounts got anything done while chained to their desks I do not know. Things don’t happen unless I take care of them personally._

_Wait a second, that explains pretty much the entire Qunari occupation. The previous viscounts_ didn’t _get anything done. At least not that Hawke didn’t take care of for them._

_Don’t worry about my safety. There are other crossbows, and I’m still a decent shot even without the bells and whistles. And I have Aveline. She’ll sic Donnic on anyone that looks at me crossways as long as I keep letting her clean the Carta out of the city. She’s been waiting for this moment for years. She should glow in the dark, she’s such a beacon of honesty. Also, Hawke will come back eventually. Probably. She’s… a little stunned about our developing relationship, considering that you assaulted me in Skyhold after her visit, but she’s coming around. I think she’s mostly jealous, Choir Boy being a losing proposition. She’s still hung up on him, sadly. She must be the only person left in the world who still believes in him. She’s trying to justify his invasion of Kirkwall as him missing her. Poor kid. She sure attracted a bunch of winners. Hard to believe that Broody would have been the stable choice of all her suitors. Not counting the women. Never showed any interest in them that way, and honestly, once Choir Boy showed up it was all said and done. She deserves better than him._

_Enough about that. With this letter comes a handful of my favorite bolts - flammable tips, naturally._

_First the sights, to show you how much I’d rather be seeing you. Then the grip, to show what a hold you have on my heart. Guess the riddle, my Seeker of Truths. Why would I send you Fire Bolts?_

_You are all that I think of during waking hours. Bran has started to inquire about whether or not he should be drafting contracts, a little elated at the idea of there actually being something worth celebrating in this benighted city. I told him I couldn’t even get you to visit me, much less marry me, and he shouldn‘t jump ahead like that. He observed that you are miles beneath the surface and probably more than a little busy._

_I replied that you wouldn’t let that stop you if you really wanted to come to me. The ignorant man just rolled his eyes. He has no idea of your strength, or your determination. Come to me, oh Seeker. You’ll find me here._

_Your Varric_

***

Ugh, Varric,

I am no good at riddles and word games. I suppose you want me to decipher that you are frozen or something of the sort. I know all too well that you are nothing of the kind. I remember how warm you were, I remember the heat of you every time I’ve touched you - even when it was in anger and frustration. I remember the warmth of your lips and…

And now you have me doing it. Honestly, you should be ashamed. There is still no privacy.

We grow closer to our goal every day. We’ve opened doors, collected so many strange oddities and treasures. The Deep Roads are not what you would think. There is even beauty here, and Asta is making sure we ‘appreciate’ every inch of it. I will be very glad to visit you in Kirkwall as soon as we reach the surface. I… miss you horribly.

I would come to you at this moment if I could. How will you ever believe me? I have no weapon to dismantle to prove my devotion. I _need_ my sword and shield here. There are no flowers here for me to send, aside from spindleweed and deep mushrooms. I neither wish to cure you or poison you. I can only tell you, and words are hard, at least for me. I am a woman of action.

So I say, once more, that I am yours, and you will choose to disbelieve me. What more can I do? I will put Bianca back together and return her to you. Then perhaps, you will believe me. Your seneschal is talking to you about contracts? I… don’t know what to say. Why would you tell me that? Perhaps I will just end this here.

Actually, there is something that I can send. And it is fairly romantic. So here it is: a lock of my hair. The braid was a pain anyway.

Love,

Cassandra

***

“Another one?” Asta blinked at Bianca’s Arms in the small crate and looked at Cassandra. “What did the letter say?”

Cassandra thrust the letter at her. “Skip the last paragraph,” the Seeker ordered. “That one is private.” She stared at her feet, blushing red with embarrassment.

_Dearest of Cassandras,_

_I’m keeping your lock of hair against my heart. I never imagined I would be so lucky… but I’m honored. I hope that last word meant more than a simple salutation, because I long to return it to you a thousand-fold._

_I hope you received the latest piece in my little puzzle. First the sights, to show you how much I’d rather be seeing you. Then the grip, to show what a hold you have on my heart. Next comes a handful of bolts, fire tipped, to show how I needed you to make my heart’s blood ignite._

_Last come the arms, can you guess why?_

_Maker, Cassandra, I wish I could have seen your face when you read about Bran and the contracts. You’ve made this old rogue want to be honest, to play to lose, to give up everything he possesses just for a look, a chance with you. If you were here I’d kiss the shock off your face and then bring it back with a few simple touches…”_

Cassandra pulled the letter out of Asta’s hands, scowling. “I said the last paragraph was private.”

“But I didn’t get to read…” Asta protested.

“Don’t lie, Inquisitor,” Cassandra contradicted. “I know how fast you read. You finished Mages and Mercy in two days. You can read a letter of this size in a quarter of a minute.” Asta pouted. “Just because Cullen’s letters are more reserved does not mean I will fuel your need for the salacious,” the Seeker continued. “Go write to your fiancé. I am sure he would appreciate it.” The Seeker sat down and started working on the puzzle Varric had sent her, determined to figure out how to reassemble it and return it to him functional.

Asta watched her for a moment, touched at her dedication. “Cassandra?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Let me know if you want to borrow my Artificer tools. They might help. And also?” She grinned as the Seeker looked up, “I’d totally sentence Varric’s ex-girlfriend to the quarry in Emprise du Lion if you as much as said the word. It’s fitting. Let her clean up the mess she started.”

Cassandra barked a short laugh. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I think that I do not require revenge at this time, but I’ll keep you posted. I would appreciate the tools.” She glared at the pieces in front of her. “Also some lessons. This is _impossible_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Hawke was desperately in love with Sebastian, but managed to retain enough sense to tell him to hit the highway when he suggested the dumbest idea ever to make it into a video game. So, yeah. But she's still hung up. It's really sad, and she drinks too much and uses humor as a defense mechanism. Also, she actually killed Anders, and she's very scarred by that. She's made a lot of mistakes and needs therapy.
> 
> I might actually write an epilogue chapter where she descends on Starkhaven and blows up a few things. It would be cathartic. I love to hate Choir Boy.


	91. Secrets in the Deep Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was short because of where it ended well, so have an extra for the day. Wanted to get it out before the weekend anyway.

Dorian tackled Asta about her secret that night, Cullen’s letter in his hand. “So what’s this about?”

“You did it again,” she fumed. “Aren’t your own letters enough? Give it back,” she demanded, as she tried to take it away and failed. “Dorian,” she warned in a whiny voice.

“Dorian,” he mocked. “What are you hiding, Asta? I’m supposed to be your best friend. Speak up, or I’ll sulk and complain until you go mad. I do that very prettily and there is no where down here to escape from it.”

“I’m not telling you yet,” she folded her arms stubbornly. “It isn’t just my secret.”

“Oh?” Dorian leaned in, “Because it seems that Cullen has conveniently shared it with Bull. I don’t like being left out, Asta.”

“Dorian, not here,” Asta hissed, indicating Sera, Vivienne, Cassandra and Thom, all occupied, but still close enough to overhear.

Dorian shifted back, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “Oh, so not everyone else knows? You mean the entire Legion isn’t privy? It isn‘t just ‘leave the ‘Vint out of the secret’ day?”

“Nobody else knows,” Asta whispered. “And we don’t want it to get out. So please - a place with a little more privacy?” Her eyes begged him. “There’s so little of it down here.”

“And you’ll tell me everything?” Dorian relished his victory even while he felt a trifle guilty about playing his friend in such a way. But he was _bored_ , and more than a little hurt, if he was being honest with himself. He caught himself. No, just boredom. That’s all. He couldn’t be hurt so easily.

“Almost,” Asta sighed. “Some of it anyway.” The two departed through an open archway towards an area they were using for supply storage, Asta muttering under her breath.

Cassandra watched the two of them leave and went back to her attempted reassembly of Bianca. It wasn’t going well but she kept trying anyway. She wasn’t going to let Varric just sacrifice the crossbow for her, but not being a Smith or even an Artificer - well… she wondered if Dagna could figure it out. Probably. She just didn’t have the sort of mind or the patience that could figure this sort of thing out. She slammed the fiddly tools into the ground in frustration and stood up. She needed a break, preferably to hit something. But lacking a training dummy, she followed her friends, determined to overhear their private conversation.

Asta pulled Dorian into an empty alcove a small distance away, and Cassandra ducked behind a convenient corner.

“We’re getting married when we get back to the surface,” Asta confessed urgently, if bluntly. It wasn’t how she wanted to tell her friend, but she had pent it up for months now, and she just wanted it out there. It felt good, and she took a deep breath afterward in relief. Cassandra covered her involuntary gasp, tears coming to her eyes.

“You’re getting married,” Dorian deadpanned. “That’s it. That’s the big secret that you and Cullen were beaming about for months? Whispering and giggling and puppy dog eyes? That‘s rather… anticlimactic.” Cassandra glared in the general direction of his voice. He was so wrong!

“Well, yes,” Asta admitted. “But we’re doing it secretly, because we don’t want a massive thing. Leliana knows, and is planning the ceremony and legalities herself. We need witnesses, and Cole is one. I was going to ask Cassandra, but I find it likely she won’t be around, based on her reactions to Varric’s letters.” Cassandra teared up further. She could have been… it was very tempting, despite Varric waiting for her.

“I’m Andrastian, as you well know,” Dorian pointed out. “Why didn’t you ask _me_?” He was hurt, he decided all at once. Very hurt. “This is why I don’t have friends,” he declared, “They keep important things from you and overlook you as the perfect person for the job.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at the overdramatic mage.

“Because you can’t keep a secret,” Asta hissed. “And I don’t want my wedding to be covered in bees by Sera, or mobbed with nobles because of Josie, or have Vivienne choosing my wedding dress and tsking over the state of my hair.” Cassandra stifled her disgusted noise, agreeing with the Inquisitor completely.

“I wouldn’t,” Dorian started, and then reconsidered, “Well, yes, I do have a bit of a problem with keeping my mouth shut. It’s one of my weaker qualities, I admit. An imperfection that discolors the jewel, but is attractive all the same.” He stopped, “But Cole?” His face was incredulous. “Surely even the hairy lummox is a better choice than the spirit? Is Cullen okay with that? Is Leliana?!”

“He’s kept the secret for months,” Asta sighed. “He knew first, after Leliana and Bull. We couldn‘t keep it from him. And he‘s happy about it. Been practicing his signature and everything. He‘s earned it.” Cassandra melted a little at the adorableness of the spirit practicing so hard for the occasion. And to have your wedding day witnessed by Compassion… she sighed, and forgot to block the noise.

Dorian brushed this aside without regard. “Well, I admit, I have a few suggestions on how to make your day better. But why is this such a big deal? Why are you and Cullen not even discussing it with each other?”

“Because it doesn’t end there,” Asta gave up and told him everything, tortured by the pained look in her friend’s eyes . “We are planning our… exit strategy. He’s working on it from the Storm Coast.” Cassandra blinked, and swallowed an exclamation.

“Your… exit strategy?” Dorian’s mouth twisted. “As in - how you are going to leave the Inquisition hanging and disappear into the sunset on white horses?”

“The Inquisition doesn’t have any white horses, and if we took any horses at all it would be stealing,” Asta said seriously. “And the Inquisition will have leadership, but it won’t be us. We’ve both given enough, don’t you think?” She asked belligerently. Cassandra nodded in approval. Truly, they had.

Dorian threw his hands in the air. “You’ll get no argument from me. But I’m your second witness, and I’m going to arrange a wedding dress for you. You weren’t really planning on getting married to your shining knight in your dress uniform, were you?” Cassandra rolled her eyes. Why wouldn’t she? It wasn’t the clothes that mattered.

Asta bit her lip, temptation overwhelming her. “That would be nice,” she admitted finally. “I was going to, but I wouldn’t have liked it. It would be nice to feel… pretty, for once.” She eyed him. “How are you going to manage to find me a wedding dress in the Deep Roads?” She asked at last, confused.

“Oh my dear,” Dorian laughed, delighted. “I have my ways. No one will even realize it’s for a wedding, much less yours. You’ll just get to Val Royeaux and it will be waiting for you in your room.” He looked her over. “Hmmm, off the shoulder, but with sleeves, so that the mark doesn‘t seem too obvious. Not overly elaborate, and definitely not Orlesian or Antivan. Hopefully you’ll get some sun when we get back to the surface. Otherwise, we’d need winter white, not ivory. I don’t want you to look grey, I want you to look like the first flush of sunrise.” He sighed. “We’d better go with white. Can’t we tell Vivienne? She has contacts in Val Royeaux…”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Asta warned again. “Don’t even discuss it with me in public.” Dorian waved her concerns aside.

“Fine, fine. I’ll behave.” He stared her down. “But you need to think about many things, my friend. You are neglecting all the interesting parts of planning for a marriage ceremony in favor of planning to run away! What flowers stand for marriage?” Cassandra couldn’t help but agree, dresses or no dresses.

Asta glared at him, “Are you serious? You gave your boyfriend a dragon tooth and called it good. And now you are lecturing _me_ over my choice in attire and what flowers I want? Are we doing this now? In the fucking Deep Roads? Talking flowers and dresses while being surrounded by darkspawn behind sealed doors?” She waved her hands wildly around her, indicating the bloody gears stacked haphazardly in the corner and the darkspawn corpses just outside the doorway.

“Got anything better to do?” Dorian shrugged. “We’ll figure this out, and I’ll have Bull make the arrangements. Let him be your agent on the surface - he has a fantastic eye for color and impeccable taste despite his lack of application for his own person. Bull will need to travel to Val Royeaux to arrange for a location anyway.” His face got a little thoughtful, in remembrance, “The gazebo at the Winter Palace. Think we could pull that off?” Cassandra’s mouth dropped open and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Private, Dorian,” Asta reminded him. “Secret, Dorian. A gazebo? Out in the open where anyone could walk by and see the Inquisitor and her Commander getting hitched?”

“It’s in the garden,” he muttered. “A very private garden. Bull and I found it quite private enough anyway.” Cassandra made a face, and then shrugged. They probably weren’t the first to take such advantage. It was Orlais.

“I don’t want to get married in a place that I know you and Bull had sex in. Try for a small Chantry,” Asta recommended dryly. “And maybe Leliana will have some ideas about where. I’m not picky as long as at the end of the day I get Cullen forever.” She smiled, “It is nice having you know.” She went all dreamy eyed and Dorian attempted to bring her back to Thedas.

“So what’s the rest of this ‘strategy’?” Dorian leaned back against the alcove’s wall. “I want to hear all of it.”

“Ivy,” muttered Asta, not hearing him entirely. “Ivy vines for matrimony and wedded fidelity, Stephanotis for martial happiness, and Dawn Lotus for new beginnings,” she said louder. Cassandra smiled and straightened. She was not going to be left out of this.

“Oh, that sounds delightful,” Dorian greatly approved. “Green and white and… gold, I think. The larger garlands dotted with the little white stars of the Stephanotis… That will contrast well with Cullen’s red dress uniform, and red is impossible to match. And I’m sure he will insist on wearing that rather than doing the logical thing and having something else tailored.” He sighed heavily, shaking his head at his friend’s fashion sense, or the lack of it. “You can wear some Dawn Lotus in your hair. A wreath? Or a single blossom?” He tilted his head, picturing it. “A single blossom,” he decided, not waiting for her to respond. “It’s a large flower, and a wreath indicates innocence, and all of Thedas knows you aren’t.” Asta tried to kick him and he dodged. “Yes, far too old and hardened for an entire wreath,” he snickered. “Almost a spinster, Vivienne would say. Aren‘t you about to have a birthday? 31 is ancient, my dear.”

Cassandra gave up, unable to eavesdrop for a moment longer, breathing hard in excitement. “Definitely the gazebo. It‘s perfect.” Asta hid her face in her hands in despair. “I’ve known something was up for months, Asta,” she reprimanded. “Honestly, it’s very romantic. An elopement. Why didn’t you ask me to be a witness? I would have, happily!”

“I was going to?” Asta sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her head was starting to hurt. “But I didn’t want to keep you from Varric when that is going so well.”

Cassandra blushed. “Well, that is a consideration. I do intend to leave for Kirkwall as soon as I can manage it, and a trip to Val Royeaux or even Halamshiral is… a lengthy side trip.” She sighed, “I don’t want to keep Varric waiting longer than I have to. He is already rather… impatient. And he tells me he has leads on a few Seekers in the Free Marches.”

“I don’t begrudge you that, Cassandra,” Asta replied earnestly. “As much as I’d love to have you there, it is by necessity going to be small. Our families aren’t even being told.”

“So what is the rest of this strategy?” Cassandra asked. “I agree that you do not need to spend your life serving the Inquisition. You are still young, and this was thrust upon you. You have built something impressive, but all things change.”

Asta hesitated. “Can you two keep a secret? I mean it, Dorian. This… only Cullen and I know, and maybe Bull, depending on what Cullen has told him.”

“Does it involve disappearing? Like the Champion or the Hero?” Cassandra‘s face lit up with excitement. “Perhaps an escape by sea in the dead of night? Could we involve Varric’s friend Isabella? She’s an admiral! Perhaps…”

Asta laughed, “Oh, Cassandra, don’t ever change. Nothing that elaborate. Just a list of possible replacements, and a little house somewhere in Thedas. With an easy way to contact us if rifts appear, or if we’re needed. But first, we‘re going to travel. Hopefully to Minrathous, actually, if we can manage it. Cullen is working on that. He seems to be making progress, but I don‘t know the details.”

Cassandra looked disappointed. “That is… practical.”

Dorian looked offended, “Minrathous? And you weren’t going to tell _me?_ ”

“I was eventually,” Asta muttered. “I was going to write. I know that Josie is determined to send you back to Tevinter as our ambassador as soon as possible. It’s partially my fault. And it‘s years away - we won‘t be able to leave until things are less chaotic. Just… Cullen and I are both planners. So we‘ve been planning.” She shrugged. “It’s something to think about when we aren’t together and don’t like it.”

Cassandra looked thoughtful. “How much does Leliana know?”

“Nothing except the wedding,” Asta admitted. “Why?” She asked warily, bracing herself for bad news.

“I… would not count on her support in your plans,” Cassandra confessed. “Keep them from her. She is determined to link the Inquisition permanently to the Chantry, so that the Chantry will remain strong. She wants to have you as her…”

“Left Hand, and Cullen as her Right, but we’ve already told her no,” Asta started. “And she has Charter…”

“Divine Beatrix did not _ask_ me to be the Right Hand of the Divine,” Cassandra inserted bluntly. “It was bestowed upon me, as a _reward_. Leliana will remember that, and may take that route, in the end, if you or Cullen do not agree. Be prepared.” She sighed wistfully. “I will accompany you to Val Royeaux, I suppose. You will need me if you have to fight your way out.” Her face lit up again. “That would be most romantic.”

“No,” Asta contradicted, “You are going to Kirkwall. We will manage the marriage part fine. If Leliana pulls anything we will let you know.” She smiled deviously. “We have a back-up plan in any case.”

“I shudder to ask,” Cassandra observed dryly and held up a hand, “No, don’t tell me. But I bet Varric could assist with some of this. If you can trust your messages not to be intercepted, then I would ask him.” She looked longing. “I still think it would be romantic if you could ride away in the dead of night, escaping the far-reaching hands of the Divine Victoria, determined to serve each other and not the Chantry.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Asta’s mouth twisted with suppressed laughter. “That may appeal to Cullen. He has a romantic streak that he hides fairly well. He’s throwing himself into our departure, even though it’s years away.” She laughed, a strange sound in the smothering atmosphere. “It’s good to have you both know this,” she confessed. “I’ll warn Cullen about the Right Hand being a reward for good behavior. Maybe he can arrange to be a little bad?” She shuddered. “I hope he wouldn’t insist on it being an obligation.”

Dorian smiled, “Oh, Asta, if he tried, you would probably kidnap him like the Avvar do and carry him off and have your way with him. Heaven knows you‘ve been patient.” Asta stuck her tongue out at him.

“That would be romantic, too,” Cassandra sighed. “I wonder if Varric…”

Asta laughed out loud at the picture. “Cassandra, if you were to kidnap Varric again, he’d go willingly this time. _He sent you Bianca_. There is nothing standing in your way. Not even his seneschal.”

“Except miles of Deep Roads,” Cassandra said dryly, “rebuilding the Seekers, the entire city of Kirkwall, the Waking Sea, the fact that we are an inter-racial couple, his ex the Carta princess who is likely starting a clan war, and possibly the Merchant Guild…”

Asta waved it all away with her hand. “Minor considerations. You’re a Seeker and a Nevarran princess, and he’s a Viscount and spymaster. If you don’t like the rules, _change them_. If you don‘t like the hand you are dealt, _just quit playing their game._ ” Cassandra rocked back on her heels, startled. Asta made a great deal of sense.

Dorian sighed, “Asta, that’s your job.”

“I’m doing my best,” she folded her arms stubbornly. “I just can’t do much from down here.”

“All the more reason to get back to the surface,” Cassandra spoke with determination and a steely glint. “Let’s go kill some darkspawn so that you can get married, already. And so that no one reads your letter, I will write to Cullen.”

***

_Commander, the last Right Hand didn’t get to choose. Be wary and prepared. Seeker_

 


	92. Not-So-Wicked Grace

_Asta,_

_Maker’s Breath, did you tell Dorian and Cassandra? I thought this was a secret! I thought… It’s my fault isn’t it? I told Bull and so you… oh, did Bull spill the beans to Dorian? How freely can I speak? Does everyone down there know?_

_Bull received a massive letter full of instructions from Dorian about flowers and swatches and colors and names of seamstresses and locations… honestly, I’m not prepared. First the contracts and now all this… frippery. It was supposed to be simple! This is the opposite of simple._

_Bull informs me in his latest letter that he’s taking care of everything and that all I have to do is show up in my uniform. I certainly hope so. I love you, but this… is this going to be everything we didn’t want? I suppose it will be worth it? I guess I’ll take my chances. Just don’t ask me the difference between silk and satin, and whether or not gold braid or embroidery would go better with my uniform. I don’t care. I just want you. Can’t I just have you?_

_Cassandra seems very concerned, despite her brevity, about Leliana just appointing me. Is that likely? She wasn’t given a choice? I find that very alarming, given certain letters that keep arriving from the Divine, asking my opinions on certain situations she is investigating. In hindsight, it seems rather ominous, like she is grooming me for the role._

_I will turn her down again, if she offers. If she demands… tell me you have a plan, my love. I do not wish to be under their control. The Chantry does not hold my leash any longer. You do. Perhaps I should make a few recommendations, alternatives to myself? Rylen? Evangeline? It’s normally reserved for Templars, but since the Templar Order doesn’t technically exist… I don’t know. I’m more than a little anxious about this, love. The timing, with you gone, is diabolical._

_Dane says ‘Hi’, and that you should come home. Also that the puddles here are fantastic, and that chasing the crabs is dangerous. He had a recent incident. We miss you. I love you, despite the Divine and the unnecessary complications involved with marrying you._

_I miss you so much it’s a bit painful to mention._

_Cullen_

***

Oh, Cullen,

Please don’t be overwhelmed, and no, it wasn’t Bull. It was you. You mentioned that Bull knew and Dorian read my letter. It’s all your fault. Perhaps a few ‘fripperies’ are to be your punishment. And when Dorian forced me to confess Cassandra ‘just happened’ to be passing by.

Dorian is going to make things a little better on the day itself. I’m going to have a dress - he claims that you will be unable to take your eyes off me. But he insists we have to write vows to each other, so I guess that’s something you’ll need to work on. It doesn’t have to be fancy, love. Just say what you want to say. That’s what I’m going to do, minus the descriptions of your body, your prowess as a lover, and how much I just want to drag you off and have sex until neither of us can stand.

It’s been a long trip. Don’t judge me. And there will be time for that after the ceremony, if we’re lucky.

I don’t particularly want the gazebo, if Bull mentions it. Dorian’s associations are a bit too positive. Cassandra loves the idea. A small chantry, or even a room at an inn would be just fine with me. All I want is you, in the end. The rest of this is just as you say - fluff and fripperies. If it weren’t for Dorian taking a hand that’s what I would be getting and I would be happy. The marriage is what matters, not the ceremony. I’ve waited so long…

As for the Divine, if she demands, accept. I’d rather have you alive and as the Right Hand then have you imprisoned or worse. If you are free, we can disappear. My stealth and lock picking skills probably aren’t good enough to get you out of the Spire. There is always the back-up plan. Cassandra has some rather… colorful ideas on that count. I doubt Leliana will do anything before I get back, however. If she does, she’s desperate. Maker, I feel so out of touch down here. Forward copies of her letters, if you think you should.

Until then, feel free to be a bit… rebellious, shall we say? If the Right Hand has been given as a reward, let’s make sure you are a little less worthy of rewarding. Perhaps pull our troops out of Val Royeaux and make her keep the peace without our help? Perhaps that’s pushing too far. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.

I’ll figure out something better, but if anything happens before I get back, that’s what I have for now. Maker forbid. Just… stay alive and don’t cross Leliana too much. We both know what she’s capable of.

I love you. Say ‘Hi’ to Dane for me too. Tell him to stay away from the ruins. If he thinks the crabs are bad, he’d hate the giant spiders.

Asta

***

_My love,_

_I’d wager that you are more than a match for our Divine. I will do as you say, and trust that a better plan will emerge. I’ll let you know if I think of anything. I’d hate to abandon even Val Royeaux, but I can withdraw partially. And the Divine doesn’t have any Templars - but she has other ways of protecting herself. There is the Guard to keep the peace, as well, so it‘s not like the city will be without order entirely. I’ll think about it._

_I didn’t realize there were giant spiders in the ruins. That would be excellent training for Dane and something different for the troops out here. I’ll plan to clear them out immediately. Thanks for the idea. I assume they are all marked on the maps?_

_Just a quick note this time, because I have an inspection. Apparently some of the soldiers have been insinuating I’m getting ‘soft’ because I’ve been out here so long pining after you. Time to assign latrine duty._

_I am pining after you, but it’s not making me soft. Quite the contrary._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

***

Bull,

It is vitally important that you get _Royale Sea Silk_ not _Silk Nethercloth_. It’s the difference between smallclothes and ball gowns! Shape up or I’ll do it myself as soon as I get back! I don’t care if it’s the right color - the texture and thickness would be all wrong! Send swatches and I’ll mark them if you’re confused. We don’t want to have our friend married in a nightgown! And embroidery for the bodice - _not braid_. She doesn’t have to match him, that’s just… ugh, and this isn’t a military wedding, whatever Cullen thinks is appropriate attire. What I wouldn’t give to see him in a morning suit… but it’s not to be.

New smallclothes aren’t a bad idea, but I have no idea of Asta’s measurements and no way of obtaining them down here. Perhaps you can break into her rooms at Skyhold and ‘requisition’ a few samples? There’s that store I showed you… you remember? Near the alcove? _That_ alcove? See what you can manage.

I do wish Leliana could help with shoes, but Asta has a pair of gold shoes from the party after Corypheus. That will have to do. White shoes are boring in any case. Remind me of healers.

I’m so glad you’ve managed to secure a source for the flowers - brilliant, going directly to the nurseries. No middlemen that could give away the game. But the gazebo?! There must be a way… blackmail Celene about that man we found tied up in her chambers? Appeal to Briala? Poison someone? Find a way, my Amatus. I trust your skills.

Kadan

***

_Kadan,_

_I’m doing my fucking best. Don’t be so bossy. Also, Leliana says she may be able to manage the gazebo, with a little effort. Don’t worry, I’m being good. Enclosed you will find the swatches and thread samples for the embroidery._

_Leliana also says she’s covering the shoes, says she has her size and everything. Also that she’ll handle stockings and under things. She knows the shop._

_The Divine is definitely up to something - lots of letters going out of the Cathedral to Cullen. I’d say it’ll be sooner rather than later. I’ll try to give the man a heads up. I could see Leliana pulling something to get her way on this. Her helpfulness definitely has a cost. Warn Boss._

_Boss gets her happy middle, no matter what, right, Kadan? You keep her safe down there. None of this means anything without the bride._

_Saw something in a shop that would look incredibly good on you. Might have bought it. You’ll have to wait and see._

_Amatus_

***

Amatus,

Are you buying me naughty presents? I can’t wait.

Don’t trust her. Watch closely.

We are getting closer, and are having a hard time getting back to the second camp on a regular basis - camping out a few times for what passes as ‘nights’ down here. It’s all a little confusing, and I bet our inner clocks will be messed up for ages after this trip is over.

Fasta Vass, I miss the sun. But I miss you more. Especially when you are buying me presents. I love presents. You should buy me more presents. Especially the naughty ones, and then send me hints. That would be fun.

Flowers, location, witnesses… now all we need is the bride and _the dress._ The swatches are attached, with labels. R.S.S. is for Sea Silk. N.C. is for Nethercloth. It must be finished long before we get to the surface and stored safely away until Asta can reach Val Royeaux and retrieve it. Contact the Jennies regarding safe storage.

Do you think there is any chance that if we had something made for Cullen he would wear it? I didn’t think so. He’s hopeless.

Maybe pick up a nice collar for the dog though. Green. Don’t try to match the red. I bet Cullen and Asta will insist on Dane being there and the least he can do is submit to a bath and look sharp. Make sure there are enough flowers for his collar to have at least one. And Cullen’s buttonhole. Fasta Vass, I almost forgot the boutonnière.

Also, we need to figure out a nice place for their wedding night. That shabby inn that Cullen insists on isn’t good enough. I trust you, Amatus. It will be our gift to them, a nice stay in a quality establishment. And a fruit basket. Everybody loves those. Oh! And some fruity wine and Antivan chocolates. Asta would love that. So will Cullen when she’s finished a bottle. Oh, Maker, someone is going to have to take care of the dog that night. _Not us._

I adore you, Bull. You are perfect for getting all of this done. And buying me presents.  Asta and Cullen owe you everything. And me too, of course. I’ll make sure you feel suitably appreciated when we are done with this rabbit hole of a mission.

Dorian

***

_Kadan,_

_I’ll hold you to that. And against other things._

_A little busy right now. Will write more later. Going to have to trail the Divine. Little tricky - recruiting help from Jennies._

_Bull_

***

Cassandra,

You didn’t say much after the mention of contracts. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Shit, I’ve scared you off and you’re probably killing darkspawn and imagining that they have my face. I’m sorry, it was just a random conversation with Bran. Ignore him. Everyone else does, including me.

So I sent you the arms. That’s the last piece. First the sights, to show you how much I’d rather be seeing you. Then the grip, to demonstrate the hold you have on my heart. Next the fire bolts, for I needed you to make my heart’s blood ignite. The arms… the arms are because I don’t need any arms but yours. That’s it, the whole thing, laid out before you like an offering on your altar.

I want to make it clear - I don’t want Bianca back. I want you to come back. I want you to come. _I want you._ So quit trying to piece that contraption back together and toss it on a pyre instead. I’d rather have you.

Hawke’s on her way back, with a stopover in Starkhaven. I believe she’s planning on starting a few fires. Don’t worry, I know her. She won’t take it too far. No Chantries will be exploded. Just probably a few doors in the Starkhaven Keep. And Choir Boy has it coming. Just pray to Andraste that she doesn’t actually sleep with him, okay? She hasn’t been in what I would call a ‘good’ mood since she dumped him over that idiot’s idea of marriage. And I don’t think sleeping with Prince Vael will solve anything. But just try to tell her that.

Actually, don’t. I wasn’t being literal. Stay far, far away from her until _after_ the fires go out.  Knowing you, you would manage to find an entrance to the Deep Roads right under Starkhaven and go up there and threaten her.

She should be able to manage not to be arrested by Starkhaven‘s Guard. I hope. I don’t think Sebastian would kill her, unless he‘s even crazier than I give him credit for. Probably. Man, those two have issues. Just the fact that _I’m_ saying that should cause you alarm.

On the other hand, me getting to see you would solve at least one massive problem. Can you guess what problem that is? It would only be temporary, though, since once you are here I suspect I’ll need a lot of practice at solving a different problem. It might even make it worse.

My house is too big, too lonely, and too empty without you. Even the tub is cold and lonely. You should join me in it, fill it up a bit.

I’ve definitely found a Seeker for you. But he’s in Antiva. Would you still come here first if I sent you the information? Or should I make you interrogate me? I have some books you could stab.  You could shove me into a chair, just like old times.

I feel like beyond the Seekers I have nothing more to entice you with. Just please, Cassandra, come.

Varric

***

_Dear Varric,_

_You have not scared me off. Believe me, your person is more of a draw for me than any Seeker you could find. My silence was due to… thinking, that’s all. About what I want from my life, and how I have been a pawn of those greater than I for most of my life. First King Markus and my uncle, and then the Seekers, then the Chantry…_

_Varric, what would you say if I was tired of serving?_

_Asta says if I don’t like the cards I’ve been dealt then I should stop playing the game. Fold - isn’t that the word in Wicked Grace? She says to change the rules. Is there a way to make a pair of knights beat a three of serpents? Is the Angel of Death really the only way to end the game?_

_The Seekers were my family, but they are mostly gone. I could try to rebuild them, make them better, but… is that a wise plan given what I know about them now? Could I allow someone to undergo the Rite of Tranquility just to build my order back from ruin? The ones that were my family are gone, dead forever. Starting again would not bring them back from the Fade. Knowing what I know, that I was touched by a spirit of Faith - is my faith even my own or something from beyond the Veil? It is right to inform the remaining Seekers of what was done to us, but… beyond that, what are my obligations to my former Order?_

_I will not burn Bianca. If you want her burnt, I will return her to you and we’ll burn her together._

_I certainly hope that you are not serious about the Champion starting fires in Starkhaven. That’s exactly the stereotype that mages fight every day! Surely she realizes that burning down Prince Vael’s keep is not the way to a healthy relationship?_

_But perhaps she’s interested in something a little less healthy. I have read about such things. They are… intriguing, if dangerous. I will certainly say a chant for her. Perhaps Transfigurations? She is certainly passionate, isn’t she? I did not get that impression from your book. She seemed far more in control of her emotions._

_Yours,_

_Cassandra_

***

My Cassandra,

Our pair of knights could beat a three of serpents any day. I’ll help you change the rules of the game, if you want. I’m a cheat, and a liar, and a rogue and I‘m _very_ good at Wicked Grace.

Will you take my hand instead of quitting the game entirely? I’d help you learn to play better. Joining our hands might just be the thing. I’ve never played as a pair before. Maybe together we wouldn’t fear the Angel of Death.

You did say I didn’t scare you off. Let me know what you think. I’ll be here.

Varric

 


	93. Importune Demands

Cassandra stared at the brief note, shock all over her face. Surely he didn’t mean… they hadn’t even… she stood up, and dropped the letter. “I need to hit something,” she announced to no one in particular. “Who is with me?”

Most of the eyes in the camp stared at her dully, exhaustion and boredom rooting them to their bedrolls or seats.

“Really, Cassandra?” Vivienne stretched. “If you must, I will come. But I don’t think it’s wise to run out like this. We fought all morning.”

“Or what passes for morning in this Maker-forsaken place,” Sera muttered. “Fucking Deep Roads. Hate it here. Wish I never came.” She stood up too. “I’ll go, I need to get out of here too. All the way out. Sooner we stop these bloody earthquakes sooner I can go find a tavern and some fun.”

Asta sighed. “Let’s all go. We’ve got that lift we found today to investigate. Shaper Valta? Do you think you’re up for it?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” the Shaper stood gracefully, despite her heavy armor. “I’m curious. It sounds like it’s thousands of years old. Renn? Are you coming?”

“I suppose,” the warrior hefted himself off his bedroll with difficulty. “Can’t let you all run off into the depths without me to protect you.”

“Suspect we’d manage,” Thom grunted. “But another warrior wouldn’t come amiss.” The hardened warrior strapped on his belts and picked up his shield - never far from his place of rest.

“Don’t forget your potions,” Asta advised them all. “You never know what we’ll find.”

“Yes, Mother,” Dorian mocked and Sera snickered. Asta rolled her eyes at their immaturity.

“Honestly, we can’t get back to the surface soon enough,” Cassandra muttered. “I need to get a hundred miles away from all of you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Vivienne purred. “I’m due a spa day at the Inquisition‘s expense. Asta, make sure that Josie gets that message?”

“Hmm, count me in,” Dorian stretched. “I could use a mud bath and a massage.”

“I’m sure she’ll do her best, Viv,” Asta sighed. “Shall we?”

***

_Cullen,_

_There apparently is a deeper meaning to Valta’s presence with our party - she says her duties were changed when she refused to alter the memories at the Shaperate. So they sent her out here to ‘find history’ instead. Renn is irritated with her - apparently she had a nice life in Orzamaar that she gave up for the truth. A harsh reality in every historian’s life - who do you offend when you tell the truth? You risk your works being banned, or even assassination, if you tell unpleasant truths._

_I have been scared to publish what I know. Fearing the repercussions from the Chantry, from my parents, and even from you, to be blunt. I think when I get back, I won’t be any longer. If Valta can give up her entire life because she refused to lie over a simple Carta connection, then I can publish what I know to be the truth. It’s time to really start writing and building on my endless supply of notes. Here’s hoping you still love my crazy theories when I’m done._

_We found an even deeper section of the Deep Roads today, but started late, so will explore it tomorrow. The maps I’m sending are current. For now, we are exhausted and are going to try to rest instead. Valta seems positive that we are extremely close to our goal now. Of course, our destination is at the bottom of the seemingly endless ancient lift._

_I’ve had a few more thoughts about Leliana, based on a simple note from Bull. It said that she was consulting with representatives of the Carta, and writing to Orzamaar. He thinks she is trying to convince people I’m not coming back. Please be careful._

_He told Dorian her assistance with our plans has strings. I think… I think we’re going to have to figure out an alternative. My heart breaks to even write it. Some days our plans are the only things that keep me going down here, and to know that we cannot depend on them…_

_I love you. Tell Dane to make sure you are sleeping and eating right. Can’t have my Commander not taking care of himself. I wish I were there to take care of you instead._

_Even if we can’t get married when I get back to the surface trust that I will love you forever. Perhaps when I get back I can read you the vows I’ve written, so you can hear what I was going to say._

_Love,_

_Asta_

***

Sera read Asta’s letter to Cullen aloud to Vivienne and Thom and spat disgustedly into the dust. “Well, that’s shite, aye?”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Vivienne drawled lazily.

“Just silly, how they’re limiting themselves,” Sera continued and then cackled. “As if the Divine were the only one who can hitch ‘em up.”

“I suppose your… Friends might have a suggestion?” Thom observed.

“Shite, yeah!” Sera ripped a page out of her journal and got to writing.

_Bully-Boy,_

_Lady Tits-and-Bits is all pouty ‘cause Divine Shiv-in-the-Dark is being a pissant. Heh, piss…_

_So anyway, talk to Mother Gisele. She’s nice, and even if Her Worshipful Smallclothes has clashed with her before, they’ve kissed and made up. Sort of._

_(Several graphic pictures are inserted here, featuring Mother Gisele and Asta in various intimate embraces, and what appears to be Sera cheering on in the background while a very embarrassed Cullen blushes and hides his eyes.)_

_Anyway, talk to the old biddy, and my friends’ll get us into the Winter Palace’s gazebo, all right. All your hard work and Dorian’s bossiness has to mean something, aye?_

_Don’t tell the others we know. It’d ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?_

_The Deep Roads are shite. You’re well out of it._

_Horns Up! Bottoms Down! And some wasps!_

_Lady Sera Coxan-Balzac_

_P.S. Dorian says you’ve got him some kind of present. Give a gal fair warning ‘fore you use it, aye? Like to sleep at some point when we get back to Skyhold._

***

Asta,

Please don’t wander off and lose yourself in the Deep Roads. Stick to Renn, Cassandra and Thom. I have a very bad feeling about this ‘deeper’ section. How far down are you now? Cassandra has indicated you’ve had to camp away from the main camp a few times - are you going to be able to continue to make it back?

I really don’t like this. Please be careful. Don’t hit your head.

Nothing you could publish could make me not care for you. Even if you claim the Hero of Fereldan actually did slay Andraste in dragon form at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I believe in you, and I know that if you later discover that you were wrong, you will admit it. You did when you discovered the nature of Alamarri marriage, after all.

I love you, too. It is not dependent on you marrying me in Val Royeaux, or even marriage at all, if we can’t find someone to perform the ceremony. But I don’t think we should give up. I’m sure Dorian would agree with me, after all his hard work ordering Bull around. I… I am sure that your vows are much more eloquent than mine, but I would love for you to hear them, all the same. You’ll just have to promise not to laugh at the stammering and the blushing.

Yours,

Cullen

***

_Sera,_

_You got it. Giselle went stunned for about two minutes while I explained the utter crap Leliana is pulling. Then she cut me off and agreed. Let us know when you’ll be back on the surface and this thing is on._

_Your ‘Friends’ have good stamina. Maraas-Lok didn’t even give them a hangover._

_Here’s some cookies for the good idea. Know you don’t like raisins, so these have chocolate and nuts instead. Might have eaten a few dozen. They were good. Hope they aren’t too stale by the time they get to you._

_See ya ‘round,_

_Bull_

***

Bull,

Asta has shared with me your convictions about our mutual friend in the Chantry. Please, for Asta’s sake and my own - do you know any other options? We’ve waited long enough.

I know you’ve been doing the running around while Dorian gives the orders. This isn’t an order, it’s a request from a friend. Let me know what you find out.

Thank you,

Cullen

***

_Kadan,_

_Here’s a present. The first of many, but it's the most important._

_You’re going to misunderstand, so don’t get all huffy on me, okay? It doesn’t mean what you think it does._

_Just open the box and then write to me. Wanted to give it to you in person, but… well, I thought you’d be back by now. Wishful thinking, I guess._

_Love you, Dorian._

_Bull_

***

Amatus,

I don’t understand at all. You sent me my _birthright_? Where did you find it? I… don’t know what to say. That is highly unusual for a well-spoken man such as myself.

It is obvious however, that you _want_ me to leave. To go back to Tevinter and take up my predetermined role in the Magisterium? I thought what we had… meant more to you.

If I do this, we will hardly see each other. It will be impossible for me to serve as the Inquisition’s Ambassador, I’ll have too many other duties.

I will give you a chance to explain.

Sincerely,

Dorian Pavus

***

 _Kadan_ ,

 _I don’t want you to miss out on an opportunity you would be fucking good at just because you are missing a bit of jewelry. It’s a fucking piece of jewelry. It changes_ nothing _between us._

_I still bought you naughty presents. But it’s more important that you realize I’m proud of who you are, and your birthright is part of that, Kadan._

_Besides, I have a powerful need to see you wearing that and nothing else when you get back. You up for that?_

_Bull_

***

Amatus,

I think I understand. Oddly enough, I had to have Sera explain it to me. There were lots of kissy noises, at least one mimed explosion, and a series of elaborate charades. But I got it in the end. I’m speechless.

So I’ll just say this - you are the center of my chest, too. No gaudy bit of overblown jewelry, distance, lofty position, war, or political posturing will ever come between us or make me stop loving you.

When I get home, I want _you_ to wear it, and nothing else. Are you up for that?

Love,

Dorian

***

_Kadan,_

_Fuck, yeah, now you’re talking. When you coming home again?_

_Bull_

***

Soon, Amatus. Just have to kill a Titan first. If they actually exist, anyway.  They'd better, or months of travel and clearing out darkspawn have been for nothing but a bedtime story.

When I get back, be waiting.  You'll be very busy for a while.  Make sure Krem knows not to expect you at training for a bit.

Love,

Dorian

***

Cullen sat on a cliff high above the Waking Sea, two letters and a dog on opposite sides of him. One letter was dated a week and a half prior, and he had had it for five days. The other was from the Divine, dated four days ago. He had received it that day.

Asta’s next letter was now two full days overdue and her last was full of disappointment and grief.

The Divine’s letter was demanding:

_My dear Commander,_

_I admit I don’t understand you or Asta’s reluctance in this matter. So I am not asking, but ordering as your Divine - report to Val Royeaux so that I can induct you as my Right Hand._

_You should be honored to be singled out. It’s the logical next step for the Inquisition to rejoin the Chantry - just as the first Inquisition became the Seekers of Truth so long ago. I wanted both you and Asta to feel the joy of continuing to serve Thedas and Andraste. I didn’t want to use force, but you are leaving me no other option - I need the continued support for the reforms I need to make_.

_For what it is worth, I am sorry it came to this. There is no indication that Asta’s months long expedition is ever coming back from the Deep Roads. My contacts in Orzamaar have no news, no knowledge from their Shaper or their Legion’s Commander. It’s possible that this trip to the Deep Roads was ever a fool’s errand. It’s likely that the earthquakes are due to natural causes, as is logical. You must see that._

_I am sorry that you have lost her. She was truly one of the heroes of our age, and Thedas owes her much. I will have a monument erected in her memory at Skyhold, and at the Cathedral in Val Royeaux._

_For now, however, you are needed here. I will expect you in Val Royeaux within the next month. That’s enough time, I think, for you to wrap up any Inquisition business in the Storm Coast?_

_The Most Holy,_

_Divine Victoria_

***

Dane whined and snuffled Asta’s letter sadly, and then growled and chewed on the corner of the Divine‘s.

“You think so, Dane?” Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat. He was beyond tears, as worn out and dry as a bone. “Is it impossible, though?”

Dane barked and tugged at Cullen’s sleeve, whining again.

“It’s more than a week down, Dane,” Cullen protested, but was already standing. “She’s probably already…” he couldn’t make his mouth shape the words in his head. “And it’s a _lyrium_ mine. And, so far underneath…” his words trailed off and his eyes were shadowed with the knowledge of what he was about to do.

Dane growled at him and nipped his leg, shocking him out of his thoughts.

“Right.” Cullen shook his head, knocking the dark thoughts loose. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s get our things, boy.” He stiffened his jaw. “After all, if she’s dead there’s nothing left for me here.”

Dane barked twice, like giving an order.

“Absolutely,” Cullen grinned, all teeth and grimace. “Let’s go mount another heroic rescue.” He laughed bitterly. “Let’s hope this rescue goes better than the last. To work?”

 


	94. Beyond the Stained Glass Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm to the point where Descent (well, my version) is getting more exciting, I can't resist posting a second chapter today. Don't say I never gave you anything. Happy Monday? Or... perhaps not so happy, since I have to post triggers for blood, addictions, fear of enclosed spaces and probably a dozen more that I haven't thought of.
> 
> Listen to Breaking Benjamin's "I Will Not Bow' and Demon Hunter's 'Carry Me Down', if you like. The chapter title is from the latter. Harder stuff goes with the angst of my Descent pretty well. Avenged Sevenfold on repeat... poor Cullen. Poor Asta. Poor everybody.

One week prior:

“What are they?” Sera whined for what seemed like the millionth time. “What are they shooting?”

“I have no idea,” Asta yelled back, irritated at the repetition. “Just stay out of sight and try to pick them off one at a time!” She yelled at Dorian and Vivienne, “Can you two give me any more?”

“Darling, I’m nearly exhausted,” Vivienne managed, her usual impeccable attire mottled with blood that hopefully wasn’t her own, and her hat askew. “We’re out of lyrium and…” her sword flashed suddenly, slicing an opponent in two. “A little busy, here.”

“I’m doing all I can,” Dorian clenched out. “But even I have limits, Asta.”

“Thom, Cass - can we retreat?” Asta asked desperately. She was bleeding from her leg and they were out of healing potions - even the spindleweed that was their last resort.

“We can try,” Cassandra gritted her teeth with the effort of blocking the incoming rain of attacks with her shield.

“There’s no guarantee they won’t follow,” Thom pointed out, doing the same. “They haven’t quit yet. Every time we think we’re making progress another wave shows up.”

“Fuck this,” Asta spat. “Retreat! Without Renn, we don’t have the strength to take these guys. Pull back - all the way to the camp if we can. We need to restock and re-strategize. Sera, cover us. Dorian - help her if you can,” Asta stood and hobbled weakly away from the rock blocking her. A lyrium bolt hit her in her back, and she fell slowly to her knees, her face shocked. “Did something bite me?” She asked, confused. She glanced down and paled at the slow seep across her armor. “I guess not.” She touched the wound and her fingers came away greasy with her own blood. “It’s awfully… dark, isn’t it? I didn’t realize that blood could look black without the sun,” she mused.

“Asta!” Dorian screamed and raised two opponents and directed them towards the enemy. “Maker, no! Someone help her!”

Vivienne fade stepped to her side. Blood seeped slowly through two sides of Asta’s armor. “She’s lost blood from the leg,” the mage reported, “and I think the bolt punctured her lung! It went all the way through!”

She was certainly fighting for air, a strange bubbling whistling sound that could just be heard.

“I don’t have enough mana for Resurgence!” Vivienne was actually panicking now, something Asta had never seen before, and she stared at her as the mage cast a barrier around the two of them, stopping the bolts that were raining down on them even as she drew attention to their circumstances. “Everyone, under the barrier!” They all fought their way back to her and huddled beneath, defeated and frightened just on the other side of a pile of rocks, their scared faces illuminated blue with the spidery lyrium veins running everywhere.

“This is a crock of shit,” Sera sneered. “’Go to the Deep Roads,’ you said. ‘Lots of old shiny things, kill some darkspawn, stop some earthquakes.’ No one ever said anything ‘bout crazy warriors that fuckin’ glow in the dark!” She spat in the dirt, furious.

“Quite,” Dorian’s face was taut, lines that he usually managed to hide standing out on his forehead. “Vivienne, what can we do?” Asta tried to reach her hand out to smooth them and it wouldn’t respond. She stared at it, frowning.

“Does anyone have a potion? Anyone? Of any kind?” Vivienne begged hopelessly.

Thom handed over his last, a Regeneration potion - not much better than nothing. Vivienne fed it to Asta slowly, and then recast the Barrier around them. The enemy wasn’t losing interest, despite the wall of magic in their way.

“We can’t hold out like this,” Cassandra admitted. “We have to get her back to the camp.”

“Impossible,” Thom shook his head. “It’s too far back, and we’ve been fighting these things for too long. We‘ve been down here for hours. It might even be days for how long it feels.” The companions nodded, exhaustion apparent in their bodies, slumped against the rocks and ground where they huddled.

“Dorian’s barriers… move,” Asta gasped out, her lips numb, but the blood slowing where Vivienne was inspecting the wound. “Sera, arrows?” She focused hard on the elf, who touched the tips of her remaining arrows in her quiver and nodded. “Cover fire,” she suggested, exhausted, and trying not to slur her words. She wouldn’t be able to walk, she needed to sleep. She refocused on Cassandra. “Carry?” She managed, and then she passed out.

“Right,” Cassandra bit the inside of her cheek. Crying wouldn’t help Asta now. “Sera, you heard her. You and Thom, cover our retreat. We can’t make it to camp, but we can pull back, find a better spot to hunker down. Maybe we can make a poultice with spindleweed…” her voice trailed off and then firmed. “Let’s move, people.”

***

_One week later:_

 

_Most Holy,_

_With all due respect, I think you are forgetting a major factor in your demands that I report to Val Royeaux to be inducted as your Right Hand, honor though it may be. You forget, I do not serve the Chantry any longer, nor does Asta. Whatever we were, we are now the Inquisition._

_In the end, I would rather go and find her in the Deep Roads than submit to the Chantry any longer. I would rather go and discover she does not need me than not go, and perhaps lose her forever. After I find her and see her safe, I will return to the surface and my duties with the Inquisition. I will not be reporting to Val Royeaux for any appointment within the Chantry. I am not a Templar, and you do not hold my leash._

_No one holds my leash. Excommunicate me if necessary. I do not require the sanction of the Chantry to know where my faith lies. Asta informs me that excommunication sits quite well with her (It hasn‘t escaped my notice that you haven‘t rescinded that with your ascension.), and I’d at least have pleasant company._

_Blessed are the Peacekeepers, Leliana. Asta is a Peacekeeper. And I am a Champion of the Just._

_It’s important to remember who we really are underneath all the titles, don’t you think? Who do you remember being before you were Divine, or even the Left Hand? Perhaps you should reconsider your own chains._

_I'm breaking all of mine except for the one that links me to her.  That one, I'm following into the Deep Roads._

_Cullen Rutherford_

_Commander of the Inquisition_

***

Cullen stood before the troops at the entrance to the cave, fully armored and already packed for the Deep Roads, Dane at his side with his own pack and supplies. “I will not order any of you to come,” he announced. “But as you all have discerned, the Inquisitor,” his throat closed off momentarily, “has not checked in for two days. I intend to go in after her. If she is in trouble, I intend to rescue her and her comrades. If not, then I will return to the surface as soon as possible. I am asking for volunteers for what may be a suicide mission. People don’t tend to come back from the Deep Roads, and Asta was… very far in. Miles deep.” He took a deep breath. _Brave._ “I’m leaving within the hour. You have that long to join me. Otherwise, I’ll be gone. Consider carefully.” He turned and started to march towards the entrance, Dane at his side. Even if they didn’t join him, he was going. Better to face his demons in the deep and the dark then risk a life alone in the sunlight.

Cullen reached the fissure and knelt, determined to allow the full amount of time, and saying the Chant to keep himself focused and call upon any help that Andraste might offer her Herald and that Herald’s Champion at such a time. He had waited too long, the voices in his head told him. If he had left yesterday, maybe…

“’Blessed are the Peacekeepers‘,” he prayed, “’The Champions of the Just‘,” he muttered, more than a little bitterly. “It is not _just_ that she die. She has more to offer than just her blood. She drinks fire for water and the Fade holds no fear for her. You will not allow her to die,” he demanded from whatever deity might be listening. “’I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade,’” he started over, this time with Trials, obviously having problems concentrating on the words of Benedictions, “’For there is no darkness, or death either, in the Maker‘s Light, and nothing He has wrought will be lost.’ Andraste, let me save her from the Roads. Please, preserve her until I get there. Maker, you have wrought us. Don‘t allow me to lose her. _If I am worthy, if my service has meant anything, despite my mistakes,_ ” he prayed, almost angrily, “ _then grant me this.”_

He rose from his knees, unable to wait any longer, and realized that he had an audience. Four people had joined him - three veterans who had been in the Deep Roads before, one of which was a mage, and a surgeon trainee. They were armed and stocked with just what they needed to travel light and fast. “Right,” Cullen faced the fissure. His hands shook, even in their fists, at the darkness within and his brain stuttered with the horror of what he was about to attempt. “There is no darkness,” he said loudly, to no one in particular. He took a deep breath and stepped through the crack in the rocks, Dane at his right hand where he could feel his short fur, a constant warmth and comfort.

The descent was nothing, Cullen too preoccupied with his mission and own demons to comment on the depth or slow movement of the lift as it dropped to the point where he couldn’t see the sky. The rest of his team had ridden it several times, and they were blasé about the oppression Cullen could feel on his skin and the soft whispers of the lyrium from the mine that wound through his head. But then there was only one mage, and no Templars among the small group he took with him.

Once inside, the voices grew more insistent. There was no sky, no windows, not even an arrow slit like in his office at Skyhold. The air was close, and the walls pressed in, weighed on him. Dane whined and walked closer yet, nudging his hand. “I know, Dane,” Cullen replied. “It’s bad, but it’s for Asta. I could rip a hole in the Veil for her. I can manage to travel underground.” His shaking belied the calm air of his words, though, and he moved faster yet, pushing his companions, and ignoring the headache that had started to build in his temples.

Checking in with the Quartermaster at the main camp was fruitless - there was no letter waiting for a messenger to carry it to him, and they hadn’t seen anyone from the other camp for a week. That was the last straw. Cullen took his team, consulted with the remaining members of the Legion, checked the map, and headed into the roads, shaking harder with fear and tension and lyrium cravings. And then, something occurred to him. He knelt, and fished in his pack. He held out the shirt that still smelled a little like her to Dane, shuddering with the lack of movement and the illusion of the walls moving slowly in. What if it didn’t work? Her scent was months old. “Dane,” he ordered, trying to sound confident, “Find her.” Dane sniffed derisively, barked once, and started off at a steady trot, nose to the ground. Cullen handed the map to one of the others. “Mark our route,” he ordered. “Let’s not get lost down here.” He caught up to his dog and stayed as close as he could to him, letting his fingers trace down the dog’s spine occasionally in subtle reassuring movements.

They stopped for rest many hours in, but Cullen was too wired and keyed up to sleep. “Is she still alive?” He asked his dog in a whisper, after a few hours of tossing and turning and trying not to think of the ground shaking and the ceiling caving in to bury him forever. There were little earthquakes - more like shudders - almost constantly, though they rarely seemed to cause any damage. They didn’t help his state of mind.

Dane barked reassuringly.

“Then let’s move,” Cullen ordered and stood in one swift movement. They packed up, eating dry rations while they trekked even further in. He could barely eat, and tried to focus on the ground - it at least didn’t seem to be drawing in ever tighter, like the walls, or lower, like the ceiling. The sounds of the lyrium were a lot more quiet here, and he was thankful for that - the horrors in his own mind were quite bad enough without the insidious whispering of the living lyrium.

The surgeon made him sleep after two days with no rest, afraid to even close his eyes from the nightmares that waited him in the Fade, but just as scared of staying awake and the tortures that continued with his eyes open. “You’ll do her no good if you’re exhausted when you find her,” the man insisted. Cullen drank the potion he offered, once assured that it didn’t have lyrium in it, and slept dreamlessly. It was a relief to have rest, but he bounded up from the sleep with an even greater urgency to reach her. That necessary delay of sleep - she could be dead now and all because he stopped. His guilt drove him forward, and his team exchanged looks that said more than words.

The expanse of the Thaigs were rubble to him - they held none of the appeal and beauty that Asta had seen in them. It all meant nothing without her. Broken bridges and shattered ledges, monuments and statues and gravesites - they were dead, dedicated to people that no one remembered or cared about. He was far more concerned with those that yet lived. They pressed through, crossing the erections that the engineers had built so many months before, and on the other side, the surgeon made him rest again, with another potion. They had seen no darkspawn, and nothing more threatening than deepstalkers and a few spiders, and Cullen was confused. Had Asta’s group cleaned it out so effectively? Is that why it had taken so long for them? Were they reclaiming the Thaigs? Had Orzamaar _used_ the Inquisition for such a fruitless goal?

He swallowed his anger at the thought, and pressed further down, more careful to pace himself for the sake of his companions. They were drained at the brutal pace he was setting. At least the feeling of being shut in was lesser with the high ceilings and fewer walls.

They reached the second camp in five days, two days less than the normal trip to the surface it required. Cullen glared at the Inquisition troops still stationed there, too angry even to muster his criticisms. Why hadn’t they sought her out? It was far from abandoned - their personal belongings and bedrolls were still there, and a messenger waited for their return, every one startled and embarrassed at the appearance of their Commander in a place where they were used to little or no oversight.

Dane nosed a bedroll and barked, pulling out a half finished letter from under the pillow written in a shaky hand. It hadn’t been dated yet.

_My Commander,_

_We’ve found a strange dark area at the bottom of the lift, and Valta believes our destination lies through it. On our journey we also met a strange kind of dwarf(?) in an unfortunate manner. Lt. Renn is dead. We are so close, love, so we are choosing to press on without him in the morning. I hope you’ll forgive me._

_(resumed in an even shakier hand)_

_In addition, Cartographer died today in a skirmish with these new enemies. I know little of them, except for the strange staffs(?) that seem to fire lyrium(?) bolts. It’s a puzzle I can‘t solve, my love. They fire faster than a bow or crossbow, even Bianca, but unlike them, too. They give the enemy every advantage. Vivienne and Dorian are our heroes - their barriers our only salvation._

_I doubt you will ever read this, but if you do, somehow, know I love you. Tell Dane he has to take care of you, because I won’t be able to any longer. Make sure you give him Druffalo ribs occasionally. He deserves them._

_And if you do find this, if somehow you’re here because I didn’t report in… please bring potions. I can’t lose any more people to this hole in the earth. Hopefully I’ll be able to revise this tomorrow and it will all be for nothing._

_I will love you forever._

_Asta_

Cullen tucked the letter into his breastplate. “Rest,” he ordered. “We leave in two hours.” He strode over to the potions table and went to work, rows of healing potions and the weaker lyrium for mage use lined up in a row, the latter barely a temptation compared to his newfound focus. By the end of the two hours, the entire team was equipped and prepared, including the guards left at the camp. He would discipline them later, once he had Asta back. It would be something worse than latrine duty, of that he was sure. But for now, he couldn’t think of anything severe enough to punish their obvious cowardice, when his own was threatening to choke him every second.

They rode the lift down, down, down, the deeper dark pressing on Cullen like a blanket over his nose and mouth, and Dane shoving into his legs so far he worried that he would fall over. Long minutes downward, and almost before it stopped, Dane trotted forward into the hole that presented itself, nose to the ground, circling back to make sure Cullen was following, but drawn on by the scent of his friend, fresher than he had smelled in months. Hours could have passed - time didn’t pass in the Deep Roads like it did on the surface, and Cullen appreciated Asta’s diligence with reporting in, given that disorientation.

They passed through a grotto cavern, dripping with water and stalactites, more like an open mouth than any cave had a right to look. It glowed eerily after the initial darkness, strange eye-like orbs disappearing into the distance. Were they eyes? He wasn’t sure, and in his attempt to focus on their light Cullen tripped over a burnt out torch on the ground and cursed, but it stopped him from falling into the pool of water that laid beyond it. “They’ve been here!” He yelled, and heard his voice get swallowed by the walls. “Maker,” he prayed for guidance. “They’ve been here,” he repeated with a shuddery breath.

They passed through the cavern, and their surroundings lit up suddenly with untapped lyrium veins like the ghosts of tree branches, and the singing in Cullen’s head intensified to a cacophony of noise that threatened to throw him to his knees with pain and noise and unaccustomed light. He stumbled, and grabbed for a rock - scared to risk touching the walls in a place that had lyrium embedded within them.

Dane shoved himself under his hand, letting him hold on to his collar, and the dog started to walk, slowly and carefully letting his human follow him up a small slope. They reached a fork and Dane whined and broke loose into a run, towards the left loping wildly with his tongue out in excitement. Cullen followed just behind, at a stumbling sort of run, sword half drawn at his waist. They turned a final corner and stopped - Asta lay propped against a wall, her chest and torso bare but for a massive bandage, filthy with the blue-grey dust of the place. Dane whuffled at her and whined, and then barked hopelessly as Cullen ran into the cul de sac and fell to his knees in front of her.

Dane had found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Renn. He was an awesome character.


	95. Take Your Breath Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happier times ahead! They say if you love your characters you make them suffer, but I already have the miserable version. This is the happier one. Really.
> 
> Chapter title from Breaking Benjamin's 'I Will Not Bow'. I really love that song for this arc. Completely Asta's state of mind.
> 
> Skillet's 'Not Gonna Die' is pretty good for this chapter as well. More Cullen's thoughts, though.
> 
> I could quit posting the songs, but I like it too much. So just ignore them, if you could care less. :D

Dane had _found_ her.

“Asta! Andraste preserve her, _please_ , Asta!” She was unresponsive as he unwrapped the bandages slightly and blanched at the infection apparent. The surgeon shoved him to one side, and cut the bandages free, careless of her modesty, intent on saving her life, barking questions at the mage, who apparently had no healing skills. Cullen brushed Asta’s hair to one side. She was so hot, feverish and flushed, with an empty cup beside her. “Where is everyone?” he muttered, frantically finding his health potions and trying to tip one into her mouth, drop by drop. She swallowed, weakly, still unconscious, but still responding to the moisture. “Why did they _leave_ you?” His hands roamed her face, and legs, and he found the wound there, wrapped around with spindleweed, her pants ripped up the side to accommodate the poultice. He threw it to one side in disgust. “Obviously they _tried_ to help you,” he muttered, forehead furrowed in confusion. “Where did they go?” He felt the ice that he had encased himself in for the past week crack with his relief and the knowledge that she was alive, that she would live, that they were back together again. _Never again._

“Bring me some water!” The surgeon ordered, and someone handed Cullen a bottle. He tipped a little into the cup at her side, and held it out to the surgeon, who poured a powder into it and started to paint it across her ribs, at the exit wound, and then around to the entrance on her back. “It went all the way through,” the surgeon marveled. “It must have been an extremely close shot, to travel so fast. Thank the Maker for the spindleweed - the natural salt in the leaves prevented a far worse infection from occurring.”

Cullen lifted the bottle and held it to her lips, letting a little trickle into her mouth, and she swallowed again, and then again. He breathed a little easier. She wouldn’t die of dehydration, at least. Dane lay down against her leg and she actually lifted her hand to stroke him. Her eyes cracked slightly.

“Cullen. Dane.” she muttered hoarsely. “I must be… in the Fade again. Fuck, the spirits are getting it… dead right. What nightmare… this time? Already dead? Must be dead.” She looked so resigned, even with her eyes mostly shut. “I’m glad… the Chantry was right… could see you… in the Fade. Didn‘t want… fucking Golden… City.”  She coughed and moaned miserably.

Cullen choked back a sobbing laugh while the surgeon replaced the bandage around her ribs. Maker’s Breath, she could _speak,_ barely more than a whisper, but still, speaking _._ “No, Asta, I’m really here,” he answered tightly.

“Can’t come… to Deep Roads. That’s an order… Commander.” She still tried to command him, protect him, despite her illness and wandering mind, and Cullen wanted to cuss, and scold, and simultaneously kiss her senseless, none of which were valid or logical options.

“This could hardly be called the Deep Roads, Inquisitor,” Cullen contradicted, luckily retaining control of his faculties. “And so I am here.” The surgeon handed him a length of bandage and waved at her leg, cleaner now, and painted with whatever the medicine was that he had put on her other wound.

“The leg wound is shallow,” the surgeon informed him. “It bled a lot, but is not putting her in danger. Wrap that around, and try to keep it clean while you do it.”

“True. The Bastion… of the Pure,” Asta muttered, and opened her eyes further, fever-blurred but conscious for now. “Dane,” she observed again, and tried to smile - it was more like a wince. “Good boy,” she praised. The dog thumped his stubby tail in recognition. Her eyes swung back and met Cullen’s, his amber eyes full of hope and worry. “Really here?” She breathed a little deeper, a spark of excitement in her own under the fever’s glassiness, an echo of her usual beaming smile.

“I’m really here,” Cullen confirmed again, finishing the new bandage on her leg. The surgeon nodded his approval and moved on to check her pulse and her eyes. “I found your letter.” He started to check her head for wounds and bumps while resisting the urge to pull her close. She was alive. Andraste had preserved her. He could wait to hold her until it wouldn’t hurt her to do so.

“Didn’t hit my head,” Asta offered feebly. “Bolts.  Two. See anyone else?” Asta asked dully, almost reluctantly, scared to hear the answer.

“No,” Cullen stated bluntly. “Just the guards at the second camp that apparently didn’t have enough sense to know when you were missing. I brought them, in case you needed reinforcements.” He would have turned and glared at them except for then he’d have to take his eyes off her, filthy, bloody, wounded, feverish and absolutely the best thing he had ever seen in his life. Even the lyrium’s singing was blocked as long as he didn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Went for water,” Asta explained brokenly. “Ran out. Water, potions, lyrium, arrows.” She shut her eyes, dizzy. “They had the map. A bad map. Cartographer had the good map, fell into the ocean.”

“She’s delirious,” the surgeon stated confidently. “Her fever’s too high.”  He fished in his bag, looking for something to reduce it.  "Hmm, willow bark might start the bleeding again," he muttered.  "Something else..."

“NO!” Asta surged forward, and grabbed Cullen, moaning at the pain while the motion made her wounds pull. The surgeon cursed at her and leaned her back again. “No, there is ocean. Ocean underground, Commander. You’ll see.” She let herself be guided backwards. “They must have met the Pure.” Her eyes were worried, frantic. “Have to go after them.”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” the surgeon declared. “If the Commander goes, fine. But you are staying right here.”

Asta frowned. “Bossy surgeons. Think you know best. Drill holes in your skull. Will be fine,” she said in a sarcastic voice that was full of fatigue. Cullen bit off his laugh - she couldn’t even take a deep breath and yet she insisted on doing impossible things.

“You have a punctured lung, and it’s only whatever you treated yourself with that has stopped this from killing you,” the surgeon didn’t pull his punches. “And perhaps the fact that the bolt seems to have been made from pure lyrium - it burned its way through you - poisoning you, yes, but it seared the edges of the wound as well. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he admitted, with more than a little awe.

“You’ll have… to write a book,” Asta said seriously. “This is all new… down here. And very, very old.” Her eyes were focusing better and she turned back to Cullen, managing a weak imitation of her brilliant smile. “So good to see you.” She coughed, roughly. “Wanted to say sorry. Knew we… shouldn’t go without Renn. Down a warrior. Bad idea. Terrible idea. Valta was insistent… and grieving, and I couldn‘t...”

“You never listen,” Cullen choked, trying not to cry. “Stumbling forward into traps and danger. There was a procedure for this. You were supposed to…” he started to lecture.

“Shhh,” Asta held up her hand, shaky against his mouth. “You were right. Not arguing.” She quirked a smile and breathed a little deeper. “More water?” He lifted it to her lips and she sipped, dribbling a little. And then she frowned. “How are you here? Sure I‘m not dreaming? Too much pain to be dead now. Andraste‘s Ass, that _burns._ ” She managed a weak glare for the surgeon’s benefit. “Healing shouldn’t… hurt,” she bit out. The surgeon rolled his eyes.

“Dane,” Cullen stated simply, fighting the urge to beam with pride, but losing.

“Tracking?” Asta stared at Dane, impressed. “Good boy! How? With what?” The dog draped against her good leg, a canine version of a hug.

Cullen slipped her shirt into her hand, drawing closer. “At least it wasn’t smallclothes,” he murmured into her ear.

She started laughing and moaned, and then gasped a few times, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t make me laugh,” she accused. “Hurts when I laugh. And can’t breathe. Thank you, Dane.” She tilted her head at Cullen wickedly, almost herself in that moment. “Not a dream. You’d be wearing less clothes.” Cullen blushed, but smiled, so relieved to find her that he didn‘t care that the soldiers behind him were snickering in derision. “Dane gets all the Druffalo ribs,” she declared regally.

Dane woofed excitedly.

“Of course he does,” Cullen grinned back and then braced himself to stand. He faced his team, aware that he couldn’t stay, not when the rest of her circle might need rescuing, not when it looked like she would live. “We need people to scout for the missing members of the Inquisitor’s team,” he declared. Two stepped forward - one was the mage, and he made a mental note to have the volunteers formally commended, assuming there was still an Inquisition when they got back to the surface.  He put off the negative thought, aware that there would be time to worry about that later.

“Not enough,” Asta whimpered as the surgeon leaned her forward and continued to prod the wound at her back. “ _Dangerous_ ,” she stressed. “Need more than three!”

There was a clatter and a rustle at the mouth of the cavern, and the group immediately drew their weapons to defend their position. Voices echoed around them, vague, and then gradually focusing into recognizable speech.

“That was weird,” Sera declared, stepping around the corner, and then she almost dropped her bucket. “But this is weirder. Are we dead?” She asked Thom. “Because I see Cully-Wully. And a surgeon, and a few other people that only look vaguely familiar. And Asta’s half-naked. That would normally be okay, but she still looks like shite. Maybe we‘re in Her Precious Ladybits’s dreams? Then why is the jackboot wearing clothes?” Cullen blushed and cleared his throat. Sera eyed him again, “Then again, thanks to the Maker for small mercies, aye? Seen enough of him to last forever.”

“If you’re dead, so am I,” Thom grunted, wide-eyed. “I would love an explanation, Commander. And I am mighty glad you are wearing clothes.”

“So am I,” Cullen growled and let them have it, convenient targets for his increasing ire. “You left her alone to _die_?”

Sera blew a raspberry. “As if. She wasn’t dying. Yet. Fever was good for her, better than anything we could do, any rate. And she would die without water. So we made a choice, drew straws. Thom and I drew water, so we went to find water. Found the Nug King instead. And then found the water too.”

Cullen folded his arms and dropped a shoulder insolently. “The Nug King. Really.” Asta made an interested sound behind him, and he resisted the urge to grin at her.

“Really,” Thom confirmed defensively. “I wouldn’t make something like this up, Commander.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It came and ate the cheese Sera offered it. And then it… judged us.”

“An offering of cheese, just like Varric said back at the Rest,” Sera declared. “Knew it was an altar to him, soon as I saw it. Anyway, it all worked out, didn’t it? You found Asta, we brought water…” she groaned desperately. “You didn’t bring any _ale_ with you, didja?”

“I’m afraid not,” Cullen announced regretfully. “If these are the kinds of stories I’ve been missing out on, I wish I had.” Asta suppressed a chuckle behind him and moaned instead. “Still, someone could have…”

Another group of noises came down the corridor. “I’m telling you, it’s down that way!” A voice Cullen didn’t recognize demanded shrilly. “We have to go back…” the group stopped dead in their tracks, staring. “Who are you?” the dwarf woman demanded. “How did you get here?”

“Shaper Valta,” Dorian drawled, “allow me to introduce you to the Commander of the Inquisition, Commander Rutherford. Otherwise known as Cullen, or if you ask Sera, Cully-Wully. Asta’s betrothed.” Dorian eyed him very appreciatively, but in more than a little shock. “Is this real? Or has all the unshielded and undiluted lyrium finally gone to my brain?”

“Asta didn’t check in. I used the maps, Dane tracked her here,” Cullen summed up. “A pleasure to meet you at last, Shaper.”

“Vashante Kaffas,” Dorian breathed. “We went to see if we could find supplies, and found them, and came back to meet the reinforcements.” He glanced around tentatively. “You didn’t bring… anyone else with you?” His eyes were hopeful.

“I’m afraid not,” Cullen apologized. “Bull’s still in Val Royeaux. I couldn‘t wait for anyone to arrive.”

Dorian’s face fell. “That’s alright. Just… got my hopes up. I’ll be fine,” he insisted, and shifted his shoulders back, swallowing hard. “We found arrows,” he announced. “So Sera will be happy.”

“Arrows!” crowed the elf girl, who lunged at the bag he was hefting, pulling it away from him, sitting down and beginning to root through it.

“We also found something that looks like ancient potions,” Valta glared at Dorian for leaving the important part out. “Though that looks a little less urgent now. The new ones are probably less of a health risk anyway.”

“And _we_ found a lyrium vein that wasn‘t being guarded by those things!” Vivienne swanned in, victorious. “It’s raw, and luckily I didn't have to touch it. I can use Resurgence now,” she announced. “Where is… Commander?” Cullen had never seen her so unkempt. She hastily straightened and brushed off her robes pointlessly, unusually self-conscious.  "I must look frightful."

“Commander?” Cassandra turned the corner, even more surprised. “That’s impossible!” Her eyes fell on Asta, cleaner and obviously much improved already.  "Thank the Maker," she breathed earnestly.  "It's an answer to prayer.  How did you manage?"

“Dane,” Asta smiled. “Dane is a very smart dog.” The dog barked once, happily panting, looking demented, but very, very pleased with himself and all the attention and praise he was getting. Sera fished deep in her pocket and held out a treat.

Dorian looked at her sideways, “You have dog treats in your pocket?”

“I’m a Fereldan,” Sera snarled defensively, “We always have dog treats in our pockets. Here you go, Dane. No elfroot, I swear.” Dane took it daintily, crunching his thanks.

“You’ve had dog treats in your pockets _for months_ ,” Dorian clarified.

“Yeah, why not?” Sera asked. “You never know, do you? Wouldn’t mind a Mabari, myself. Cully-Wully got lucky. Why not me?”

“You’re in the fucking Deep Roads!” Dorian roared. “And you are looking for a _Mabari_?”

“He was in the middle of Val Royeaux,” Sera pointed out. “That’s just as unlikely, ain’t it?”  Dorian started muttering quickly in Tevene under his breath.  "You don't have to get all 'Vint," Sera stuck her nose in the air.  "Glad I had 'em.  Dane deserves treats."

Dane barked in affirmation.

“Would someone like to explain to me what the Void is going on?” Cullen asked quietly, but with the air of a true Commander. “I show up, and Asta is alone. She says this is the Bastion of the Pure. She says that this enemy is dangerous. Her last letter described them as having strange new weapons that fire projectiles made of some sort of lyrium. Armor is almost useless, barriers slightly better.”

“There’s a Titan,” the dwarf called Valta insisted. “Dorian and I found the way. I know how to get there. We have to find it!” She insisted.

“Not until Asta is well,” Dorian insisted. “Priorities, Shaper.”

“She has a healer now, and we have more backup,” Valta pointed out. “This is what is causing the earthquakes, Commander. And it’s very, very close,” she insisted urgently.

“None of you ran into these ‘Pure'?” Cullen asked, confused.

“Didn’t go that way, did we?” Sera sniffed. “Went the long way. No point charging in. Have to go that way to get through, though, I bet. But we needed supplies rather than another battle. We need another battle like we need an extra hole in our ar…”

“Don’t be vulgar, dear,” Vivienne cut in. “Commander, did you bring lyrium?”

Cullen sighed, and gave up trying to get a clear picture for the time being. “Yes, I did.” Asta made a disapproving sound behind him. “Your letter said bring potions,” he defended himself. “And said that the mages were keeping you alive. That means lyrium.”

“Oh, Commander,” drawled Dorian, “You are my favorite. Our plan was to let the mages touch a pure lyrium vein with their little finger and pray that it wouldn’t fry us alive.  Or explode.”

“That is… incredibly stupid,” Cullen shuddered. “Asta, are these the sort of risks you've been taking down here?”

“No,” huffed Asta, wincing. “This is my companions being fucking stupid when I’m not with it enough to tell them what to do.” She glared at them all equally. “That was idiotic, and you all know it.” She was definitely improving every moment now, still feverish, but the medicine doing its best to restore her.

“Well, didn’t see you coming up with a better idea,” Sera retorted. “All ‘Ack, I got shot! Blood is black in the dark! Carry me!’ weren’t you? Had to do something,” the archer muttered. “Saved your life, didn’t we?”

“Actually, I think the Commander saved her life,” Cassandra indicated crisply. “And perhaps more, the surgeon he brought.” She nodded her thanks to the man still monitoring Asta’s condition, head to her back with a rolled up sheet of parchment, trying to listen to her breathe.

“Still got her away from there, didn’t we?” Sera threw her hands in the air. “Doesn’t really matter, since she’s still alive. That’s the important thing.”

“On that we are agreed,” Cullen nodded firmly. “And at least I managed to get this far. Together, we should be able to get back to camp…”

“We _can’t,_ ” Valta interrupted. “The Titan is too close! The earthquakes…”

“Shaper Valta,” Cullen broke in to the beginning of what promised to be an impassioned tirade. “I appreciate your desire to see that your friend’s life is not wasted, but a tactical retreat is logical. Sera needs ammunition that isn‘t likely to fall apart as soon as she fires it, and you all need rest. We’ve gone through several of the potions I brought with me just on Asta, and I would wager that a few of you have minor injuries that you are neglecting because she needed the care more,” he eyeballed Thom, who shifted sideways to hide himself favoring his left leg.

“Thom,” Vivienne scolded, “Are you injured? You gave Asta your last potion…”

“It’s nothing,” the man muttered, stroking his beard. “Her need was greater.”

“Sit down,” the surgeon ordered. “What is it? Tendons? Knees?” He prodded at the man’s leg, awkwardly stretched out. “Honestly, no sense to stay off an injured leg,” he muttered. “Ellandra was right, the inner circle is completely fucking insane.” Thom winced as he manipulated a tender area. “Ah, the knee…” he grabbed the roll of bandages and started to wrap it tightly.

“Will he be able to move any time soon?” Cullen asked, concerned.

“Soon enough, with a good binding bandage to support and a potion to aid the healing,” the surgeon said. “I’d recommend rest after this, though,” he glared. “Not that anyone ever takes my advice,” he grumbled. “No one ever listens.”

“I intend to,” Cullen said, and stared down Valta. “You must understand that my people are my priority,” he added at last. “If there is a Titan back there, I assume we will need to fight it. If that is the case, then we will need to be in top form. It’s been this long,” he frowned at her starting to argue, “so there is no reason that another few days should be an issue.”

“Another few days?” Valta seemed to fold in on herself, and then pulled herself together. “I see. I suppose not, Commander.”

"More than a few days," the surgeon grumbled further.  "Going to take a while to heal.  Potions only go so far.  She needs rest."  Cullen nodded in understanding, a little relieved.

“Besides, we can take a direct route when we return, correct? I assume that you can get us back there without all the twists and turns we took?” Dorian’s mouth twisted. “Especially if we can cross that land bridge and take out the rest of the Pure. Certainly seemed like a straight shot to me.”

“Of course,” Valta squinted at the mage, suspiciously, “I never get lost.”

“You may not get lost, but we certainly took our time finding where we needed to go. Up this cliff, down that one, jump off the edge - oh look, there’s another gear…” Dorian argued. “Some of us would prefer to be able to walk straight there.” It was obviously a familiar argument, and Cullen was relieved when he abandoned it, still muttering, but at least under his breath.

“All right, as soon as Asta and Thom can be moved, we head back to the camp,” he ordered. “Gather your things.”

“I love it when you take charge,” Asta smiled at him winningly and this time his breath stopped. Maker’s Breath, he had missed her. _Never again._

“Someone will need to carry her,” the surgeon said. “Gently. I don’t want the wounds irritated.”

“That’s my job,” Cullen stated, still a little stunned as he looked at her, unable to pull his eyes away. “Just tell me when she's ready, ser.  You're the boss, until she's well."  Asta made a face at him.  "Non-negotiable, Inquisitor," he ordered.  "You're the one we can't lose."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I joined tumblr. Yeah, still wondering if it's a good idea. Still working on getting the page set up. I'm AndrastesIncreasingLight because someone took the obvious one. Has a bit of a learning curve, so give me some time, but anyone who wants to ask questions or whatever is welcome. Also, I try to take constructive criticism well. I'm trying to get better at this, so feedback is good.
> 
> I'm hoping to post some more of my crazy Andraste head canons that aren't going to make it into this fic. And probably reblog a lot of really cool art and cosplay. Cosplay makes me squee. I'll probably post a screenshot of Asta at some point.


	96. Stronger When He Holds You

The trip back to the lift was slow, Cullen weighed down with 150 pounds of extra weight that insisted on muttering in his ear and playing with his hair. Some things apparently never changed. At least she wasn‘t drunk this time. “I’m bored,” she whispered. “Should we play chess?”

“If you like,” Cullen answered, thinking it would help keep his mind off his surroundings. “You go first.”

“How about Queen’s hand to Knight’s arse?” Asta giggled.

“That doesn’t sound like any chess I’ve ever played,” Cullen blushed. What was in the painkiller that the surgeon had given her? “But if you insist… how about Knight’s lips to Queen’s neck?” he muttered, ever quietly.

“Oh, a confident opening move,” Asta shifted slightly. “Queen’s arms to Knight’s back?” She wrapped herself around him, wincing only slightly. “Potions are working,” she added in relief.

“Good,” Cullen said louder, “because when we get back to the camp I’m going to read you the riot act about not following the procedures we set up for your safety. And I need you to not be in pain when I do. Also, consciousness would help.”

“I already said you were right,” Asta argued. “Queen’s lips to Knight’s jaw,” she added, not quietly enough.

“It’s my turn. You‘re cheating,” Cullen pointed out. “Knight’s mouth to Queen’s ear. Now you can go,” he added magnanimously. “After I say that admitting I’m right is _not_ an adequate substitute for listening in the first place.”

“How kind of you, Ser Knight,” Asta purred against him. “But what I said before stands.” She observed the body part in question. “You haven’t shaved in days, have you?”

“My hands were shaking,” Cullen said, embarrassed. “The lyrium is very… loud.” Dane whined and pressed against him. “It’s alright, Dane,” he insisted. “But it’s louder than I’ve ever heard before,” he paused, and murmured, “Knight’s hand to Queen’s hair.”

Asta made a face, “It’s such a mess. Okay, Queen’s leg to Knight’s back.” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I have a plan,” she defended quietly.

Valta overheard the lyrium comment and watched him, confused. “You can hear lyrium?”

“He’s a former Templar,” Asta sighed and her breath hitched. “They use it to enhance magic blocking capabilities. He doesn’t take it any longer, but he can hear it.”

“Fascinating,” Valta said. “Can you hear the rhythms in the quakes?” She asked, a little less reserved. “It seems you have something like Stone sense, and I’ve never heard of any surfacer having anything of the sort.”

Cullen shook his head. “All I hear are almost constant rumbles and a sort of singing,” he said. “But all Templars can hear lyrium to some degree. Mages, too.” Valta nodded and subsided into thought, much to Cullen’s relief. It was best to keep his mind off of it.

“I kind of like the growth,” Asta murmured in Cullen’s ear. “It makes you look rugged and virile. And it‘s your turn.”

Cullen choked with laughter. “It itches,” he admitted. “My beard is curly, I‘m afraid.” He thought quickly, and whispered, “Knight’s hand to Queen’s thigh.”

Asta’s face lit up and she grinned. “A bold move, Commander. Really?” She wondered louder, “It’s so much darker… would that change if it got longer?” She smirked, “Queen’s crotch to Knight’s cock. Check.”

“It’s brownish,” he muttered as his face turned red at her last words. “I may be blonde on top, at least when I’ve been in the sun, but my beard is… darker.” He swallowed and shifted her awkwardly. “Perhaps this game is not advisable given our current situation?”

“Probably,” Asta said reluctantly and then mused, “I want to see you with a beard someday, Cullen.”

“Not if I can help it,” Cullen denied with a visible shudder. “I expect the troops to stay clean-shaven, except the dwarves, who get a cultural exception,” he added. “I can only follow the same rules.”

“Then a raincheck,” Asta allowed. “Someday…” she drifted off, reminded of where their dreams and plans currently stood. “Well, someday,” she muttered, a little more of her determination leaking back in to her speech. “Just because Leliana is doing exactly what she shouldn’t doesn’t mean…”

“Exactly!” Sera bounded over. “You can all quit whispering, I can hear you just fine. I’ve got all that taken care of. You’ll see.” She cackled at their looks of horror. “You two just don’t learn. No secrets! But thanks to Bull and me, when you get to the surface, you two are gonna tie the knot. In the Chantry and everything,” she added with great satisfaction. “Bull and me, we worked it out, see?” She narrowed her eyes at Asta suspiciously. “And no bees,” she promised solemnly. “I know you don’t believe me, but I know when bees are appropriate, and a Chantry wedding ain’t one of them.” She paused, “Unless maybe it was the Empress, or someone like that. Then bees would be good.”

Asta visibly tensed. “Sera, you and Bull planned…” she turned to Cullen, “What is that going to look like?” Her mouth twisted with laughter suppressed. “A lot of Dawnstone and Plaideweave?”

“So everyone does know,” Cullen sighed, resigned. “I suppose it was inevitable.” His arms tightened around her, though, and a small smile teased the side of his mouth. “But if you wanted to stop an Empress’ wedding, Sera, I’d go with earwigs.”

“Only us!” Sera chirped. “And Valta, but she’s an ‘us’, at least for now. So you’ll have your wedding, all smooches and secrets. Even got the gazebo figured out,” she crackled, “despite Dorian’s positive associations. So just talk about it, already. Her Worshipful Booby-twins has been a grump about it for _weeks_. Rather have you two glowing and smiling at each other already,” she allowed, “instead of sad and gloomy. Enough sad and gloomy down here already.” She then stared at Cullen in approval and more than a little awe, “And earwigs is _good_. Cully-Wully, you’re in good with me. Hate those things with their pinchy butts.” She cackled. “Knew you were a good one to share the cake with. You wouldn‘t look so hungry all the time otherwise.” She nudged Asta, “You need to feed him better. When you gonna make those cookies with me?”

Asta grinned at Sera, dodging the question of the baking for the time being, much to the relief of her companions. “I want to be one of your Friends when I get out of this mess, Sera. Any group that can plan a wedding from the blighted Deep Roads, including the gazebo at the Winter fucking Palace, I want to belong to. Will you have me?”

Sera eyed her, “You’re pretty big to be one of my contacts.” She stopped in horror, “Important. Not fat.” Cullen started to shake in laughter when Asta elbowed him in the ribs. “We’ll see,” she allowed. “You are pretty good at pranks. Those sweaters were inspired or something.”

“Or something,” Dorian grumbled, quietly while Asta pouted at the not-quite-denial. “And most of the work for the wedding was _mine._ Bull would have had your dress made out of small clothes and military trim. Probably with epaulets. Perhaps lacking a bodice entirely. Tops are not his strong suit.”

“But Cully-Wully, he’s a natural. Wasted on this Commander bullshit. Definitely Jenny material.” Sera continued, moving on to taunting Dorian, “I saw you wearing the sweater just the other day,” Sera grinned. “Can’t have been so bad. Wouldn’t have brought it at all, otherwise, right?”

“Actually, that was me,” Asta breathed shallowly, trying not to laugh. “I owed Dorian.”

“Not bad,” Sera weighed her actions thoughtfully. “Not bad at all.”

“I thought it was Bull,” groused Dorian. “Oxman didn’t confess when I thanked him. Figures.”

“You… thanked him,” Asta stared at her friend.

“It’s chilly down here. And I‘m always cold,” Dorian shrugged defensively. “And he picked it out. I’m allowed to miss him,” he insisted.

“Of course,” Asta smirked, and then relaxed into Cullen’s arms a little more. “This is so much better with you here,” she whispered in Cullen’s ear, even more quietly. “We were about to all slaughter each other a few days ago. Bloodbath in the Deep Roads by friendly fire.”

“Glad to be useful,” he smiled back. “My morale is better, too. Despite the headaches and… everything else.”

She leaned back. “I’m glad you are here, sort of, but what the void were you thinking?”

“I missed a letter from you,” Cullen started.

“You weren’t supposed to come!” Asta broke in. “You were supposed to send…”

“Let me finish,” Cullen snapped, and apologized immediately. “Sorry, the lyrium makes me… irritable.” He sighed, and started again. “I missed your letter and got one from the Divine instead. She claimed you weren’t coming back, that Orzamaar had no news and demanded I report to Val Royeaux.”

“And why didn’t you?” Asta thumped him on his shoulder. “That was the plan, to stay _alive,_ Commander! The Deep Roads isn’t conducive to staying alive, if you haven’t noticed.” Her face creased in worry. “And your cravings, and the darkness, and the enclosed spaces… This is literally the worst place in the world for you to be.”

“Funny,” Cullen countered, “Because I feel more alive right now than I have in months, despite all the things you mention.” Asta turned a little red and he smirked at her. “I told her to excommunicate me.”

Cassandra gasped, “Commander! You didn’t?!”

“I did,” Cullen confirmed, “And told her that the Chantry didn’t have a claim on me any more. I work for the Inquisition, not her. Also that I didn‘t need her approbation to know what I believed in.”

“Oh, Maker, you are all so dead,” Sera’s eyes were wider than saucers. “She’s gonna have your throats slit before you can get to the surface, much less get married. All that work for nothing,” she kicked a rock sullenly.

Cullen scoffed, “Hardly. Bull’s contacts seem to think that she’s scrambling for support. The first elven reforms have gone through, but a whole portion of Orlais is very upset that she publicly apologized to elves for the Second Exalted March - Celene isn‘t powerful enough to bring them all with her, and is now recognized as a ‘knife-ear lover’.” His mouth twisted with distaste at the offensive phrase. “Take into account the Divine’s conviction that the Circles shouldn’t be reformed at all and she’s not very popular with the nobility in Orlais right now. Claiming me as her Right Hand was no more than a power play to reestablish a connection with the conservatives and loyalists.”

Asta beamed at him. “How well you’ve learned, Commander.”

He shrugged, but grinned at the compliment, “It’s just chess, after all. With her knight,” he tilted his head towards Asta, “and a rook gone, she will likely try to use her pawns a little more appropriately. But Bull thinks Charter is about to resign and go running to Solas. She knows that Leliana knows.”

“Arsewipe,” Sera muttered. “Head so far up his arse that he can see a thousand years ago. Stupid elfy elves living in the past.” Asta frowned at her, in evident disagreement.

“So she’s going to lose a key pawn,” he concluded. “Honestly, I think the Chantry is falling unless she can find a way to stop trying to scare people into being loyal and accept that the Chantry as an institution has to be something vastly different in the current age.” He shifted Asta slightly. “She never was playing with a full set of pieces anyway - and now she has no knights, one rook - the Spire - no pawns to speak of, since she doesn’t have the Templars - though some mages are definitely appreciative of her efforts towards the College reformation,” he mused. He shrugged, “She could still win, in the end. Because the other side isn’t playing with a full set of pieces, either.”

“We’re not the other side,” Asta grinned at her companion’s shocked faces. “Don’t worry. This is more a game of chess played on at least four fronts - maybe five if you take into account the Qun, who still haven’t retaliated.” She counted on her fingers, “Nobility of all Thedas, the Chantry, and the Inquisition, that’s three, Solas and his ‘elfy’ elves, and the Qun.” She glanced at Valta. “At least the dwarves are staying out of it?”

“Hardly,” Valta snorted. “They are using you to clear out their lyrium mines and stop their earthquakes.”

“They’re starving,” Asta defended. “I have to help. I don’t want hungry people in Orzamaar when I could help.”

“There are always people starving in Orzamaar,” Valta admitted. “The Casteless are either hungry or Carta. The food shortages are just a little more widespread right now.”

Asta sighed, “That’s terrible.”

“More will head to the surface,” Valta confessed. “It will be better for them there, honestly. There is no life for the Casteless in Orzamaar. As far as the Shaperate is concerned, they don‘t exist.” She turned the last corner to the lift and changed the subject. “I’m a little glad I don’t have to go back. It‘s not an easy place to live even when you have a set place to belong. I like it better out here, even with the danger. Though without Renn…” she stopped abruptly.

Cullen pressed the issue, changing the subject, “I met no darkspawn coming through the Thaigs. Is Orzamaar using the Inquisition to try to reclaim them?”

Valta blinked at him, “Not just a pretty boy, are you?” She smiled, “I imagine that was one reason they wanted a military operation, yes. But the Legion division that Renn leads…” she stopped, and swallowed. “That Renn led, they’re good at their job. It doesn’t surprise me that you didn’t see any.” She sighed, “The darkspawn will be back. They always come back.” Her face grew harder and she marched ahead of the others onto the lift.

***

At the camp finally, Cullen carefully set Asta down on her bedroll, after having Dane drag it against the nearest wall. “You have to try to sleep upright,” he insisted. “It’ll help you breathe.”

Asta sighed with fatigue. “I’m so tired,” she admitted. “I could probably sleep standing up. But…” she stopped, and looked wicked, “we never finished our game.”

“None of that, Inquisitor,” Cullen was firm. “I know… but,” he dropped down next to her, leaning in towards her ear. “I can’t touch you without wanting you. Even in my imagination.”

“Oh, so you understand,” Asta’s face flushed.

“Better than you realize,” Cullen breathed. “It’s so good to see you. You scared me,” he confessed. “I was so worried, every single day, and to find you like this,” he took in her disheveled form, wounded and worn, “Honestly, Asta, I can’t imagine that this is worth it.”

“I just want to sleep next to you,” Asta pouted.

“That’s hardly fair,” Cullen pointed out. “How will Dorian feel? Sera? Cassandra? Like we’re flaunting ourselves in front of them?” He shook his head and stood back up. “We’ve got to keep a distance. We don’t want to breed resentment. Everyone‘s morale - you weren‘t kidding when you said it was bad down here. I wish I had understood how bad.”

“I won’t touch you,” Asta promised. “Just… stay close?” Her eyes begged him. “I still think I’m going to wake up and it will all have been a fever dream.”

“Always,” Cullen smiled, still tense, but a real smile. He propped himself sideways against the wall looking down at her, arms folded. “I can’t sleep down here anyway,” he admitted. “The walls, the ceiling, the lyrium,” he shuddered. “It’s all too close. There are times I feel like I can‘t breathe. Dane helped a lot. Helped me remember it was all in my head.”

“Have you slept at all?” Asta was horrified. “You should probably go back to the surface.”

“With potions,” Cullen sighed. “I’m completely exhausted.”

“Go get a potion, then,” Asta insisted. “I have to sleep, so you are going to sleep, too, Commander. Go!” She shoved his leg weakly. “Take enough for more than a few hours,” she demanded. “Maker, I had no idea. Cassandra could have dragged me, or something. We’ll talk about you going back to the surface after we’ve all slept. We can‘t take on a Titan without sleep in any case.”

“You aren’t doing anything of the sort,” Cullen threw back at her as he fished through the surgeon’s supplies. “You’re staying here. At the camp. Possibly permanently, until the Titan issue is resolved. You’ve been seriously injured! I should send _you_ back to the surface and Skyhold.” He sat back down next to her. “But I won’t be going either,” he admitted. “I have to stay, because if I go back I have to deal with the repercussions of my letter to the Divine. Alone. She probably would have me killed quietly.” He drank the potion quickly, grimacing at the taste.

“You did create a nice problem for us, didn’t you?” Asta tutted teasingly. “Did you really tell her off like that?” Her face reflected awe and fear.

“Worse,” Cullen grinned, “I told her that she should consider who she used to be, under all the titles.”

“Oh,” Asta blanched, “Cullen, she was a _bard_.”

“And a Sister,” he corrected, “And a respected companion to the Hero of Fereldan. If anyone needs to find herself again, it’s her.” He stretched out, on his side facing her, potion starting to work through his bloodstream, and took her hand. “I just reminded her to try, that’s all.” His eyes drifted shut, against his will. “Asta,” he slurred, “You’re… nice.”

“Sleep, Cullen,” she tried to get comfortable against the wall, shifting and grimacing. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You… sure?” The potion worked so fast. Dane settled himself against his back, and he barely felt him.

“Never again, right?” Asta squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

“Ne’er ‘gain,” Cullen confirmed and then he was out. Asta smiled and slipped her hand free in order to lean back and close her eyes.

Cullen woke several hours later to Asta muttering curses under her breath. “What’s wrong?” He blinked his eyes, his vision blurred and confused, groggy with the effects of the sleeping draught.

“I can’t get comfortable,” Asta whined. “My back hurts and itches, and I can’t sleep like this anymore.”

“Just a second,” Cullen stood up, lurching a bit. “Scoot forward,” he said. Asta tried, and held herself upright, holding her ribs with her arm and grimacing. Cullen slid behind her and down against the wall and floor, a somewhat distracting position, with one leg on either side of hers. “Now, lean back,” he muttered, yawning. Asta laid back against him and bent her head into his neck. “Hmmm, maybe not the best idea,” he admitted. “But you’re comfortable?” He reached out for his bedroll. “Spread this over us?”

“More comfortable,” Asta approved, taking the blankets and shifted them awkwardly, favoring her injured side.

“In some ways,” Cullen gritted as she snuggled against him. It had been far too long since… anything. Even longer for her, he reminded himself. “Don’t wiggle too much, okay? That would be… awkward.”

“I’ll try,” and Asta fell asleep between breaths, her body taking what it needed to make her well again. Cullen’s eyes drifted shut again, holding her tight with his arms across her stomach. It did just feel right, having her against him. He breathed in the scent of her hair. It still smelled the same, and he never had figured out what it was. He reminded himself to ask when they woke up.

He fell asleep again, breathing in the smell of home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More letters in the next chapter! Promise!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr if you're into that sort of thing. AndrastesIncreasingLight.


	97. A Need for Clarification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letters! As promised! Still more letters to come!
> 
> Look, I did warn you that there were a lot of letters. Nothing else to do in the Deep Roads. Sera has taken everybody's money in Wicked Grace. The lute player was with the Legion, and they are back at the main camp. It's write, argue with your companions, or go kill things. And when you do write, it takes weeks for a reply. Mix in an extreme dose of sexual frustration and it's a good thing they are about to fight a Titan. Because Cass needs to hit something. Badly.
> 
> And as Asta would say, there's nothing to read. It's a wonder that no one went crazi(er).

“Andraste’s Sacred Tits,” Sera cursed, looking at them several hours later. “That’s… that’s just not necessary.” Cullen and Asta lay slumped against each other, both sleeping harder than they had in months, her head against his shoulder and his leaned against her head, his arms wrapped around hers securely, and Dane alongside, legs twitching.

Cassandra’s mouth twisted, with humor and a little envy. “It is… endearing,” she declared. “Leave them be,” she ordered. “They both need the rest.” She turned away. She needed to write to Varric in any case.

_My dear Varric,_

Cassandra resisted the urge to crumple up the parchment again and throw it on their fire. She had done that too much, and their stores of parchment were getting low. They had expected to be done by now. But she had to respond to him, or he wouldn’t write back. “UGH!” She let out a massive disgusted noise and then promptly was shushed by at least four people attempting to sleep. “Sorry,” she apologized, frustrated in more than one way, deliberately not looking at Cullen and Asta.

_I’m not sure I understand entirely what you were implying with the colorful imagery. You weave words very well, and I… we have not… It seems abrupt of you. Do you think we are compatible? As friends, absolutely, once we got past the lies and the stabbing of books. But what about… sex?_

_I could be the most deviant person you know, and you would never have an idea. Surely we should… get to know each other a little more before… discussing such things. For that matter, you might not even want me like that. Though by your other letters, I imagine that is not accurate._

_I am not entirely opposed to the idea, however. I…_

She took a very deep breath, and let it out.

_I might even say ‘yes’, were we together in this moment. I think… I know I have feelings for you. Strong ones. But I am confused, a bit. Is the sort of relationship we have had up to this point conducive to… that?_

_I am relieved that it isn’t just me that is having problems writing the word, however. You’ve said ‘contracts’ twice, and created a whole metaphor out of Wicked Grace, assumed that I would be staying in your Keep when I get to Kirkwall, and a whole host of other things, but neither of us has actually said the words._

_I have signed my name with ‘Love’ and I admit I meant it. You didn’t reply the same, however. You merely said ‘that you longed to return it a thousand fold’, whatever the shit that’s supposed to mean. I’m more than a little annoyed. If you can’t say it, then how do I say it? You are the one who is good with words, not I._

_In other news, we are making progress here. Finally restocked and reinforcements have arrived, so we are going to defeat a dwarven fairy tale soon. Have you ever heard of Titans? Or the Pure? Sera and Thom claim to have met the Nug King, so all the wild stories you‘ve told us over the years are looking a lot more believable. If you have any information, even a bedtime story, we could probably use it._

_We have a familiar addition to our party as well. Believe it or not, Asta was injured and the Commander, most romantically, braved the Deep Roads to save her life. He is with us now, and intends to remain, as now Divine Victoria has probably placed a contract on his life. He said some very inadvisable things to the former Sister Nightingale when she tried to tell him we were on a wild goose chase._

_I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him, but it is very romantic. The Commander is a man who knows how to show the woman he loves that he cares about her._

_Yours with irritation,_

_Cassandra_

***

Varric read the words and grinned. She was calling him on his shit. Maker, he loved this woman. Only Cassandra and Hawke had ever actually called him on his bullshit. They would either love each other or kill each other in the first ten seconds of a real conversation. He suspected the former, and then they would leave him alone in the house while they went out to get wine and something sweet and complain about him. Andraste’s Ass, he couldn’t wait to tail them while they did it.

There was only one thing to do.

_Loveliest of Loverly Cassandras,_

_Actually, I did say it once. But just to prove to you that I’m not afraid to write the words: I love you. I love the way you draw your sword when you suspect a fight is in the brewing, and the scowl on your face when you really don’t want to use it. I love the way you bash people backwards, and the way you can purge a demon with a gesture. It’s fucking hot, to quote Bull. I would say you are a picture of grace and elegance and perhaps also death incarnate in its most beautiful form. And when you lit Corypheus’ lyrium on fire… damn it. My words actually fail me._

_I love the way you stab things. I have a whole library that I would just love to watch you stab through. You can start with ‘Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder’. Please._

_I love the way you obviously leave your quill against the parchment while you think of something to say, leaving a blotch._

_And I know for a fact you aren’t the most deviant person I've ever known. Anders or Isabella would get that, hands down. Four hands, if it involved both of them (and maybe sometimes more, actually). It happened at least once in Denerim, I understand. I know prostitutes (not necessarily that way - and definitely not lately) that aren’t that… versatile. And if I could spend my whole life making love to you it wouldn’t be enough. I know we’re compatible - we’ve got some learning to do, but I’ve never looked forward to lessons so much in my life. I love the tutor, you see._

_I love Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, former Right Hand to two Divines, companion to the Herald of Andraste and most beloved of the Viscount of Kirkwall, one Varric Tethras (also a prominent author in his own right.)._

_Andraste’s Sweet Buttcheeks, I_ love _you. (Sorry about the blasphemy. I suppose I should consider cleaning up my language for you, huh?)_

_That’s not quite a thousand, but I will get right on the rest. Believe me, I’m only limiting myself because of how much the price of parchment has gone up since I started writing you so many letters. Perhaps you should come on over, and save the city of Kirkwall all the gold I‘ve been spending on it?_

_No shit, the Nug King?! Was his incredibly handsome dwarf friend with him? Tell Sera and Thom I owe them a drink. I want to hear that story. Did they have any cheese with them?!_

_If you are fighting a Titan, loveliest of the Cassandras, I’m scared for the Titan. Kick its ass. If it has one. The stories I’ve heard aren’t clear._

_And honestly, if you think that Curly is more romantic than me, then I have some work to do. Don’t make me come over there and fish you out of a tight spot in the Deep Roads. I’ll do it, and then we’ll find a nice little ledge over some forgotten Thaig and we’ll see how long I can make your voice echo. Care for a wager?_

_Or is it the contract out on his life that is romantic? Because I know people - I can have that canceled with one little letter. For that matter, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before the Carta have me on their contract list again. So you know, romantic. Or something like that._

_What the hell, I’ll cancel it and call it a wedding present. Wasn’t sure what to get them anyway. Besides maybe an abandoned manor in Kirkwall and the key to the city. Oh, and I was thinking about a title for Asta. Think she’d hate that? Too close to Ostwick? Her brother is still in line to take over there, so maybe that’s not such a bad thing, eventually? Kirkwall doesn’t hold good memories for Curly, though. Got any ideas?_

_Love,_

_Your Varric_

***

Varric,

Don’t you dare stop writing to me because of the price of parchment. Or clean up your language. It is… colorful, perhaps, but it is yours. I like it. I think Andraste would understand, if she could hear your voice. Even when you blaspheme it makes me want to smile.  Smiles, in this age, are hard to come by.

I like most things about you. Your hair. Your hair… everywhere. The way you can tell the same story over and over again and yet it can be just as funny the fortieth time as the first. The way you frown when you are writing a letter to the Merchant’s Guild. You have a certain face that you only use when you are writing to them. It is distinctive.

I love how blunt you are in your actions, the scores you keep while you are in a battle, the way you kissed me in Skyhold. I don’t think you realize how much I just wanted to jerk you off that pony and haul you off somewhere so we could keep going. My reservations about our… compatibility were not on my account, but yours. You have far more experience, that is evident. I can remember every single time you touched me, and wish that I could have more. We wasted too much time.

When I get to Kirkwall, we are going to make up for some of that lost time. Your bed will never seem too large or too cold again. The Pentaghasts are noted for their cold demeanors, but I assure you I am anything but reserved otherwise. Especially if I am assured of my regard being returned. It was I that kissed Galyan first, just as I kissed you. You need to make that up to me, actually. Making me take that step alone with only a letter to clue me in.  Also, that whole scene with Bianca in Skyhold, and the apology that you should have seen through.  You are discerning, Varric - you should have seen right through that.

It is still not easy to put things on paper, however, so you will have to wait, dwarf.

Sera and Thom have repeatedly assured all of us that it was the real Nug King. I have no reason to disbelieve them. They had cheese, and it ate the cheese and then it judged them. I’m sure Sera will tell it better. There will probably be a whole court of nugs and the King will have been wearing a crown by the time she is done. And she will have been kneeling in obeisance, of course.

The Commander is most romantic. Trust me. He spent an entire week of nights being Asta’s back rest when the surgeon told her she could not lie down because of her injury. That is romantic and sweet. Also, he taught their dog to track her scent so that he could find her if she was in trouble. Again, romantic. Of course, if it were me, I would not likely need rescuing. You might, however, since you have a knack of getting into trouble.

There has not been enough kissing, if any, since he arrived, however. He should be kissing her more. And they haven’t found any alcoves anywhere to do anything in. Of course, she is injured, but still. It is disappointing. It has been weeks, and she can walk around and sleep lying down. He is only delaying the battle so that she can see it. Again: Romantic.

Is the Carta going to send assassins after you? If they touch a hair on your chest I will _slay_ them. Make sure they know who I am. Include all the useless titles you like, and tell the story - the version with five dragons and no mages. I’m partial to the one where I ride the dragon, stab it in the head and then flip off it into the Spire to save the Divine. It is the most impressive, after all. Have Aveline send me a letter. I’m going to undertake your personal security when I get there.

Love,

Cassandra

***

_Damn, Cassandra,_

_I haven’t heard that version. Tell me a story? (I’m batting my eyes winningly. Can’t you tell?)_

_I will only fear for my life when I manage to piss you off. Five dragons? Riding one? Stabbing it’s head?! Backflips onto the Spire?! I knew you were the Hero of Orlais, and that you saved Divine Beatrix’s life and all that… but damn. Mages? Oh, was that Galyan… that was where you met him, huh?_

_Crap, now I’m jealous. Shit. I'm not the jealous type, but... he got to watch you do backflips off dragons? Did you wear one of those older types of armor when you were younger? With the little flippy skirt and inadequate mail? And you’ve already said you used to have a ponytail. Maker’s Balls, I bet you were hot. Poor little mageboy didn’t stand a chance._

_Then again, he didn’t get to see you in those leather pants. Andraste’s tits, I love those pants. And he didn’t have my point of view. I pity him, actually. He would have run away from the Circle to be with you if he had seen you in those pants. The dangers of apostasy has nothing on the temptation of those pants. A Desire demon would have possessed him immediately._

_Shit, now I want to see you out of those pants. He got to get under your skirt. Fuck. I’ll be in the tub, thinking about you. Hard. Damn it, Seeker, get your ass over here so I can appreciate it properly. You don’t still have your old armor, do you?_

_I miss you? (I know Curly has cornered the market on puppy eyes, and all I’ve got is a grin that is best described as ‘whimsical’ by the kind. Consider one inserted here. Hopefully that‘s adorable enough.)_

_You have a really strange idea of what is considered romantic, but I can work with it. Trained dogs, delaying battles, being a backrest? The kissing, though - get over here and I’ll show you kissing. I’ll kiss you until your toes curl, your knees shake and those pants fall off, right with the rest of your clothes. That, my dear, is a promise._

_I knew you were into the chest hair. Women always are. I’ll let you touch it…_

_And now that I know you want to jerk me off I’ll add that to the list I’m keeping._

_Love,_

_Varric_

***

You... dwarf,

I wanted to jerk you off _the pony_ , Varric. Not your… well. That might be… interesting. I will think about it, when I have some privacy.

I hardly think that the armor I wore when I was a teenager will fit me now, over twenty years later. If you are interested in such things, it would be better to find an armorer and have a new set commissioned. For you, perhaps, I’ll even grow out my hair. If you would like. It is inconvenient under a helmet, and ridiculously thick but… sometimes it is nice to do things that are not practical. And if you want to see what I looked like when I was hardly more than a child, well… I think there is a picture in the Cathedral’s archives. Beatrix had one commissioned. I was awkward and gangly, with a nose that was too large for my face, but the painting flattered me. I thought my eyes looked nice. Also, the aforementioned ponytail and unfortunate armor choices are featured. I didn’t have scars then, but I wore smallclothes. Necessary, with a battle skirt.

You can get me out of these pants anytime you care to try. I would suggest rose petals in your ridiculously large bath, for a start. And perhaps some bubbles. I have been thinking about that bathtub a great deal recently, for several reasons.

Perhaps you should come over here. By the time you arrive, we might even be finished. We leave to take care of the Titan tomorrow. The Pure have been defeated at the land bridge they were fiercely defending and we seem to have a straight shot to the Titan, according to Valta.

It will be nice to see the sun again. But I suppose that won’t happen until we leave the Storm Coast. It always rains there. But even the rain will be a welcome sight after weeks and weeks with no weather at all. Also, I will be able to take more than a sponge bath. I don’t care how cold the river is, I’m getting completely bare and scrubbing _everything_. And if a bear attacks me, it is dead. I will not grieve it, even for Asta's and Helisma's theories on the necessity of predators. Because it should have known better.

If you aren’t there when I get back, I intend to take a ship from Jader and sail directly to Kirkwall, as soon as I can. I still have not heard from Aveline. I am serious about undertaking your security. She is not offended, is she? I am most impressed with the work she has done there, I assure you. But you… are mine, I suppose. And I will have you kept safe, and I’m sure she has much to do otherwise.

Love,

Cassandra

 


	98. Blowing Off Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW :) Come on, it's been months!
> 
> And yes the chapter title is a Mass Effect reference. I like nerds. Calibrating nerds.
> 
> Letter at the end for those that want to skip the smut.

Cullen and Asta glared, ignoring the many watching eyes in the background of the camp while they yelled at each other.

“I’m FINE,” Asta gritted out for what felt like the fiftieth time. “George says that I can fight the Titan.”

“George,” Cullen growled back, “is still in training. I took what I could get. I will not be satisfied that you have a clean bill of health until Ellandra…”

“Ellandra is more than three weeks away!” Asta fumed. “I have been down here for months and you, _Commander_ , are not going to keep me from the culmination of my mission! We are here to kill a Titan, so I’m going to help kill a Titan. That is all.” The argument had flushed her overly pale cheeks and she was so lovely when she was pissed off. Even if it was at him.

“On the contrary,” Cullen narrowed his eyes, and folded his arms in an attempt to not grab her and carry her off physically.  “You are going to stay at the temporary camp with George and wait for us to return.”

“The fuck I will,” Asta walked away to find the new armor the main camp had sent over for her, and started to shrug into it. The thin, almost sheer undershirt she had been examined in stretched across her breasts and Cullen had to take a very deep breath. Luckily she was already wearing the pants and boots, because if he had to watch her bend over in that short jacket…

He had forgotten the leg guards, and he could do nothing but cuss mentally. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. Maker’s breath, that ass…

George, the surgeon, whom Asta was now on a first name basis with due to her usual lack of professionalism, pulled him aside at last. Cullen blushed, realizing that he had been caught looking.

“May I make a suggestion, Commander?”

“Speak freely,” mumbled Cullen, humiliated.

“She’s fine. Give in. And please, find some secluded someplace and get this out of your systems,” he recommended. “It’s been a few weeks, with proper rest and plenty of potions. She’s not going to reinjure herself with a quick fuck,” he advised. “So go for it. You two are driving us all insane. If you don’t, I know for a fact that Valta is going to drag your asses into a gear room, shut the doors and lock you in.”

Thom walked by and threw in his two cents, “Maker’s Balls, please do, I can’t take any more of Asta’s moaning ‘Cullen, Oh, Cullen’ in her sleep,” he grumped.

“You haven’t been kissing her enough,” Cassandra opined from her place on the floor with her whetstone and sword. “A little more of that and she won’t be yelling at you any longer,” she assured him. “Personally, I have been wondering at your reticence.”

“We were trying to be thoughtful,” Cullen tried to point out.

“Yeah, and you can see how that‘s working out,” Sera grinned, standing on her head in an elaborate stretch, “And I promise I won’t cheer when you get back from wherever you decide to slip it to her. Even though I want to. Cheer, not slip it to her. I don’t think she swings my way,” the elf mused, flipping back upright. “Though that would be hot.” The elf shook her head. “Better write to Widdle and quit thinking about _that_ ,” the elf muttered. “That way lies madness. All crazy enough down here.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in defeat and confusion and went to find where Asta was counting potions and pointedly ignoring him. Maybe they were all right. It wouldn’t be the first time. But he had to try to make her understand, all the same. He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the storage area without a word.

“I was finished with you, Commander,” she fumed, twisting out of his grasp.

“I’m not,” he growled, and stepping a few corridors away, pulled her into a different room - without a door, but also without gears. At least they wouldn‘t be shut in by well-meaning Shapers. “Don’t you realize why I’m trying to keep you safe?” He started, a little calmer, but not much.

“Because you think I’m incapable,” she flung at him. “I’m not helpless!”

“That’s not why,” Cullen insisted, and then he kissed her, backing her into the wall. She bit his lip, and he kissed her harder, cupping her ass and shoving her against him and delving into her mouth ever more insistently. He had been mostly hard for days, at this point. Every little movement, every little smile, every tiny laugh… he groaned and pulled back from her lips.

“Why the fuck did you stop?” Asta lunged at him and pulled him back down. “Fuck, it’s been too long,” she wrapped her legs around his waist and tried to scale him, grinding against the front of him impatiently, pushing against the wall with her back as leverage to compensate for her still bruised abdominal muscles and ribs. He braced himself on the wall with both hands, and she complained about the lack of his hands on her ass by pulling his hair, still rocking herself against him with a desperation that he echoed.

“Asta,” he groaned. “Clothes.” He yanked her laces loose and slid his hand inside her pants, cupping and stroking her while she gasped and arched into him, dropping a leg so that he had freer range of movement.

“What, you mean… here? Now?!” Asta’s mouth dropped in shock. “You’re serious. Shit, yes, you are.” She dropped her legs and started to take off the armor again, her pants first while he pulled away to watch. “No changing your mind,“ she warned. “Strip, Commander,” she ordered and Cullen complied, no less urgently. “You know anyone could walk by?” She watched him archly. “Maybe you should stand where no one but me can see that ass.” She walked around him while he struggled with his pants, finally dropping them to the floor. “Maker, it’s even better than I remembered,” she sighed happily. “And you do have a problem, don’t you?” She eyed the front of him even more appreciatively.

“Asta,” Cullen stepped toward her, and pulled her in against him, her back to his front, to the side of the door, where they wouldn‘t be seen quite as easily. “I don’t want to get that close to losing you again.” He dropped his mouth to her neck and started working his way up to her ear. “That’s why I don’t want you to go.”

“Not. Going. To. Happen,” Asta gasped out. “You can’t stop me.” She pressed against him urgently.

“I know,” he sighed, “but I can ask?” He nibbled her ear lobe persuasively.

“Not going to… happen,” Asta nearly squealed when he bit harder. He cupped her ass with both hands again and rubbed himself between her legs a little. “Oh,” she breathed, eyes shutting. “You can’t use your wiles on me, Cullen.” She didn’t sound quite convinced.

“I could leave you like this,” he mused thoughtfully, and moved a hand around to stroke her again. “Wet, and bothered and…”

“Still going, just with a more urgent need to kill something,” Asta insisted, leaning into his hand and resting her head back against the wall. “Please, don’t stop,” she whined. “Besides, that would torture you just as much,” she pointed out, and wrapped her hand around him to start stroking him, wet now with her own arousal. He bucked into her hand, shuddering.

“Maker’s Breath,” he froze, tense with the need for release. “Asta, stop. You‘ve proved your point.”

“No,” Asta said, “Not unless you’ve got a better idea,” and she dove towards his lips, flipping around and kissing him with a level of demand that he had never felt from her before. Her lips pulled at his own, all pressure and insistent wet warmth, punctuated with the scraping of her teeth and her tongue urging him on. He pulled her hand away, lifted and impaled her on himself, fast, making her whine and hit the wall. “That’s a… good idea,” she managed, gasping, and he started to move. “Not going to last,” she warned.

“As if I’m any better,” he lifted her further. “Holy Andraste,” he cursed. “You feel too fucking good.” He glided into her, trying to slow down and shaking with the effort. “Have to… wait,” he groaned.

“No you don‘t,” Asta begged, “Please, Cullen,” her head hit the wall again, almost too hard.

Every movement made him harder, and he could feel himself swelling. He stopped. “I don’t want to come first,” he stammered. “What do you need?” He was sweating with the effort involved with holding back.

“You,” Asta arched against him further, only her shoulder blades and the back of her head touching the wall now. “Always you.” He moved his hand forward and stroked her gently with his thumb, trying to remember how to touch her after so long. “Harder,” she demanded, and he complied. “MOVE,” she insisted, and he did, losing himself to the rhythm, to their mutual need for each other after so long apart. She broke against his hand, and all around him, and he let himself be pushed over the edge with her release, emptying into her with a series of broken moans. He propped his head against the wall next to her own and breathed deeply, still shaking.

He laughed at last, weakly, and dropped her to the floor, too weak in the aftermath to support them both. “That was not how our reunion sex was supposed to go,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Was good,” Asta leaned against his chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I liked it.” She was shuddering with her own aftershocks, her knees barely able to hold her up.

“Should have at least had a tent or something,” he grumbled. “Instead of a dusty doorless room in the Deep Roads.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Asta reassured him. “Just having you at all is enough.” She peppered him with little kisses and he held her tighter. “Didn’t really expect to have you ever again,” she admitted. “When we met the Pure I thought it was over.”

“Yes, well, forgive me for having high standards,” he teased. “And the fact that everyone in the camp knows exactly what we just did…”

Asta let her head fall forward onto his shoulder. “Stop. You mean that…” She started to laugh heartily.

“They sent me after you,” he grinned irrepressibly. “Apparently Thom is sick of your ‘good’ dreams, and Cassandra says I don’t kiss you enough and that‘s why you are constantly yelling at me, and George insisted you were well enough for a quick…well, you know.  Sera says she won’t cheer.”

“And Dorian?”

“Wasn’t around,” Cullen shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t care that they know. I just… Maker, I’m never going this long without you again.” He shuddered. “Torture. And this was worth it.” He blushed. “I’m just sorry it wasn’t better for you. It was over far too fast.”

“It was fine,” Asta stressed. “You think it’s been any easier for me?”

“No,” Cullen admitted. “Harder, even.” He looked up at her wistfully. “But I wanted to take you somewhere quiet, and secluded…”

“This is quiet and as secluded as is safe.”

“Someplace with a view,” Cullen laughed. “I was thinking the Apostate’s Cabin on the Coast. Out of the rain.”

Asta shuddered, “I killed a demon in that cabin’s basement. I would have passed.” She held him a little tighter. “It doesn’t matter to me where,” she said gently, “As long as I have you.”

Cullen nodded thoughtfully, sighing reluctantly, “We’d better get back.”

“Not so quick,” Asta grinned. “Don’t want them to think you don’t have any willpower or stamina, do you?”

“I don’t when I’m with you,” Cullen laughed, and kissed her sweetly, lingering on her lips. “You undo me.” He kissed her again, deeper, with a longing that traveled straight to her lower abdomen.

She pulled away slightly. “Keep kissing me like that and we won’t be leaving this room for a while, Commander,” she teased.

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Cullen admitted, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Especially if it kept you from fighting the Titan.”

“Still going to fight the Titan,” Asta assured him.

“I know,” he sighed, and smiled, eyes shut. “And I’ll be your shield. Just… be careful?”

Asta laughed, “I will try not to hit my head. And not to get shot with lyrium. Anything else, Commander?”

“I think you’ve covered the basics,” Cullen pulled her in for a hug. “I just can’t lose you. Not here, not ever.”

***

_Bull,_

_Honestly, the Commander shows up and everyone is so blighted cheerful again that I could vomit. We were all about to murder each other and then he shows up with the dog and it’s all ‘ha ha ha’ and ‘We met the Nug King!’_

_Asta looks much better with him here though. It… was a very close call, Amatus. If he hadn’t come we would probably have fed her ancient potions and hoped they wouldn’t kill her. As it is, we are moving out to kill the Titan tomorrow - huzzah. Or not. Except that perhaps we will finally be able to leave this place forever and never return. As Asta says, the worst things happen at the Storm Coast. We’re probably nowhere near the Storm Coast at this point, however. How droll._

_I am so done with the Deep Roads. When I get back, I require a massage, and a mud bath, and then to be stroked all over with my special body soap - the goat’s milk one - and my sea sponge. Yes, that will do, but perhaps with a sugar scrub first, so that I‘m thoroughly exfoliated. And then oiled well, and left to sleep. For ages. In a real bed. With sheets. Silk ones, of course. My hair looks terrible with this cotton pillow thing I’ve had to deal with for so many months. I hardly want you to look at me until I can get it properly trimmed and styled. How I miss Solas’ skills.* He may have dressed like an apostate hobo, but that man knew how to cut hair. He would have made a fortune in Tevinter. Shame he decided to go for ‘apostate hobo elf with a secret cause’. What a waste._

_And then I will need someone to burn this armor. It has never been flattering and I never want to wear it again. Besides, I need something more attractive to wear to Asta’s wedding. NOT the dress uniform. I think green would look dashing - make my eyes stand out, don‘t you think? Have something made for Cole, too. And make sure he has a flower in his hat. That would be darling._

_Do you think we could hire Maryden to play something? A wedding dinner afterward would be… perfect. Not with that ham that tastes of despair, however. We need something… more hopeful. Hmm. Time enough for that after we get back. We can’t make reservations, after all, so we’ll have to make do with a tavern. Ah well, we all make sacrifices for secrecy. And of course, Cullen and Asta will be retiring early in any case. Maker, they make me sick._

_Did you find someone to take the dog yet?_

_I will write to you again after we kill the Titan._

_See you soon,_

_Dorian_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Reference to my one off 'Who Cuts the Commander's Hair?'. In which Solas is the secret reason the advisors and some of the inner circle look so damn good. It's magic.
> 
> One of my random headcanons is that Sera does yoga to keep herself limber for all the flips she has to pull off in battles. Cole does it with her, but she doesn't remember.


	99. The Sweet Duty of Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a tough one to write. Still not entirely happy with it, but going to throw it out there anyway.

Asta watched Valta interpret the ancient writings, questions running through her head. “So, the Pure aren’t the Pure, necessarily,” she started. “They are the Sha-Brytol?”

“Yes,” Valta’s face was filled with wonder. “They guard the Titan. Only the Pure can enter.”

“Well, we’re hardly that,” Asta pointed out. “What’s going to happen? Are the earthquakes a punishment?”

Dorian snorted and Valta shrugged, “I don’t know, Inquisitor. These writings are like the Wall of Memories at the Shaperate, but so much older. We’ve lost so much,” she sighed.

“As have we all,” Asta sighed. “So we go on.” Cullen braced himself against the narrow corridor’s wall, his head screaming with the lyrium’s voice, Dane pressed against him. “Cullen?” She asked, warily.

“I’ll be fine,” he spat out. “Just, Thom - would you take point? I…” Thom moved forward willingly enough. He wrapped his hand around Dane’s collar. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated, looking at Asta, still wincing. Asta nodded, reluctantly.

They reached the land bridge that had held them up for so long, and Asta stared out over it towards a spire. “I wonder what’s over there,” she mused. “Cassandra, doesn’t it look like there’s… something?”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra was firm. “I hardly think…”

“No, I want the building crew down here,” Asta insisted. “It’s all so new! We need to know whatever we can find out!”

“They’ll be wiped out,” Cassandra argued. “If _we_ can hardly…”

“They’ll be fine,” Cullen stated. “They are trained soldiers. Veterans. They’ve fought all sorts of things at this point.” He waved a scout over. “Go back to the camp,” he instructed, “and send a letter to the main camp requesting a building team.” He looked at Cassandra, “The Inquisitor is right. If we don’t find out what we can, when we can…”

“Ugh,” Cassandra threw up her arms at him. “Some of us don’t want to be down here forever, Commander.”

“Some of us don’t want to repeat history, Seeker,” Asta cut in. “We’re all sick of this place, but something… is off here. The dwarves are the Children of the Stone, and the Titans are children of the Stone, but aren’t part of the Wall of Memories? What is the connection to lyrium? We need to know these things! Paragon Garal’s book… the letters about that Forgotten War… it’s a mystery.”

“And you _love_ mysteries,” Dorian drawled, bemused. “Do you really think that building a bridge to a random rock in the middle of an underground sea is going to unlock the mysteries of the world?”

“It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen to me,” Asta pointed out. “Let’s keep moving.”

***

They reached the site they had marked for their temporary camp and spread out a bit, to eat and grab a few hours of sleep in shifts. Asta watched Cullen carefully while he paced and rubbed his neck. “Did you bring any sleeping draughts?”

“Yes,” he bit off. “But I will wait. I can endure…”

“You don’t have to,” Asta told him. “Take one. Those of us not suffering from claustrophobia and lyrium withdrawal will keep watch. Sleep, Commander. At least for a while. Who knows how much further we will need to go in.” He nodded reluctantly, and pulled the draught out of his pocket, sitting back against the wall.

“When I get back to the surface I’m never going to take one of these again,” he sighed.

“Probably wise,” Asta agreed. “It… wouldn’t be good to get dependent on something like that.” Her face was creased with worry for him. “Maybe it would have been best for you to have waited at the Legion camp.”

“It’s not that,” Cullen explained, already getting drowsy. “It’s just… I don’t like the way the sleep feels,” he slumped, eyes drifting shut. “Like it isn’t my choice.”

Asta sighed and went to meet Valta at the inscription she was puzzling over. Maybe this time there would be answers instead of more questions.

Valta frowned over the writing on the wall. “The attacks are getting worse,” she admitted. “But your Commander, he fights the Sha-Brytol like it’s personal.”

“We must be getting close to whatever they’re protecting,” Asta worried. “And it is. They use lyrium infused weapons. You probably know this, but the Chantry has used lyrium for ages to control their Templars, to keep them addicted. They claimed it increased their powers to nullify magic, to fight demons,” she sighed. “I believe that, at least. But the price the Templars pay to take it is… too expensive.” She looked at the Shaper, “He’s fighting himself, down here. Every step is a battle.”

“Hmm, ‘only the pure may pass’, nothing new there,” Valta scanned further.

“What makes the Sha-Brytol ‘pure’?” Asta asked her.

“They have sealed armor,” Valta pointed out. “Though I would suspect that was more to protect them from the raw lyrium than impurities.” She shook her head.

“We still need to stop the earthquakes,” Asta insisted. “Even if it means killing a Titan.”

“Well, this reads like a final warning,” Valta straightened, “so we must be getting close to the source.” Asta nodded in resolve.

“Then let’s get a little rest,” she smiled. “I can’t wait to meet a Titan.”

***

Several hours later they finally broke through the maze of tunnels to a natural light and they all stopped, staring around them in awe. Asta’s mouth was open. “This…” she walked over and knelt. “Plants? Trees?” Cullen relaxed for the first time since he passed through the fissure at the open spaces, and shifted his shoulders, feeling the cramps that indicated he had been too tense for too long.

“It’s so open,” he breathed, “and light.” The lyrium’s song was just as loud, but without the pressure of the close walls and ceilings of the tunnel he could almost forget it was there.

“It’s almost a sky,” Dorian mused, looking up. “No sun, though,” he sighed regretfully. “I suppose a sun would have been too much to ask.”

“What is this place?” Asta stared around her with wonder, and then focused on a tiny shrub growing out of a wall. “Dragonthorn!” she crowed excitedly. “I haven’t seen this since the Forbidden Oasis!” She plucked it quickly and stowed it in her pack, frowning at her friends. “What? If you don’t pick the herbs when you find them, you’ll never see them again,” she pointed out. “Besides, you are all alive because of all the elfroot I’ve picked over the years, so you can’t complain.”

“The troops helped,” Cullen insisted, “You sent them on enough gathering missions, after all.”

“The scouts were better at it,” Asta threw back. “Your soldiers don’t have the eye for detail that botany requires. They just kept bringing home iron. We’re drowning in iron.”  They continued to bicker amiably and wove around the ledge towards a set of stairs.

“Nothing should surprise me anymore,” Valta’s face was exalted, ignoring their teasing argument. “It’s the source of the rhythm,” She gazed at a heart-like crystal of lyrium in the middle of the large chamber. “It all comes from here. We found the source,” She looked disappointed, “But not the Titan.”

“It’s like a whole different world,” Asta corrected. “How can this even exist down here?” She thought quickly. “But Valta… the Deep Roads feel different down here. Organic!” She got excited. “We’ve been looking for the Titan the wrong way!”

“It’s huge,” Valta thought out loud, “Big enough to change the world around it…”

“We can’t see the Titan,” Asta started.

“Because we’re _inside it_!” Valta finished and the two archivists started laughing at each other.

“So all archivists are all this giddy at discoveries,” Thom shook his head in amusement.

“Honestly, you two come to the conclusion that we are inside a massive… _thing_ and dissolve in laughter,” Dorian humphed. “Some of us would prefer not to come to the conclusion that we are inside a monster.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Asta grinned, “it’s hardly a monster. Don’t you see?”

“Not really,” Dorian admitted.

“It’s alive, but it’s just protecting itself,” Valta claimed. “The Sha-Brytol, the earthquakes - it’s protecting it’s…” she stared down at the source. “It’s heart,” she breathed.

“And this is a whole civilization that lives within the Titan,” Asta breathed. “This is groundbreaking, Valta!”

Just then the next round of Sha-Brytol stepped up. “If I don’t live,” Valta threw at Asta, “Orzamaar needs to know the truth!” She faced them, weapon drawn, “Don’t make us fight you!” She pleaded, to no avail. They attacked anyway and the small group took them down quickly enough. “This is a tragedy.” Asta nodded sadly.

“Bride of the Maker,” Cassandra cursed, “You two have the worst bleeding hearts I’ve ever seen. These dwarves have been trying to kill you for weeks. You nearly died, Asta, when you were attacked by those things. And you are grieving their loss?”

“In their minds, we attacked first,” Asta pointed out. “The dwarves and the lyrium mines,” her face shone. “No, the lyrium _veins_. Every earthquake, every attack was a counter attack. Their duty is to protect the Titan, and we were attacking, approaching.” She took a deep breath, “Mining.”

Valta nodded in awe, and marched over to another inscription. “This is the only one here,” she scanned it quickly. “This confirms it. “The path of purity, and Titan’s Blood! The Sha-Brytol come here to drink it.“

Cullen groaned. “Lyrium. Lyrium is Titan’s blood.” He looked sick at the thought.  All those years...

Asta breathed out hard, “Every nation on the surface buys lyrium, Valta. Orzamaar’s entire economy is based on the trade!” She met Cullen’s eyes, dumbfounded.  "Are you okay, Cullen?"

"I may vomit," he mumbled, green around the gills.  "This is... disgusting."

“This is bigger than any one nation,” Valta insisted. The world shook around them all, and Cullen’s face paled.

“We have to stop this,” he yelled over the rumbles, his mind pulled away from the lyrium's origins with the imminent threat.

“Quick! Get to its… heart!” Asta yelled back. They dashed across the final bridge towards the blue glowing center and skidded to a stop before it. It released a single pulse into Valta, and she flew backwards almost to the bridge. “Valta!” Asta cried out. The woman started to stand, shaking her head, and then laid back down and curled up slightly. “No…” Asta crumpled. And then the rumbling got a whole lot worse. Asta turned her head slowly, and watched what appeared to be a rock monster with lyrium veins assemble behind her. She raised her hands slowly to show she had not drawn her weapons.

“Holy Andraste, Bride of the Maker,” Cullen prayed, despairing. “Preserve us in our hour of need.”  Dane whined and pressed against him, eyes huge at the enormous thing forming before them.

“You can say that again,” Cassandra’s eyes were as round as platters. “Asta, back up.”

“We’re not here to hurt you!” Asta attempted. “We just have to stop the earthquakes. People are getting hurt!”

“Asta,” Cullen ordered, “You can’t negotiate with it! Back off!” She listened at last, retreating slowly, with her hands still raised.

The massive thing brought up a rock limb and attempted to crush her, Cullen sliding in front of her, shield up, only at the last minute. “Get back!” he ordered again. “Or I will carry you.”  Dane attempted to pull her backwards by her sleeve with ineffectual tugs.

Asta sighed, resigned. “I’ll fight,” she allowed, and drew her daggers. “Not that that isn’t tempting, Commander,” she was recovering herself quickly. “You know how I love to play in your hair.” He glared at her weakly, still holding the thing off.

“Make it quick,” he suggested, and Asta pecked his cheek.

“That’s for luck,” she grinned. “Thank you for the shield.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can we fight this thing?”  Dane barked excitedly.

“Until it’s dead,” Asta agreed, and ran off. “Dodge the leg things!” She ordered. “Vivienne, barriers! And yes, I know it’s your first rock monster! BARRIERS! Dorian - try stuff,” she suggested. “Who knows what will work on this thing? Sera! Flip around and shoot at it!  Dane - remember to dodge, not catch!”

“Probably NOT necromancy!” Dorian offered. “I really don’t want to bring this back from the dead in any case.”

Asta smiled back at Cullen. “You tell the others what to do,” she smirked, “obviously shields are a good plan. What else?”

“It doesn’t have a flank!” He laughed absurdly in the face of almost certain death, drunk on her smile. “It’s made of lyrium, so magic resistant! So that won’t work. I’d suggest… hitting it with sharp objects!”

“Oh, Cully-Wully, I like your plans!” Sera crowed. “Arrows!” She let a stream fly from a distance and then dodged the flailing leg thing. “Oops! That was a close one!”

Asta stopped for just a minute. “You mean I can actually help with this one?”

“Sharp things and traps are your specialty,” Cullen offered, blocking another flailing leg from hitting Thom’s flank. “Watch your back, Thom.”

“Likewise, Commander,” Cassandra jumped in. “I wonder if I can set the lyrium on fire?” She mused.

“For Maker’s sake, _try it_ ,” Asta urged. “This thing is brutal!” She dodged awkwardly. “Definitely still not moving fast enough. Stupid injury,” she fumed.

A small puff of something came up from the creature and Cassandra smiled in victory. “I can, but it doesn’t do much damage,” she offered.  "Too much protection, perhaps?"

“Better than nothing,” Cullen grunted and bashed a leg away. “If you want to try a trap or throwing some daggers I’ll cover you,” he yelled at Asta.

“Okay! Going in!” She slid under his shield and laid down three traps in quick succession while he drew the attention and ire of the legs. “Done!” She laughed, “Sure wish we had some bees about now!”

“Ask and you shall receive!” Cullen tossed a jar at the creature. “Back off everyone!”

“I love you!” Asta nearly fell over with her glee. “Is it panicking, though?”  The creature continued to flail about, it's legs moving in a complicated pattern that the warriors danced away from expertly.

“I’d say that’s an educated ‘no’,” Cullen lunged sideways. “But on the other hand, it’s laying its own traps now! Run!” he yelled, as the glowing circles started to appear on the stone floor.

“Lyrium traps?” Asta took off an a slightly uneven lope. “I’ve got to tell Varric about this. He’ll shit his pants!” 

Cassandra laughed at the truth of the statement.  "He will never be able to write this story!  No one will believe it!"

“I’m going in!” Vivienne yelled. “Dorian, you are on barriers!” She wove into the fray, dropping in and out of the Veil, like a shimmering goddess of death and destruction. “Truly, I’m better off in the melee!” Her first impact shattered a leg and they all sighed with relief. “It can be hurt! Keep it up!” The mage insisted.

“Gladly,” Dorian gritted his teeth. “Asta, I’ve got nothing besides. I’ll keep them up from here.”

“Thanks, Dorian,” Asta shouted back.

It was a hard slog, even worse than the last dragon he and Bull had fought, and it was almost over when Cullen went down to a flailing leg while he was dodging a rock spike that had come up from underneath him. His shield was knocked out of his hands and he reached for it, just as Vivienne sliced another limb from the main body. A spray of blue liquid was released, and Dorian, closer than he should have been, sprung in front of Cullen. The raw lyrium hit him, and he went down, drops burning into his cheek and shoulder. He fell, and Asta screamed, raw and wordless.

She ran to his side, enemy forgotten and stared in his dazed eyes, glazing over with shock.  "Dorian?  Dorian!"  She moved his chin so that he was staring at her.  "Don't leave me, Dorian.  Maker, NO!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still the happier version. Don't stress out. All will be well.


	100. Answered Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Still breathing? It'll be okay, I swear. Would I lie? (Insert Varric-like grin here.)
> 
> More letters! Enjoy!

She fed him a health potion, looking at his clouding eyes. “Fucking Maker!” she sobbed, “You aren’t going to take him. YOU AREN’T!” She screamed again and slammed her hand into his armor, the armor he hated so much, that he had described as 'as flattering as a potato-sack and twice as lumpy'.  Cullen focused on the battle, letting her and Dane drag the mage to safety, finding unnatural strength in her pain. The warriors and Vivienne sliced and hacked away, and the creature finally gave up, somehow reabsorbed back into the Titan once more.

By the time they could all breathe again, Dorian was conscious, but confused. “How did we get back to the surface?” He frowned petulantly and struggled to sit up. “Where is the rain? Did we come up somewhere other than the Storm Coast?” He held his head. “I don’t remember anything. Why don’t I remember? Is Bull here?” He grabbed at Asta urgently. “Find Bull. Something is _wrong_ with me.”  Cassandra made her way through the rubble towards them, and crouched down, concentrating.

Asta spoke gently, still crying, so relieved but still scared. “You got splashed with a few drops of raw lyrium during the battle, Dorian. Don’t you remember?”

“ _No!”_ Dorian stressed. “Lyrium? Battle? I should be dead." He refocused on her, "Asta, am I dying? Tell the truth, is that why I can’t remember?”

“He is not dying,” Cassandra vowed. “He has lyrium poisoning, yes, but it is likely he will regain his memories in time.” The Seeker knelt next to him. “He will recover.”

Dorian stared in shock at the burn the lyrium had left on his bare shoulder. “Is that… a burn?” He asked in horror. “Where else was I hit?  What were we fighting?"

Asta hesitated, and looked at Cullen over her shoulder, still panting from the exertion of the fight. “On your cheek.”

Dorian paled, aghast, “I need a mirror.”

“None of us have a mirror, Dorian,” Asta started. “We’re in the middle of a Titan and a far ways away from camp.” Valta started to moan and move in the distance. “I’ll be right back. You are going to be okay.”

“Easy for you to say,” Dorian grumbled. “You haven’t been permanently disfigured.”  He glared at Cullen, "How bad is it?  Don't mince words."  When Cullen didn't respond immediately he went even greyer.  "Oh, Maker, I must be hideous."

“Valta? You were hit by lyrium - are you…” Asta was knocked on her ass by a sudden force emanating from the dwarf. “Valta!” The companions all stopped and stared as the dwarf recollected herself. “Valta, that was a spell. Dwarves can’t do magic,” Asta stated what should be obvious and shook her head. “This day is only getting stranger.”

“It wasn’t a spell,” Valta hung her head slightly. “It was an accident. I’m… in control now. It won’t happen again.” She stood, shakily, but managed all the same.

“Right,” Cullen bit off. “A dwarf doing magic.” He shook his head and leaned down to help Dorian up. “Asta, everything that happens to you is weird.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” Asta marveled. “Valta, what happened?! Was that rock thing the Titan? Did we kill it?” She was unsure whether to hope or despair that they did.

Valta shook her head in reassurance, “No. The Titan is calm now. It… recognized me. Like a parent recognizes a child’s voice. That was… a guardian. But it should be okay. The earthquakes will stop,” she insisted. “My presence soothes the Titan, the voice of one of its children.”

“Valta, the dwarves are the children of the Stone, not children of the Titans. Are you saying…”

“I don’t know!” Valta enthused. “There’s so much to learn. But if I stay, the song will tell me eventually! All the answers are here, Inquisitor.” Her face shone blissfully.

“Valta, when you found Paragon Garal’s book at the other Thaig…” Asta hesitated, a little scared to ask. “Is this what happened?”

“Yes,” Valta confirmed. “But Titans do not disturb easily. They haven’t stirred for a thousand years. And now I am here. It will be all right, Inquisitor.”

Asta shook her head, “We need to get you examined. The surgeon, back at camp…”

“I’m not leaving,” Valta said gently. “I need to stay. You understand, Inquisitor. I am called to the seeking, as are you. And my answers are here. Answers to questions that we didn‘t even know to ask!”

Asta’s brow creased. “I hate to be hopelessly practical in the face of finding certain knowledge, but what will you eat? Where will you live?”

“I have my stone sense,” Valta smiled. “I will be fine.”

“Valta, is mining lyrium safe?” But the dwarf was wandering away, staring at her surroundings in even more wonder.

Dorian spoke, shakily, “It is her choice, Inquisitor. And I… want to see the sun again. Can we go?”

Asta nodded, reluctantly, but knowing that she needed to see her friend safe. “Take care, Valta,” Asta told her, wistfully. “I‘m leaving with more questions than answers again, I see.” Her mouth twisted wryly.

The Shaper smiled, “I hope you find your answers someday, too, Inquisitor.” Cullen and Cassandra started to lead Dorian away from the center of the Titan.

Asta started to follow, and stopped. “Orzamaar is going to want to know what happened to you,” she paused, unwilling to look back, lest she decide to stay as well. Her answers weren‘t down here, she reminded herself. “What should I tell them?”

Valta nearly laughed. “Tell them the truth, Inquisitor.” She looked all around her again, seeing beauty that the others couldn’t see. “Tell them you don’t know.”

Asta nodded, and left the dwarf alone with her questions and the answers to them all, more than a little envious. But she would find her answers someday. She hoped.

***

_Bull,_

_I don’t want you to freak out, but Dorian has been injured. He got sprayed by pure lyrium during the battle with the Titan and has… lost a few minor memories. Our surgeon is treating him, and… well, he’s hopeful. It didn’t kill him outright, even though he’s a mage, so his prognosis is good._

_I’m very sorry. I wish I had never brought him without you. I feel like the worst person in the world, letting my best friend, a brother, really, be injured and hurting you, in turn._

_He remembers you, of course, and demanded to see you as soon as he regained consciousness. We’re heading back to the surface, slowly, but we are definitely on our way out. Perhaps you can arrange to meet us? I’m sure it would help him recover. Apparently mages can recover from lyrium memory loss. We are very lucky that George, our surgeon, took the time to learn from Ellandra about such things._

_He’s sitting right now, staring at the sweater you had made for him. He’s been wearing that thing all over the Deep Roads. I thought you should know, since he’d probably never tell you himself._

_Sorry again,_

_Asta_

***

Bull,

I know that Asta’s letter is likely all apology with her guilt feelings mixed in, so here are the facts. Dorian has lost a few memories - it doesn’t appear to be anything crucial. Just inconvenient. There was nothing any of us could do.

In fact, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Dorian jumped into the spray when it should have hit me. He sacrificed himself for me, to keep the lyrium - just a few drops - from hitting me, and probably killing me. He deserves a medal, but has no recollection of the event or battle at all. The lyrium that was pumping into the Titan - its blood, as it turned out - was extremely disorienting, but that is no excuse. I shouldn’t have been there at all. Asta was right - the Deep Roads are absolutely the worst place in the world for me, exacerbated by the fact that Titan blood is lyrium.

It makes me more than a little sick honestly. It doesn’t matter how processed it is, that lyrium is blood - all mages that take lyrium are a sort of blood mage, to my way of thinking. Disturbing, to say the least.

We got back to camp and Asta took all the bottles we had left and threw them off a nearby ledge, one by one. I think Orzamaar is not going to get much assistance with finding new lyrium markets from the Inquisition. She is unsure whether or not it’s even safe to mine the stuff right now, as the expert on the subject is now living inside the Titan.

Long story. Buy me an ale back at Skyhold and I’ll tell it. Not as well as Varric, but still… it’s quite a story.

Physically Dorian is fine. His magical skills are also fine, except that apparently he no longer remembers how to cast a barrier. That will come back with study, he assures us, even if it doesn’t return on its own. He doesn’t remember how to groom his moustache. I hope you don’t mind. He is horrified, and probably would be casting some lightening spell on me right now if he knew what I was writing. I think he is questioning whether you will still find him attractive. He has two very minor scars on one cheek, and one on his left shoulder from where the lyrium burned him. It acted a bit like acid that way.

I tried to reassure him that people find scars sexy, and he told me that I was straight, and therefore could not be believed. Asta towed me away jealously at that point, so I didn’t get to try again. I think she misunderstood my intentions.  I was only trying to make him feel better, I swear.

I hope you can meet us. Asta told me that she was going to ask you. I think it would be best for Dorian. His self esteem has taken a blow. Possibly you are the only person that can restore it.

Should we be concerned about the Divine arresting Asta and I for crimes against the Chantry when we emerge?

Sincerely,

Cullen

***

_Amatus,_

_I’m sure that those two well-meaning ‘friends’ of mine are spilling all my new secrets. Know this: I am hideous. I hope Ellandra can remove the scars, or I may be forced to hide myself behind a mask forever, like the Orlesians. And I will have to find clothing with shoulders. I expect you will miss the muscles._

_We will not discuss the moustache. That… that wound is just too raw. If my memories do not return I can never go home again._

_On the other hand, they tell me I saved Cullen’s life. Not surprising, so noble as I am. So perhaps I deserve a reward for my heroism. Do you still have the presents you bought for me?_

_We should be back on the surface soon. Perhaps I will have healed by then and the disfigurement will not be so apparent. Despite my gruesome appearance it will be lovely to see you. Perhaps you will not be too put off? I can hardly believe I would be that lucky. You love me because I’m handsome. And… I’m hardly that any longer._

_I will understand if this is the end of us, my Amatus. I will think of you forever._

_Nobly yours,_

_Dorian_

***

Dear Varric,

We are headed back to the surface after not fighting a Titan, but some sort of odd Guardian of the Titan. It was made of rocks and lyrium. The Shaper we were with… well, honestly Varric, I cannot do the story justice. You will wish you had come after all, missing a story like this. But it involves a dwarf doing magic, and Dorian being the hero of the hour, and Vivienne being a better warrior than any of the actual warriors. She was… magnificent. Like something out of tales of old. I am proud to know her.

My plans remain the same, and in addition, I have a couple of gifts for you. You have given me enough gifts, of books and flowers, and other than a lock of my hair, I have not returned the favor.

I suspect if the weather is fair (I know it will not be.) then I can be in Kirkwall in a matter of weeks. I am rather excited. I hope… you are excited as well. It has been a long time since we have seen each other and many things can change when people are apart for too long.

Cullen and Asta are going to return to Skyhold, assuming that the Most Holy does not have them arrested as soon as they emerge from the fissure. From there, I imagine they will have much to do before they can travel to Halamshiral and take advantage of all these plans everyone has been weaving around them. I hope they find their happiness.

But for now, I am seeking mine. I will see you soon.

Love,

Cassandra

***

_Cullen,_

_Oh, I’ll be there. Kadan with scars? That sounds incredibly hot. Figures he wouldn’t believe you. Don’t worry, I have plans. He’ll believe me._

_I’ll meet you all at the fissure. Make sure he doesn’t know I’m coming. Like I said, I have plans. Been thinking about them for months. This is going to be great.  I'll have to make sure that we're a ways out of camp.  Probably going to get a bit loud.  I'll bring a bucket - though it rains all the time anyway there._

_As for the Divine, I haven’t seen anything to indicate that she’s even taken out a contract on your life. Actually, she has made some announcements that I’m sure Asta will be interested in.  Perhaps she's had a change of heart._

_Harding will meet you at the Legion camp. She’ll update you both on the state of the Inquisition. You two will be pleasantly surprised for once. Things didn’t fall apart while you were gone. Asta will probably pass out from shock._

_Josie, however, is starting to freak out. Big time.  You should probably plan on getting back to Skyhold. Be prepared to deal with a very upset Ambassador._

_See you in a week or two._

_Bull_

 


	101. Communication

_Asta,_

_I have apologies to make, to both you and Cullen. I… almost lost myself. If Cullen hadn’t told me no, I would have continued on a very dark path. A path that I could not escape from so easily. I’m sure that he will not read any letter I write to him, so please, extend my sorrow to him._

_You two do not deserve to be controlled the way I was attempting. I know that my words are inadequate, and that I will have to earn your trust back - if indeed I ever had it. I remember a few suggestions at Skyhold that make me wonder if I did._

_Mother Dorothea would be very disappointed in me. She let me go, released me, but I had to learn for myself, after all. The hard way, as has been true more often in my life than I would like to admit. Perhaps I will be able to re-earn your respect, in time, with holding my ideals a little closer to my heart and fighting for what is right, rather than what is easy._

_I want a better Thedas, one where the Chant is sung from all corners of the world - but violence and fear is_ _no way to reach that goal. I assure you that I am redirecting my focus, and as a result, have offered Vivienne the role of my Right Hand. She is forthright to a fault, an expert Game-player, and her appointment will ruffle a few feathers that need to be fluffed aggressively. I think ruffled feathers are going to be in this season! Too many people think they control me here. I am only accountable to the Maker and Andraste - and to my friends, whom I have been taking for granted for too long._

_Charter has fled the city, I assume to rejoin Veilfire. But I… will find my own Left Hand this time. Unless the Commander is willing to part with Loranil? I’m joking, I swear. I hear good things about Spymaster Harding. Good choice there. I didn’t realize her own networks were so extensive. She has knowledge that is new to me. I can see I’ll have to watch your correspondence well._

_I wish you luck in your impending nuptials. Of course I know. I might as well tell you that I’m a Jenny from way back - before the Blight, even. I’m only saddened now that I have made it so that I cannot participate. There is no room for the Divine in your plans, and it is my own fault. Giselle had many choice words for me when she informed me that she was going to perform the ceremony._

_I’ve heard it said that we don’t die until we stop learning. I obviously have a long life still ahead of me, since I have still so much to learn._

_One last question, and I will not take up any more of your time. Do you want me to rescind your excommunication? Cullen mentioned it, in his last letter. I did not think that it bothered you. But technically, as you are not a member of the Chantry, your wedding could be considered dubious, from a legal point of view, at least. But for you, who was once my friend, I will offer the option. Let me know. Consider it a wedding gift - from me, not the Divine._

_With regret,_

_Leliana_

***

Asta read the letter at the camp in the Deep Roads where they were packing up slowly, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of crap they had managed to pick up in their exploration. Cullen sat next to her, diligently polishing his armor and shield of rust and blood. “Cullen,” she breathed, stunned, and handed it to him. He scanned it, his eyes widening. “What do you think?”

“The emotion seems genuine,” he noted, handing the letter back. “I would say she is sincere in her apologies. And Vivienne is a good choice. She’ll look good in the armor, too. I wouldn‘t have thought Giselle would be that willing, though.” He barked a laugh, “Makes you wonder how involved the plans for our day have gotten on the surface. Do you know?”

“Not that,” Asta shoved him. “I mean the offer to rescind…”

Cullen shrugged, “Doesn’t matter to me. You?”

“If she does, it might mean I’m a Sister again,” Asta bit her lip anxiously. “Bound by all the vows I took as an initiate.”

“Then say no,” he turned back to his shield and gave it another quick swipe with the rag.

“But if I don’t, our marriage could be considered invalid,” she argued.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Asta, as far as I am concerned, you were never bound by your vows,” he pointed out. “You took them at a time when you had no other options, under duress, even. I can’t imagine that you being a Sister ever was something you poured yourself into, even if you ever had faith.” He looked at her carefully. “So there is only one question,” he continued, “Does it matter to you if the Maker and Andraste bless our union? Because I’m pretty sure that they brought you to me. That’s the only reason we aren’t getting married at sea, or that I didn’t kidnap you like the Avvar do. I think they already have blessed us, but getting married in the Chantry is a way I would like to say ‘Thank You’. It has very little to do with your personal beliefs. You’re barely Andrastian.”

“You aren’t helping,” Asta muttered, staring at the offer before her. “And if you just want to say ‘Thank you’ why didn’t you just light a candle, say a chant and get on with it?”

“Because I want to make sure they hear my promises to you,” Cullen blushed, almost imperceptibly. “So that they know I’m taking their gift very seriously indeed.” His voice got a little lower with his embarrassment.

“Hmmm,” Asta frowned. “I’ll have to think about it. You don‘t want me to just become Andrastian again because you are? Because it would make things easier?”

Cullen scowled, “Absolutely not. That defeats the purpose of faith, of belief, and even of love. You shouldn’t do anything just because I want it, or because it makes it easier. Nothing that is right comes easy.” He nudged her gently. “You should know that by now, Inquisitor.”

“Maybe I just needed a reminder,” Asta smiled and pecked his cheek. “I’m going to go talk to Vivienne.”

***

 

_Knight-Enchanter Vivienne,_

_Your persistent erudition in the Circles in which you studied, your ranks as both a First Enchanter at the Montsimmard Circle and as a Knight-Enchanter, and your exemplary service for the Inquisition has brought you to the notice of the Chantry._

_In recognition of all these things, the Sunburst Throne is pleased to extend you the honor of the position as the Right Hand of the Divine. Please send your reply as soon as possible to the Cathedral in Val Royeaux. We will take care of the necessary arrangements for your new role._

_Congratulations, Knight-Enchanter. I look forward to working with you._

_The Most Holy,_

_Divine Victoria_

***

Vivienne’s smile was genuine and brilliant, even as she posed, non-chalant, against the wall. Asta read the letter and beamed at her. “I can’t imagine anyone better for the position, Vivienne. A mage as the Right Hand was what I wanted all along.”

“Great things are truly happening, my dear,” Vivienne took the letter back. “But I had thought the Divine was set on the Commander?”

Asta laughed, “He told her a few choice truths. She seems to have taken them to heart. You will be a perfect Right Hand, devoted to tradition and yet departing from it. I’m thrilled for you.” Asta air-kissed her cheeks, her hands on her shoulders, a salutation that the Knight-Enchanter returned. “You’ll do wonderful things, Vivienne. I have every faith in you.” Asta paused. “I suppose this means you’ll be leaving for Val Royeaux when we get back?” She smirked, “I’ll miss your arcane sword against the next dragon, and Resurgence. Do you know how often you’ve saved our asses?”

“Of course, my dear,” Vivienne arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “I’m keeping a running count. And don‘t be vulgar. You have a reputation to uphold.”

“Yes, Madame,” Asta smiled impishly. “I’ll miss you, too. Somebody has to tell me when I’m letting down the team.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll add to Josie’s duties. I bet she would be good at it.”

***

“Cassandra, what is that?!” Asta stared in horror at the object wrapped in burlap amongst the Seeker’s personal possessions.

“Don’t touch it!” Cassandra dove in front of her. “Not without gloves, at least.” The Seeker blushed. “It is a present for Varric.”

“Cass,” Asta started slowly, “Are you bringing Varric one of the Sha-Brytol’s lyrium-infused crossbows?”

Cassandra blushed deeper. “I could not repair Bianca, though I'm taking him the pieces,” she admitted. “It seemed the least I could do. I cannot imagine what he is making do with in Kirkwall, and I fear for his life.”

Asta smiled and rooted in her pack. “Here, give these to him too, then.” She tossed a pair of gauntlets at her and the Seeker caught them efficiently. “They were part of their protective armor,” she explained. “At least that way he can touch it without causing too much trouble?” She raised an eyebrow. “I think Thom kept an entire set - maybe you should barter with him for the whole thing?”

“That is… a good plan,” Cassandra breathed out. “I was going to warn him, but this is better. Thank you, Inquisitor.” She paused, “Why were you keeping the gloves?”

Asta smiled sheepishly, “I’m kind of grossed out by lyrium now. And I thought that having protective gloves might cushion that, since it’s likely I’ll have to handle it again. But your - or Varric’s need - is greater.”

The Seeker barked a laugh hoarsely. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Asta moved in and hugged her impulsively. Cassandra returned it awkwardly. “I will miss you,” Asta sighed. “But I hope you two will be very happy.”

“I think it is too soon to assume such things, my friend,” Cassandra declared. “But we intend to try, all the same.” She drew back, “What was in your letter from the Most Holy?”

Asta hesitated, “She has offered to rescind my excommunication.”

Cassandra humphed, suspiciously, “With what caveats?”

Asta shrugged, “She didn’t mention any. I have to write back and ask, I suppose. I won’t do it if I end up a Sister again. That is not my path. But… it means a lot to Cullen, to be married in the Chantry. If I’m not technically Andrastian…” she sighed. “I just need to ask I suppose.”

“You do believe in the Maker,” Cassandra paused, “but only you know where your faith lies. Whether you need to belong to the Chantry at all, whether your conscience demands it. You told me you follow your conscience, that it guides you. What does it say now?”

“I have no idea,” Asta sighed, “It’s been horribly quiet lately. I think it’s decided that the Chantry is not my problem,” she added wryly.

“Well, then it isn’t your problem,” Cassandra concluded. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of her offer. Do you want to?”

“Maybe? Sort of?” Asta threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know. I always know what I want, but this… is too complicated.”

“Perhaps you should let Leliana decide,” Cassandra suggested. “She is the Divine, after all.” She turned away and wrapped up the crossbow securely. “You should finish packing. None of us wants to be down here a minute more than we have to.”

Asta smirked at her, “And you have a dwarf waiting for you in Kirkwall.”

Cassandra blushed and smiled shyly, “There is that, yes.”

“I’ll hurry up then,” Asta glided away graciously. “Don’t want you to keep from getting some, after all!”

“Inquisitor!” The Seeker yelled after her. “You shouldn’t say such things!”

“Someone has to!”

***

_Divine Victoria,_

Asta paused over the parchment, and decided to be brutally honest. No Games, no misleading. If Leliana was sincere, she would answer her in kind. She owed her that. Probably.

_I admit that I am having a difficult time trusting that you have no ulterior motives in the offer to rescind my excommunication. And I’m not sure I want you to do it all. Questions run through my mind - hardly surprising, I know. I am the Inquisitor, after all. Questions are my field._

_Will I be a Sister again, bound by vows I took at a time when I had no other options? Will you use that new chain to pull me into your service? Will I still be able to keep the Inquisition as a separate entity from the Chantry if I am once again a member? If I decline, will Cullen and I be unable to marry in the Chantry? It is important to him._

She stopped again and took a deeper breath. The whole truth. Let Leliana hear it, and then decide if she wanted to have Asta anywhere near the Chantry she was rebuilding.

_I’m going to confess quite a few things now, and I want you to hear them, and then tell me if you think that I have a place in the Southern Chantry. That should happen before I allow myself to be pulled back into a religion that my lover, friends and (former) family are so deeply involved with. And perhaps I need a more independent opinion than that of Cullen or Cassandra. One tells me that I should do what I want and the other asks me complicated questions about faith and conscience that I can’t answer._

_First of all, I don’t believe Andraste was divine. She was not a god, though I can conceive the possibility that she had a unique soul, like the Avvar believe can return. I don’t believe that this negates the validity of the Chant at all. Andraste did amazing things and no one denies that. Possibly all the gods that Thedas has worshipped and revered over the years had the exact same sort of soul, from the elvhen pantheon to the Old Gods. I find it likely that Andraste is just the most recent incarnation - people need something to hold as a higher standard - and her personal mission and great life achievements led to her reverence after her death by martyrdom. A sort of hero worship, if you will. I have a bit of experience with that. In a thousand years will people be lighting a candle to me? Perish the thought. It happened to Hessarian - he has a whole cult. Nice people, really - Ivor of the Blades helped Cullen fight the dragon at the Storm Coast. They bonded a bit. But I digress._

_Next, I believe she was a mage. This doesn’t contradict the Northern Chantry’s teachings at all - it is core to their beliefs. Whether or not that can keep me out of the Southern Chantry largely depends on your continued reforms, I expect. I suspect that Andraste was possessed by a spirit. Of what, it hardly matters. Righteousness? Equality? I have no idea, but hope to find out. And when I do, I will not keep it quiet to make the Chantry more comfortable. I also find it likely that she was the slave of one of the seven original magisters to breach the Golden City and cause the Blight - involved in the attempt directly._

_I ask you - what else would have caused such an incredible amount of guilt for her to spend the rest of her life pouring out her remorse to the Maker? To the extent where even He sat up and took notice? To cause her to run away from that life to the Alamarri? To rebel against an entire Imperium? To free an entire race from their chains? She was either driven by a spirit - much like Anders was - or trying to atone for something drastic._

_She was an elf, and an arcane warrior. She had children - possibly out of wedlock - with Shartan. Those children - and even one of her adopted sons - fled for their lives after her death by burning and sword. She destroyed their family records in order to keep them safe - she was wise, and a good mother. I also believe that Maferath was likely possessed by Envy or Spite. Not that he wasn’t responsible for his actions, but that should be taken into account when you are determining whether or not I have a place in the Chantry after the last few years. The Great Betrayer, in the end, was likely betraying himself as well._

_At the end of the day, do I_ want _to belong again? I hardly know. There is a freedom here, on the other side of the stained glass and altars. There are things I miss, but I have largely found ways around them in the last few years. The library at Skyhold is extensive - I‘ve done a good job with it. But without being a Sister, perhaps that freedom would continue, even while I have the opportunity to say a portion of the Chant without feeling like I‘m blaspheming. But perhaps, really, I’ll never fit in and should just quit trying at all…_

_So answer my questions, Leliana, and then I will answer yours. I’m sure you have them. We are heading back to the surface - having once again saved Thedas. We should probably meet again and discuss the use of lyrium, as well - I can foresee many debates about this with the College, the remnants of the Templars, and the Seekers and yourself. Maker, what a mess. The truth of where it comes from, well, it’s not what we thought. Even Dagna and Bianca had it only partly right._

_Say a Chant for Dorian. His memories are slightly askew, due to a thankfully minor accident with raw lyrium. It could have been far worse. We were very lucky._

_On another personal note, Cullen and I accept your apology. I know how easy it is to lose yourself - I have been on the verge many times in my life. The first occurred when I had to take vows. Again when I woke up in Haven being called the Herald of Andraste. Being the Inquisitor has centered me in a way that I didn’t think was possible, but after Thom’s confession I nearly lost myself again. I fight every day against the darker side of my soul, the one that calls out for revenge, for retribution against everything I had to go through in order to make it this far. It has made me judge people harshly that I shouldn’t have, and I regret it every moment. We both have long lives ahead of us, my friend, if we can’t die until we finish learning._

_In the end, I think I would like to be married in the Chantry, if you will allow that. I have no doubt that if you decide you won’t, our marriage will be annulled. We’ll look into other options, in that case, though we will go through with the ceremony we have planned. Cullen wants to express his gratitude to the Maker and our friends appear to have gone to a lot of trouble. If you could attend, but not officiate, I’m sure I speak for both of us when we say we would like you to be there. It will involve a lot of sneaking, I suspect, since the Jennies are going to get us in through the kitchens of the Winter Palace, just like old times. Can you find a reasonable excuse to travel to Halamshiral? I’m sure your new Right Hand will accompany you._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was a filler chapter today. Had to happen!
> 
> Also, I know the lyrium-infused weapons in question are more rifle-looking than a crossbow, but outside of the Qun, I'm pretty sure no one else has anything like that - and they might only have cannons? The lore isn't clear. So I'm trying to be faithful to their point of view.


	102. Rain on my Face

Leliana read the letter and smiled.It was good to be forgiven. That said…

_Dear Asta,_

_You might be interested in that I’ve recently announced my intention to allow all Sisters, Brothers and Mothers to marry. Because you are right, my friend - there is nothing in the Chant about celibacy. Believe me, I’ve spent the last several months having our scholars dig into every line and there is nothing there, aside from the ‘spiritual marriage to the Maker‘ that certain groups have supported over the years. Bullshit, as Cassandra would say. I also have no intention of having you serve that way. You are better where you are. You’ve found a higher calling and I respect that. I will not ask you to be my Left Hand again._

_You bring up some interesting points about Andraste. None of which strictly negates the possibility of you being Andrastian, except perhaps that you don’t believe she was divine. Do you believe she returned to the Maker’s side? You’ve said before you believe in the Maker. If she was involved with the attempt on the Golden City… that does make me pause in fear of the repercussions. But I, like you, want the truth. No more lies. So when you find your evidence, tell me, please._

_As for whether I would prevent you from being married in the Chantry - I will not. Nor will have your ceremony annulled. Much like Cullen, I believe that Andraste intended you for each other, and who am I to stand in the way of Andraste? Not to mention Cullen’s gratitude. Do you think he’ll cry? He didn’t after Corypheus… but this is different. Perhaps I’ll start a betting pool. I bet Varric will give me good odds._

_I have an excellent reason to travel to Halamshiral. However, I do not want that reason to intrude upon your day. I’ll see what I can do. But I would suggest you complete your plans in the next few months, unless you want to be surrounded by representatives of every country in Southern Thedas during a session of the Exalted Council. Because it’s happening, Asta. I have to hold one. Too much has changed, and more is going to change, and I require you to be present. And it’s going to happen at Halamshiral. Sometime in late summer. With luck, you and I will be able to prevent an Exalted March. We are united in the wish to avoid that, at least._

_Welcome back to the surface. I am sorry I ever doubted you would return. I remember the Deep Roads from my time with the Queen, and the danger... But I am glad that I was wrong, and that you offer your forgiveness so freely. I do not deserve it. But perhaps that is why grace is a gift - it is never deserved._

_I hope to see you soon. The lyrium issue does sound like something to discuss in the Council. Already the agenda is about twenty pages long. It will take forever to cover everything from the College of Enchanters to the replacement of the Templars… and we have over half a year for things to be added. Bring a cushion - the chairs at Halamshiral leave much to be desired and you will be front and center for most of it. Good shoes for standing in will be absolutely necessary._

_And comfort Josie when you get back to Skyhold. She’s already panicking about the council, and she has been very upset about our recent disagreements. I’m afraid you have disappointed her because you wouldn’t just fall in with the Chantry line, and then she was trying to hold the Inquisition together with Harding and Rylen because the Commander took off after you… you should probably bring her a present to smooth things over with her. Possibly alcohol. I have rarely seen her so infuriated, with the exception of that time you and Sera rigged her door with a bucket. You seem to have a gift for upsetting your Ambassador. Perhaps you should try to keep that in check until after the Exalted Council? She is your best weapon in that battle, trust me._

_Your friend,_

_Leliana_

***

“Told you she always comes back!” Harding smacked the Legionnaire in the stomach with her gauntlet, making the burly dwarf grunt involuntarily. “Pay up!” She smiled at the Inquisitor and Commander with relief in her eyes. “It’s great to see you, both of you! Josephine might actually quit writing to me everyday with her list of complaints now that you are back, Inquisitor.”

“Well, it’s nice to be needed,” Asta drawled out. “How much does he owe you?”

“20 sovereigns,” Harding laughed. “I knew you’d be back. If an Avvar god couldn’t kill you there wasn’t anything in the Deep Roads that could have.”

“Yes, well, you might be surprised,” Dorian said. “Asta, is there any reason we need to delay our return to the surface?” The mage, still suffering from memory loss, had been increasingly insistent about getting back to the Storm Coast and Skyhold.

“Harding?” Asta referred the question back to her. “Anything crucial I need to take care of here?”

“Absolutely not!” The dwarf chirped. “Just some mail,” and she waved the Requisition Officer over. “Otherwise, I’m sure you are longing to see the sun… er… feel the rain again.” She stopped, seriously, “Do you realize it hasn’t stopped since you left? Not a single day. Five months of rain, the scouts tell me. If it weren’t for the mages, we all would have been drowned by now. But they put their heads together and figured out a way to make barriers impermeable.” The scout shook her head, “It’s a little scary, but more than appreciated.”

Asta took her letters happily - the stack from Josie was considerable.  It had only been a week since her last, but apparently the Ambassador was a little stressed out. “Well, I’m going to wait to read these, in that case,” she slipped them into her coat. “I’d rather go find the sky, raining or not. Legionnaires, thank you for your assistance,” she bowed towards them politely. “If any of you find the need for another line of work, look me up.” She flashed a smile at her friends and started walking towards the lift, fatigue forgotten with the sight of their goal. They climbed on and the pulleys started working, ponderously raising them to the surface.

“Never has a lift moved so slowly,” grumbled Dorian.

“Expecting someone at the surface?” Asta smiled sweetly at her secret knowledge.

“No,” the mage answered. “But I never want to live in a place without sun again. Do you realize how much color we’ve all lost?”

“None of us are at our most attractive right now,” Vivienne, however, had changed into a clean set of robes specifically saved for this occasion. She was spotless, if rather thin and slightly rumpled. “I do hope one of those letters is about my spa day, Inquisitor.”

“I’m sure it is,” Asta sighed. “I was very detailed about the instructions, as you requested.”

“Excellent! You are a treasure!” Vivienne smiled serenely. “To be back in civilization again!” She drifted off in blissful thought.

Asta looked at Cullen, who was very focused on looking up. “Cullen?”

“Just hoping for a glimpse of the sky,” he sighed. “I am never going into the Deep Roads again.”

“Of course not,” Asta agreed. “And neither am I. Definitely not one of my favorite places to visit. But you should have come to the Emerald Graves - that was beautiful. Definitely one of the most lovely places in Thedas.” She paused, “I hope I get to go back some day.”

They were all quiet until they saw the platform and Asta took a deep breath. It felt like she was being resurrected instead of just returning from a journey. So many things to do… but only one mattered. She caught Cullen’s eye and smiled, mouthing “Soon.” He smiled back - almost the brilliant smile that he had given her in Val Royeaux, but then it fell as soon as the lift stopped. He held out his hand to her, and they disembarked quickly, packs slung to their backs, and Dane following behind.

They passed the fissure, and the cave was dark, so dark, even in comparison with the Roads, but the light at the entrance was blinding, and they squinted against it. “Ugh!” Cassandra held her hand in front of her eyes. “I should have known…”

They all stopped to let their eyes adjust - so long without the sunlight had affected them in ways they didn’t expect. Cullen’s forehead creased as if his head was aching, it probably was, considering the harsh-seeming light shining in. Dane crumpled to the ground and held his paw over his eyes. “I should have expected this,” Asta mumbled. “Had someone send in some thin fabric or something. But who would have thought that a cloudy day could be so painful?”

A shadow fell across the entrance to the cave. “Kadan?”

“Bull,” Dorian breathed, and forgetting his eyes, took off at a run, stumbling regally over the uneven ground of the cavern while he made his way to his man. “Amatus,” he nearly allowed the tears to fall and he threw himself at the massive warrior. “Amatus, I missed you.” He had forgotten all about his appearance at the first sight of his love. Bull wrapped his arms around him, as Asta squinted to see against the shadows.

“You should give them a minute,” Cullen whispered to her.

“Shhh,” Asta covered his mouth. “Don’t remind Dorian we’re here. He’ll remember…” Cullen nodded in understanding and kissed her fingers, smiling underneath her hand.

“I love you,” Dorian mumbled into Bull’s chest. “It… it was awful, without you. And I was injured - did you get the letter?”

“I got all the letters, Kadan,” rumbled Bull. “And may I say, you look fucking perfect, just like I knew you would. All that nonsense about us being over because of an accident?” He lifted the mage’s chin gently. “And your scars…” the warrior bent down and kissed the scars on his cheek softly, one after the other, and down to the still-bare shoulder. “I think you should keep them. You’re a fucking hero, Kadan. Scars are a medal of honor, and they look good on you.”

“You… think so?” His hand raised to his cheek where he had been kissed. Asta would have lain odds that he was blushing.

“I know so,” growled the Qunari. “And I would never lie to you. You know that.” He pulled the mage in closer. “Now come here and let me say hello properly.” He folded the smaller man in his arms gently and bent to kiss him, and Asta finally turned away to let them get on with it.

“He’ll be fine,” she whispered to Cullen. “I just had to know. Now we’ll give them some privacy.”

“Let’s give them the whole cave,” Cassandra recommended dryly, and marched towards the entrance, giving the two men a very wide berth while they greeted each other enthusiastically, Bull bending Dorian over backwards in a kiss that had obviously left the mage boneless. Asta heard the Seeker sigh wistfully as she passed and grinned. Varric was in for the greeting of his life when Cassandra finally reached him.

The light outside the cave was still blinding, but with shaded hands, Asta could see most of the troops stationed at the Storm Coast outside waiting, saluting, as they emerged. She stiffened automatically. “Maker‘s Breath,” she cursed. “Whose idea was this?” All the same, she threw her shoulders back and made her way down the row. “At ease,” she sighed, and they didn’t respond. “Care to have a try, Commander?”

Cullen grinned at her. “No, you’ve earned it. Let them show their appreciation for the Inquisitor. It won’t kill you.”

“What I’ve earned is a hot bath, a fresh meal, and a vat of something fruity and alcoholic,” Asta grumbled.

“Now you’re talking,” Sera agreed. “But ale. Sweet ale. Forget all those fancy fruity drinks that you love - who drinks anything with a whole pear and flower in it, anyway?” She shook her head in confusion. “It’s just a waste of good liquor.”

Cullen tilted his head up and faced the clouds, letting the rain wash over his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the rain,” he mused. He slicked back his hair with his fingers, leaving wet tracks through the curls. Asta watched him happily, relieved to see him relaxed and he blushed at her look, but she just looked up as well.

“You’re right,” she laughed, “It’s wonderful. I will never complain about the weather again, I swear. And the air!” She breathed deep. “Salt and blood lotus and spindleweed and damp dirt and…”

“BEAR!” Someone yelled and Asta scowled and started walking again, but much faster.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra had her sword half drawn.

“I am _not_ fighting a fucking bear the first thing out of the Deep Roads,” Asta vowed solemnly. “It can just eat us, if it’s so determined. Let the troops take care of it. Surely they have months of experience?  And they'll at least stop saluting.”

“On the other hand, it’s not darkspawn or Sha-Brytol,” Vivienne pointed out. “So the novelty…”

“Vivienne, if you want to fight the fucking bear go right ahead,” Asta offered. “It’s all yours. Personally? I’m headed for camp, where I’m going to eat something, hopefully drink something, and sleep in a wonderfully private tent with my lover and our dog.” Dane whined. “You can come back in later, Dane,” she promised. “I know you have your own tent, but you don’t want to sleep there, do you?” She paused, wondering, “Do you want to fight the bear, Dane?”

The dog barked excitedly.

“Go on then,” Asta grinned at him. “I know you’ll find us. Don’t get hurt, and don’t let him fall on you!” She yelled as the dog streaked away.

“Don’t kill any nugs!” Sera shouted after him, “We should all know better!” Asta snickered and watched the dog bound away with youthful enthusiasm. “Think he listened?”

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Cullen reached her side, and put an arm around her shoulders awkwardly with the heavy mail he still wore. He looked as if a million pounds of weight had been taken off his shoulders. “I bet we could rig up a hot bath somehow,” he pulled her in a little closer.

“Oh Commander, you are my favorite,” Asta reached up and pecked his cheek. He didn’t blush, but did tighten his arm around her further yet.

“Aw, sweet Cully-Wully,” Sera made smooching sounds. “Save it for the tent, will ya, Lady Bits?”

“I’m not promising anything,” Asta made a face at the elf. “You must feel it too, right, Sera? The relief at being back on the surface?”

“’Course,” the elf girl scoffed, “But Dagna ain’t here, and I bet she forgot that I was even coming back soon. She gets involved, if you know what I mean. Distracted.” She shrugged. “It’s all good. She’ll be happy to see me when I get there, all the same. Least she wrote. But you two can show restraint. People are still watching.”

“It makes us look like people,” Asta teased her.

“Yeah, but some people like lookin’ too much,” Sera warned. “Just… keep it down.” She strode in front of them, and Thom came forward to walk with her. “Not that you ever have!” She threw back over her shoulder. “Nobody needs to hear that!”

Asta leaned into Cullen, ignoring the pinching of their armor where it met. “I suppose she’s right,” she admitted. “Funny how that isn’t going to stop me.”

He chuckled at her, “I wouldn’t think anything could stop you,” he muttered into her hair. “Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, conqueror of the Deep Roads, rediscoverer of the Sha-Brytol, the woman who defeated Corypheus, dragonslayer and Asta First-Thaw,” Asta made a rude sound and he laughed louder. “Can I just say how happy you make me?” He asked, almost shyly.

“Cullen?” Asta was surprised.

“Before you, I hadn’t been happy in a very long time,” his face fell, and if it hadn’t been for the scads of random troops accompanying them, she would have kissed him. “And then you showed up at Haven and… I’ve been laughing ever since. That is… more unusual than it should have been.”

“Well, soon it will be my job to make you laugh every day,” Asta promised absurdly. “We’ll make it part of the job description as ‘Cullen Rutherford’s wife’.” She watched him swallow at the words, getting a little thrill herself at saying the words.

“Maker, I don’t want to wait another minute,” he said softly. “How soon can we get to Halamshiral?”

“What month is it again?” Asta laughed, making fun of herself and their long absence. “I think it’s winter still? Hard to tell, with the rain. We could try to go, even with unpredictable weather. But first we really must see to Josie. She must have sent me about a dozen letters that I’m going to have to reply to. That’s a lot, even for her.” She stopped. “But it’s going to really happen, isn’t it? There’s nothing else in the way.”

“I have about that many, too,” Cullen admitted. “And I imagine that at least half of them are her yelling at me for confirming rumors that we are seriously involved when she enjoys using me as bait for the more lascivious among our supporters. They usually are.”

“Well, she’s going to have to knock that off,” Asta’s eyes narrowed. “You’re mine permanently, or will be soon enough.”

“Are you jealous, Inquisitor?” Cullen didn’t mind in the least.

“No,” Asta smirked at him. “Territorial. They can look all they want, but if they so much as touch you, I’m there with my daggers. You can’t help looking like you do, but they can help how they respond to you.” She straightened proudly, “I managed to hold back for months, after all. And I had little to no self-control.”

“Had?” Cullen smirked. “I’d say nothing’s changed.”

Asta shoved him with her hip. “Ass. I still managed to control myself.” She thought, “Mostly. I did manhandle you in public the last time we were at the Winter Palace.”

“That’s okay,” Cullen smiled in remembrance. “I spent the evening undressing you with my eyes, wishing I could do it in reality, and simultaneously wishing that my jacket was a couple of inches longer. The champagne helped. Some. Maybe.”  He thought again at how free he was after a couple of glasses.  "Then again, maybe not."

“Do you want to do it in reality now?” Asta tilted her head up at him, daring him to take advantage. “Because I do believe I see the camp ahead. They have tents there. I like tents, and I seem to remember…”

“Always,” Cullen breathed.

“Fine,” Asta pulled away, already running. “First one to the tent gets to do the undressing!” she called back.

Cullen groaned. He had already lost.

“I would catch up, if I were you, Commander,” Cassandra recommended, alternately amused and disgusted. “She will need someone to help with the armor. Her muscles are still stiff, however much she denies and tries to hide it. You can see in how she moves.”

“Seeker,” Cullen nodded. “I trust you can find your own way?”

“Of course. I intend to leave for Jader as soon as possible anyway. Tomorrow, or the day after, if I must wait.” Cassandra affirmed. “But thank you for asking. Now, catch her, Commander. She is still recovering, after all. You still have a shot, if her stamina is still low.” Her mouth twisted, as she tried not to laugh or make a disgusted noise. Far ahead, Asta passed Sera and Thom, nearly knocking them over. She turned and apologized, laughing the whole time, her smile lighting up her face like the sun breaking through the ever-present clouds overhead.

Cullen finally started running, and Asta saw him start with a massive grin on her face. She watched him, walking backward a few steps, biting her lower lip, and Sera and Thom stepped to the side to let him pass, groaning in unison and resignation. He barreled into her. “You were playing to lose,” he accused, as hefted her over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” Asta carefully didn’t confirm. Her view from his shoulder was distracting, and she debated about running his hand through his hair, loose and curly with the rain and humidity. It looked amazing. “But you mentioned a bath and…”

“Oh, now you want a bath,” he grumbled. “Tease me, will you? Only to change your mind?”

“Still undressing,” Asta pointed out. “Still in a tent. Still… private.”

“Very well,” Cullen allowed. “I’ll see to your bath and then I’ll join you.” He let himself smirk. “Maker, it’s good to be back.”

"You can say that again, Commander," Asta grinned.

 


	103. Making Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people bathing - because let's face it, what is the first thing you would do if you got out of the Deep Roads? So nudity implied, but not explicit.
> 
> Listened to Zedd's "Clarity" for Bull and Dorian here.

　

Bull and Dorian made their way back to the camp from the fissure very slowly, as Bull refused to pull his arm away from where it rested around his Kadan‘s waist, even when the mage tried to withdraw in embarrassment at the sight of the troops outside the cave, an honor guard waiting for them to pass. “Not going to happen, Dorian,” Bull rumbled after the third attempt. “Not letting you go until I see you resting and comfortable.”

“Public displays of affection are not my strong suit,” the mage sniffed. “You know how I feel. We don’t need to flaunt…”

“Yes, we do,” Bull rumbled. “You are a hero. You saved Cullen’s life. You deserve to have everyone recognize that. And because they won’t, I’m gonna. So quit squirming under all these eyes, Kadan, and realize that most of them don’t fucking care, and the others aren’t worth taking into consideration. I have our tent set up with a cot, and a hot bath, and I have massage oil, and your goat’s milk soap and sugar scrub…”

“Amatus, you remembered,” Dorian got all choked up. “You…”

“Course I remembered,” Bull slanted his eye down at his mage, “Fuck, Kadan, I told you that I was going to show you how much I cared. Your presents are in there, too.”

“Presents,” Dorian sighed, remembering. “Why did you send me my birthright, Bull?”

Bull was silent for a little while, weighing his response. “It’s a heavy thing, knowing what you are meant to do, to be. You were meant to be someone who stands out, who goes against the current, who fights the tide. And I think you’re meant to do that in the Magisterium.” Dorian started to speak but Bull charged forward. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s going to suck having you gone. Having you gone like this was bad enough, and knowing you’re going back to the cesspool of Minrathous,” he bared his teeth in anger. “But you are going to go, one way or another - as an Altus or as the Inquisition‘s Ambassador. And you’re going to be amazing.”

Dorian surprised himself by reaching up and holding Bull’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. “No one has ever believed in me like you do, Amatus.” He looked up at the Qunari. “You really think I can make a difference?”

Bull paused, fighting his conditioning under the Qun, however briefly, and then nodded. “A tide is an inevitable pull, but maybe you can move a moon.” He grinned, “If anyone can do it, it’s you, Kadan.”

They were silent for a while, and reached their tent, a long, long distance away from the camp proper. “So far?” Dorian sighed, and lifted the flap.

“Sorry it’s not a real bed,” grunted Bull regretfully. “And I didn’t want to hear the complaints from you in the morning when the camp starts moving around and it wakes you up before you want to be up. You won‘t get your memories back without rest. I asked Ellandra.”

“It’s not a stone floor,” Dorian pointed out, touched by the man’s thoughtfulness. “And I’ll have a bed soon enough.” The bath rose steaming from the copper tub. “Did you bring that all the way from Skyhold?” The mage was already stripping out of his robes in impatience, and the Qunari traced every thinner angle and more pronounced muscle with an observant eye.

“Yep,” Bull confirmed. “Brought a few. Could remember how dusty Crestwood’s Thaig was - and those remnants of the roads in the Hissing Wastes. Obvious you guys were going to need a long soak. Josie arranged a cart. Made us travel slower, but still got here yesterday.”

“You are a miracle,” The mage sunk into the hot water up to his chin, eyes closing blissfully. “Never has anything ever felt this good.”

Bull laughed, “Guess I have a goal, trying to beat that, then?” Dorian‘s eyes snapped open and met Bull‘s echoing his desires. “I’ll let you get clean first,” the warrior said, leaning forward. “And then we’ll see about messing you up again. You can always heat more water, right, Kadan?”

“I can do that, at least,” Dorian agreed. “But I can’t seem to remember how to make a barrier, or… certain grooming requirements,” he admitted, embarrassed. “Of all the things to forget, I had to forget a spell that you learn as an infant,” he fumed, “and how to make my moustache behave.” It was rather spindly looking, but not as bad as the mage was making it out to be, and Bull choked back a laugh. It mattered to his Kadan.

“I can take care of that for you,” Bull offered. “Not the spell, obviously, but the grooming. Nothing would give me more joy, Kadan, than the opportunity to take care of you.”

Dorian stared incredulously, and then his face crumpled. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, looking down into the water.

“What?” Bull asked belligerently. “Care about you? Want to take care of you? Why wouldn’t I?” He fisted his hands angrily. They weren’t going to have this fight again, were they?

“Not that,” Dorian swallowed hard. “You’re making it harder for me to leave.”

“Well, I’m not going to make it easier,” Bull pointed out. “So get used to disappointment.” He stood and moved around to the back of the tub. “Now, get your hair wet. I’m going to wash it, and then we’ll start with the exfoliation. That was the order, right? Exfoliation, you said, and then the goat‘s milk soap, and then the oil and massage?”

Dorian obediently tipped his head back, closing his eyes to hide his emotions. “Oh, Amatus,” he sighed, and then went under the water and came back up, water running from his hair in sheets, and then rivulets, tracing down his dark muscular chest and back. “How will I live without you?”  He tipped his head back and met the other man's single eye with tears in his own.

“It’ll be a half-life,” Bull agreed, “Like mine without you. But we’ll figure out something, Kadan. I’m more patient than I look.”

***

The tubs were in high demand, and Cassandra was not a patient woman. She marched to a more secluded part of the river, striding like the warrior she was, kicking rocks and weeds out of the way as she went, as if they had insulted her personally by being in her intended path. She hadn’t really expected Varric to come, she told herself. He was the Viscount, and leaving his city at such a time would be problematic, she was sure. His seneschal kept him tied to his desk, and it had always been the plan to meet him in Kirkwall. She sighed, and stripped out of her armor. The water was cold against her skin, but she ignored it in favor of getting cleaner. She laid down in the water, and let it sluice over her briefly. It was cold to the point of making her scalp ache, but she would survive, and she would leave for Jader tomorrow even if there wasn’t a scout who could accompany her. She had traveled alone before, and she could again.

Besides, this way, there would be a bed, she told herself further, instead of more rocks and trees to avoid. It would be more romantic, and less frantic, and… she had rarely had such a luxury. Her and Galyan had been young, and in a hurry, most of the time, and he was a mage, and used to the rushed encounters of the Circles. To have the privilege of taking her time… she blushed, and stood from the stream to grab the soap. It wasn’t as if Galyan hadn’t been attentive - he had been - but Varric had hinted at so much more. At playfulness, at learning each other - not just a sprint to the finish, but a marathon of loving. The thought took her breath away, not for the first time.

“I must leave tomorrow,” she announced to no one in particular, and a nug streaked away from a nearby bush at the sound. “I will not wait a moment longer.” She finished bathing efficiently - her thoughts only drifting to Varric occasionally - and dried off, dressing in blissfully clean clothes that Josie had sent ahead. She must remember to thank the Ambassador. She donned her armor again and marched back into the camp. For now, she would eat and sleep, and leave at first light. With luck, she could reach Jader... though perhaps Amaranthine was a little closer...

“Seeker Pentaghast!” The Requisition Officer waved her down, “I’ve something for you,” the woman handed her a fat parcel and letter. “From Kirkwall, milady.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra looked down at it, surprised. It was from Varric, and it was heavy. What had the dwarf sent her now? Bianca was already in tiny little pieces in her bags… She made her way to her tent, slowly, lifting the flap and letting herself inside to sit down on the bedroll. The ground was soft here, and it seemed welcoming. She was so tired.

_Beautiful Cassandra,_

_I hope you won’t mind that I took the liberty of asking Dagna for your measurements. There’s this good armor shop in Kirkwall - the Champion and I used to visit it for repairs before we could afford to buy the good stuff outright - and… well, I had them make something for you._

_I don’t want you to misunderstand. I know that things are still… tentative between us. But I thought maybe you’d like a token to show that for once, this dwarf is serious._

_If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it. I know the Seekers were your family and I don’t want to take that from you. Quite the opposite, as I think I’ve found another one for you. But he’s in the Anderfels. Of course it would be in the opposite direction of the first one. Seekers seek, and obviously wanderlust fuels their souls. Hopefully not yours, at least not as much…_

_To the Void with it. Just open the package, already._

_Your Varric_

Cassandra opened the package with trembling fingers, and then dropped it heavily on her lap. Inside was a new breastplate, shining Silverite with the Kirkwall heraldry picked out in burnished gold. It was beautiful, in a way her Seeker armor never had been. That had been designed to demonstrate authority and illicit a little fear in those that she was there to investigate. She lifted it and stared underneath. There was another letter.

_Cassandra,_

_Okay, now you’ve seen it. You said you were serious about taking care of my personal safety. What do you think of the new armor for the Viscount’s Personal Guard? Don’t worry about draining the city’s coffers, I paid for it myself from the profits from the new chapter of Swords and Shields. Seemed appropriate, on several levels._

_I remembered what you said at the Winter Palace about dress armor. This isn’t for fancy occasions. I wanted to send you the whole set, but Bran talked me out of it. Said that it was ridiculous to keep sending messengers over the Waking Sea just to deliver presents to my girl. And that it was expensive and heavy. And he’s right. Again.  Besides, this way, you have to come and get the rest._

_Maker’s Balls, I hope you were serious. If you were just talking out of your ass, I’m going to look really, really stupid with this one. Nothing new there, though, I suppose. I mean, if you’re just playing with me, I’m going look a classic fool. But I’ve never been one to only take safe bets, so…_

_I wish I could have come over there. Been there when you emerged from the dark, victorious and infuriated at the inconvenience of the whole situation. With that glare that makes me want to surrender as soon as it appears on your face. I actually started to make travel arrangements and Bran threatened to geld me. I thought perhaps you’d understand, as you might have a use for those parts when we finally manage to meet up. Andraste’s Ass, I hope so, anyway._

_Send me a letter before you take ship, so I know which one and about when to expect you. I’ll be waiting at the docks. I swear it, even if I have to tie up and gag Bran in a closet to get out of the building alone. Lots of closets to choose from. Way too much space for one dwarf. But maybe not for a dwarf and a warrior princess?_

_I can’t wait to see you._

_Love,_

_Varric_

Cassandra smoothed out the letter and read it again, looking for every little indication that he had wanted to be there. She smiled, and then frowned quickly, as if someone was going to bust into her tent and criticize her for being happy. She froze in a sudden realization. Should she wear it now? Or wait until she was due to dock in Kirkwall? She didn’t want it to get damaged - what if a bear attacked?

“Bullshit,” she said out loud, and started loosening the straps on her current plate. She was going to wear it. _He_ had sent it. And she didn’t care whether the rest of the world judged her for her choices any longer. They were her choices to make.

She might as well make a statement while she made them.

***

Asta and Cullen laid in their tent, baths and certain appetites long since sated, and Dane happily snoring down by their feet. Asta was playing in his hair again, twisting the little curls that she couldn’t seem to resist making, and that he despaired to fix after she had messed with it.

Cullen captured her hand and kissed her fingers. “I love you,” he said against them.

“Likewise,” Asta rested her head against the pillow they were sharing. “Even if you do hate it when I mess with your hair.”

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Cullen started to insist. “I like the way it feels, but you make such a mess, and then it takes twice as long to rearrange…” he realized she was laughing at him, and drifted the tirade off into a chuckle. “You shouldn’t tease me so,” he muttered, sheepishly.

“It’s too much fun to stop now,” Asta pointed out. She flipped over and laid on her back. “I can’t believe I’m actually out of there.  It seems like a dream.  A pleasant one.”

“Do we have to head back to Skyhold tomorrow?” Cullen asked her wistfully. “I’d like to take you to the dragon’s island, and show you where we fought it. There was Prophet’s Laurel there,” he wheedled.

“Hmmm,” Asta was tempted. “But poor Josie,” she sighed.

“It’s just a day trip,” Cullen pointed out. “You can answer her letters in the morning and then we’ll go to the island, maybe have a picnic…”

“Maybe get attacked by half a dozen dragonlings,” Asta added dryly. “What I would give to have a few days when I don’t have to fight anything!”

“What would you give?” Cullen asked her gently. “If you didn’t have to fight anything anymore?”

Asta laughed in disbelief, “Just about anything, except for you, my friends, and Dane.” She thought. “Okay, obviously that isn’t true. I’m not willing to sacrifice what I’ve built. I’ve paid for that in blood and time, and the Inquisition isn’t going anywhere, even when I’m no longer around to lead it.” She thought further. “I don’t know. I guess unless I’m actually presented with a real life situation I won’t know what I’ll give up.” She looked at him, turning back onto her side. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we may be able to leave this, sooner than we thought, if Leliana is calling an Exalted Council,” Cullen pointed out. “That means that all the players are going to be in one place, except for the Qun and Solas.”

“Solas,” Asta sighed. “I wish I had forgotten. But maybe the Qun isn’t going to retaliate. They should be predictable, but they aren’t. Two different Arishoks have made a lot of difference in how they react to troubling situations.” She watched her lover. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. The last Arishok would have taken Bull’s defection as a personal insult and demanded his head, though the current one already made a token effort at assassination. Hawke would know better than I. He respected her, though even she couldn‘t stop him from trying to take the city. But the current Arishok was a companion of the Hero, and if the stories are to be believed, he‘s a completely different type of Arishok.” Cullen shook his head. “I really can’t say. I wouldn’t lower your guard though. Personally or at Skyhold.”

“I wouldn’t dare, as my Commander would have to have words with me,” Asta leaned in to kiss him, gently. “But know this; I don’t travel anywhere without you at my side. No exceptions, Commander.”

“Of course,” Cullen smiled and kissed her back, his eyes closing briefly at the contact. Their lips warmed quickly, and it started to turn into something more, Asta pushing herself up against Cullen eagerly.

Dane let out a wheezing whine in his sleep that made them pull apart and laugh. “I guess we’ll have to stop, since he’s sleeping,” Asta giggled. “It would be rude to wake him.”

“Why the world’s most fastidious dog had to find me I will never understand,” Cullen grumbled, but laid back, with his hands behind his head. “At least sleep close?” He asked the ceiling of the tent, as if he was worried she would refuse.

“Always,” Asta curled up against him. “Never again, right?”

“Right,” Cullen said, and closed his eyes, thanking Andraste silently for open skies and tent walls.

***

The next dawn had Cassandra saddling a horse in the pouring rain, a stubborn look on her face and determination in her movements. It had been a long night. After she had retired, she hadn’t been able to resist rereading Varric’s letters - all of Varric’s letters, as she had been unable to destroy them, like a sentimental fool - and it had left her irritable and exhausted, with little sleep.

“Leaving so soon?” Asta leaned up against a rock. “Or is your internal clock as messed up as mine? All that ‘fighting until we were tired enough to sleep’ has played havoc with my sleep schedule.”

“Yes,” Cassandra bit off. “I should have left yesterday. And I hardly care about how long I sleep at this point. I have better things to do.”

Asta laughed at her lightly. “Very well. Say ‘hi’ to Varric for me. Tell him that Leliana is calling an Exalted Council at summer’s end - maybe in late August - and that I assume he’ll want to attend as the representative for Kirkwall.”

Cassandra released a disgusted noise. “Ugh. August in Val Royeaux is miserable.”

Asta tilted her head and watched the Seeker. “It’s okay to want to be with him, Cassandra. No one is going to tell you that you should be doing something different.” Asta pushed herself off the rock with her foot. “Except for maybe yourself. Let up a little. You’ve spent over half your life serving greater causes. Your own cause is worth fighting for, too. Take your happiness.” She turned and paused. “Cullen and I are headed for Halamshiral as soon as we can talk Josie down from the battlements. We’ll write, since I’m sure you won’t be there.”

Cassandra leaned her forehead against the horse. She knew the Inquisitor was right. She would have given Asta the exact same advice had it been the other way around. She looked up and followed Asta’s retreating form with her eyes filled with tears and gratitude.

She would take her happiness and let anyone that stood in her way be damned. Surely she had earned it?

***

_Dear Varric,_

_I am booked for departure from Amaranthine tomorrow on a ship named the Waking Giant. Ridiculous name. I don’t think the beasts ever sleep, honestly. At least dragons rest occasionally. The weather is clear, for now, though of course that will change as soon as we hit open water. I don’t have that kind of luck, to have a clear, swift crossing with good weather._

_If my own desires were wind I would already be in Kirkwall._

_I long to see you. I love the armor. It drew eyes at the Storm Coast and I was proud to wear it. I can’t wait to see the rest. I can’t wait to remove it, in the privacy of your rooms._

_So look for me in a week or so - weather depending - at the docks in Kirkwall._

_I’ll be the one wearing the amour of the Viscount’s Personal Guard._

_Love,_

_Cassandra_

 


	104. Never Bet Against An Antivan

_Dearest Josie,_

_We are back on the surface, safe and sound, and will be making our way back to Skyhold posthaste. We will leave tomorrow, after the Commander checks in with the troops here and he shows me where he fought the dragon._

_We just got out of the Deep Roads, Ambassador. Please cut me some slack. It was not a pleasant experience, as you know, and I am still recovering from my injuries. I swear, I will not leave you to run things alone in Skyhold for longer than the bare minimum. Just - let us take a deep breath of fresh air before we come home?_

_Our party will be reduced by two upon our return. Cassandra has already departed for Kirkwall, and I believe Vivienne is intending to stop at Skyhold only long enough to arrange for her things to be sent to Val Royeaux. I’m sure the Most Holy has shared her intentions with you, and that you join me in wishing Vivienne great joy in her new role._

_As for your struggles with the Inquisition’s presence at the Exalted Council - how would you like it if I took a trip to Halamshiral and made a few arrangements ahead of time? I could take the Commander and Dorian - you know his taste is impeccable - and maybe a few others. The Commander could scout out housing for our troops, and I could make sure that your duties go a little easier._

_For that matter, you could come with us. I’m sure you could use a break from your office. Surely Guy would be able to manage without you for a few weeks? And you could make sure that I don’t mess up anything crucial. Maker knows I do that from time to time._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

The horn blew as the group reached Skyhold’s bridge, and it was all Asta could do not to run across it and maintain a steady pace on her horse instead. Dane did run ahead, his tongue lolling behind him, smelling home and the Druffalo scraps he could sometimes wheedle out of the cook, when she was in a good mood.

Asta’s happiness upon her return to the castle lasted just long enough to reach the courtyard. The doors to the Main Hall slammed open, and Josephine swanned regally down the steps of Skyhold, storm clouds trailing in her wake. “Inquisitor,” she barked out as crisply as any drill officer that Cullen had ever put in charge of recruits. “Commander. I need a _word_.” She spun on her heel and marched right back up the steps, and Asta and Cullen could only follow meekly.

“We’re in for it now,” Asta murmured to Cullen. “Leliana was right. I haven’t seen her this mad since the bucket prank. Then she lectured me for hours. And it wasn‘t even my idea! Well, not entirely,” she qualified.  "I thought of the door.  The bucket was all Sera.  I was just going to remove it's hinges or something like that."

“You should have known better,” Cullen chastised. “But what have you done? I know what I did,” he insisted. “My trip into the Deep Roads might as well have been a step into the Lover’s Alcove. But you…” he puzzled, his voice drifting off. “You didn’t tell off the Empress or something, did you?”

They reached the War Room, looked at each other and hesitated, “We could still run,” Asta suggested. “We could run away until she calms down, hide in our room?”

Cullen shook his head, “Better to face the music and dance,” he sighed. “It will only get worse if we don’t.”

They pushed on the doors and entered, united at least in their terror. Josie was pacing and muttering in Antivan. She turned on them in a heartbeat. “YOU! Both of you! Did you think I would not _hear?_ With my connections?! How dare you! And just when everything is falling to pieces! When the world is on the cusp of an Exalted March! And the Inquisition is the only thing standing in the way!”

“Josie,” Asta started, startled and confused.

“Don’t you ‘Josie’ me!” The Antivan fumed. “You two decided to plan a wedding! _YOU TWO._ Two of the most socially ignorant people I’ve ever had the dubious pleasure to be acquainted with! With no nobles, no public announcements! NO INPUT! I was left to find out through the grapevine!” She slammed her portable desk onto the War Table, ink and candlewax splattering and the map markers rattling. Cullen took a step back, ready to flee. “Don’t you dare move, Commander,” the woman narrowed her eyes. “You are just as much at fault.” She turned her gaze back to Asta, her eyes filling with tears. “I thought… you considered me a friend, Inquisitor. Surely you realize I would have respected your wishes? To have a small, private affair? To be excluded like this…” She thrust her chin in the air. “I am extremely hurt.” The woman’s lower lip quivered.

“Oh,” Asta shrunk in on herself, feeling very, very guilty. “I didn’t think…”

“Exactly,” the Ambassador stressed. “You didn’t think. And now I find that I am the only one of your inner circle who didn’t know!” She wailed, inconsolable. “I’m tired of being taken for granted. Tired of the assumption that ‘of course Josephine will stay, she’s the ‘reliable’ one’!” Her air quotes were graceful and lovely. “I was a bard, however briefly, Inquisitor! I can keep secrets!” She paced back and forth across the room, her hands expostulating eloquently and her rings glinting in the light of the sun streaming through the windows. “And now, for me to get a note from a Jenny in Halamshiral, asking me what day to expect the two of you, so that they can have their people in place at the Palace…” She threw her hands in the air. “I should wash my hands of the entire affair. The entire Inquisition! Perhaps Corypheus would have been a better option after all!” She started again with the muttered Antivan. “I should go home and run the family’s businesses! At least there I am _appreciated_.”

“Josie!” Asta broke in, desperate to stop the flow of accusations. “You need a break. Come with us to Halamshiral. You are overworked, and we have been unfair and completely in the wrong.”

“Well, not completely,” Cullen muttered. “You would have invited every third rate noble that ever supported the Inquisition. And we aren’t wrong for wanting to marry…”

The Ambassador turned her ire upon him, “Do you think I’m _stupid_ , Commander?”

“Of course not,” he defended himself. “You are a brilliant woman.”

“Do you think I don’t _know_ how you feel about the nobility, then?” She asked dangerously. “Be careful how you answer. I’m fairly certain that I know where you sleep. I have a fairly large understanding of poisons, as well. I was educated in Orlais, after all. I would have gladly accepted that a huge affair was out of the question. I would have planned something sweet, and small, and secret - even here in Skyhold I could have managed. I am very good at planning things, or _have you not noticed?!_ ” Cullen winced in regret.

“We’ve noticed, Josie!” Asta insisted. Her shoulders slumped. “I am sorry. I should have told you as soon as we started to make plans. But it was supposed to be much smaller, and once people started to find out the plans got far more extensive than we intended,” she explained. “It was just supposed to be us, and Leliana and a couple of witnesses.”

“And yet you told _Dorian?!_ He’s hardly known for being discreet, Inquisitor!” Asta suspected that was the real issue - that Dorian had been the one doing the most of the planning.

“That was unintentional,” Asta contradicted. “He saw a letter and demanded an explanation. In fact, the only reason any one beyond Cole knows is that Cullen and I are surrounded by nosy people.”

“That sounds very familiar,” sniffed the woman, still offended. “But I accept your apology and justifications. Reluctantly. As a result, I will plan a small wedding party for after the ceremony. Sera had the gall to inform me that you were intending to go to a _tavern_. A tavern! The Inquisitor and her Commander, marrying after years of being apart against their personal wishes, years of sacrifice and pain on both sides, celebrating their vows in a TAVERN?!” She threw her hands into the air again, nearly knocking her ink off her desk. “It’s a personal insult! I should demand satisfaction!”

“Please don’t?” Asta asked meekly, fairly certain that even an out of practice Josie could probably take her in a duel, especially with this level of passion on her side. She had never seen her so… exuberant. “You can plan whatever you like, I swear. I’ll say whatever you want me to say at the Exalted Council. Just please, forgive me?”

The Antivan narrowed her eyes at her. “Anything I want you to say?”

“Within reason?” Asta temporized, and Josie relaxed.

“That is better. I have taught you better than to promise blindly. Now, I need a guest list from the two of you, and then I need to consider locations. You have not left me much time. But I think I can have it arranged by the time the road out of the Frostbacks is clear enough from the last storm to travel through.” She sighed, exaggeratedly. “Honestly, a _tavern_. There are a million and one excuses we could make to have reservations at a nice restaurant for the members of the inner circle. Yes, you won’t be able to wear your dress - which I understand is lovely - but I can arrange another attractive, more casual outfit for the occasion.” She narrowed her eyes at Asta again. “You have overlooked so many things. Never do this again.”

“That, at least, is unlikely,” Cullen grinned. “Since we only expect to get married once.”

Josie’s mouth twisted up in a reluctant smile. “All the more reason to get it right the first time.” She strode to the War Room’s door. “Now, you two should get settled. Welcome home, Inquisitor. Commander.” She turned back. “Expect to travel to Halamshiral in about three weeks. Vivienne has announced her intention of a girl‘s day, plus Dorian, at the spa there, as her wedding gift to you. So figure at least a week of time spent in the city proper, as we make arrangements for the Exalted Council as well as for the wedding itself.” She muttered, almost to herself. “We should let the Jennies know that the ceremony should take place towards the end of our stay, so that we don’t have to drag you two away from each other for business.”

“So soon?” Asta was surprised.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Cullen added, gratefully.

“Again, I am very good at planning things,” Josie straightened up. “Do not doubt me again. And congratulations on your impending nuptials.” She left the room, barely managing not to slam the door, and her friends slumped against the War Table in relief and regret.

“Never bet against an Antivan,” Cullen muttered. “When will I learn that lesson?”

“Also, never get one angry,” Asta noted. “Do you think she will ever fully forgive us?”

“Debatable,” he admitted. “We really blew it with this one.”

Asta burst out laughing. “Poor us. We are going to spend the rest of our lives making this up to her.” Cullen blanched at the prospect. “Cheer up, Cullen. At least it’s too late for her to order you something different to wear.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and he echoed her movements. “And still no random nobles?” She thought of something, “Oh, Sweet Maker.”

“What?” Cullen was distracted.

“Jennies. The Jennies are involved,” Asta was paler, even where her freckles had started to reappear. “My brother is a Jenny.”

“Maker’s Breath,” breathed Cullen. “You don’t think…”

Asta was grim. “I don’t think. I _know._ Holy Andraste on a piece of flatbread.” She leaned her head against his chest. “It’s too late now to stop whatever he’s planning.”

“Josie will kill him if he ruins anything…” Cullen tried to comfort her.

“So will Dorian,” Asta agreed. “His sense of self-preservation is very good. Maybe it will be okay?”

“As long as he doesn’t show up and remove my intestines,” Cullen sighed. “This has gotten completely out of hand.”

“Hey,” Asta squeezed him. “I’ll still have you at the end of the day, intestines or no intestines.” She grinned. “It’ll be fine.” She thought for a minute. “And really, it’s not as bad as it could have been. No ten page reading from the Chant, no random nobles, unless you count my brother, no fittings or new clothes for you, no bees… we hope. Yes, we have to go to Halamshiral, but it’s closer than Val Royeaux.”

“You have a point,” Cullen smiled and kissed her forehead, as something occurred to him. He needed to speak to Dagna.

***

The Undercroft was cool, and quiet, except for the sound of rushing water, but Cullen was extremely agitated. “You aren’t leaving me a lot of time, Commander,” Dagna protested. “I have other projects!”

“I know, but can you do it?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “And it has to be kept quiet.”

Dagna scoffed, “I’ve known for as long as Sera has. I just figured you two had ordered them from Val Royeaux - the jewelers there have a good reputation. I did finish your other… thing, by the way.” She handed him a plain box out from under an anvil. “I wouldn’t recommend she wear it, though. Not in battle. That’s… extremely inadequate. Pretty, I suppose. At least I tried?” She sighed. “I’ll do what I can about the ring. You sure that’s what you want it to say? What about stones?” She shook her head. “I can’t do it in three weeks. It’ll take too long. Melee defense is difficult… armor is one thing, but rings are small!”

“Please, Dagna,” Cullen begged. “I should have thought of it before. If Josie hadn’t confronted us, I wouldn’t have thought of it now.”

Dagna sighed. “I’ll try.”

Cullen breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Let me know if I can help. I don’t think the Inquisitor would care about fancy stones or any of that. And it would interfere with her armor. Just…” he hesitated, “maybe an engraving? A floral engraving?”

“What flowers?” Dagna frowned. “That would take less time than a stone setting. I‘d have to order the stones, because I don‘t do a lot of jewelry,” she admitted.

Cullen grinned, “I know just which one.”

***

Asta paced the Undercroft later that afternoon, observed by a very bemused Dagna. “I’m sorry, Dagna,” she insisted, “But I have been in the Deep Roads for five months!”

“You could have written,” Dagna scowled, but her amusement was trickling through. “I’ll see what I can do, Inquisitor. What are you thinking of?”

“Something simple,” Asta assured her. “He wouldn’t wear it otherwise. Flat, so that it won’t interfere with his training or gauntlets. But…” she looked wistful, “Do you think you could engrave it?”

Dagna sighed exaggeratedly, “Words or a design?”

“ _Not_ a pattern, he won‘t wear it if it‘s elaborate. And it can‘t be gold, too soft. One good blow from a practice sword and it will bend,” Asta said decidedly, “But words. In fact, all it needs to say is…” she laughed. “Let me write it down.” She paused, thinking, “Do you think you could make it glow in the dark?”

“ _No_ ,” Dagna said. “And I can’t make him invisible, or impenetrable to his enemies, or…” she narrowed her eyes at Asta. “You’re joking.”

“Well, that Tevinter ring of Dorian’s - the Ring of Doubt - makes him invisible,” Asta grinned. “I figured it was worth asking.”

“And I have no idea how it works,” Dagna pointed out. “And he won’t let me close enough to study it. Says that I’ll break it, and he might need it when he gets back to Tevinter. But glow in the dark?” The Arcanist shook her head. “You’ve asked me for a lot of improbable and impossible things since I joined, Inquisitor, but that one takes the cake.”

“It’s because you’re a miracle-worker, Dagna,” Asta smiled winningly. “Just the engraving then.”

“I’m going to need the full three weeks,” the smith informed her, back to her chipper self. “And I’m going to have to have Harritt’s help. So no other requests until then. I have to get to work.” She thought, lifting her hand to her chin, “Something hard. Dragonbone? We have the materials from the dragon he killed at the Storm Coast…”

Asta was writing a brief note. “Definitely dragon bone,” she was getting excited now. “Especially considering what I want engraved.” She hugged the Arcanist tightly. “Thank you, Dagna. You truly are amazing.” She handed the note with the words of the engraving to the woman, who read it and smiled.

“Just do me a favor and tell Sera I’ll be really busy for the next couple of weeks,” Dagna was already turning away. “Inquisitor’s orders.”

"You realize you are dooming me to pudding in my boots again," Asta sighed.

"That's what you get for not giving me adequate notice," Dagna replied.  "Now, go away.  I'm busy."


	105. Fare-Thee-Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter today because the other one was short because of where it broke off best.
> 
> Sweetness coming up - but also drunkenness and a lot of bawdy talk.

Dorian and Josie were either the ultimate dream wedding planners or a result of a Nightmare demon, Asta decided in about two days. The three of them had retired to the War Room to make the final plans four hours ago and Asta was fed up.

“You _cannot_ be married without Arbor Blessing!” Josie was insisting. “It is _tradition._ Especially when you are married in the spring!”

“She wanted ivy,” Dorian countered. “It stands for wedded fidelity or some such nonsense.”

“Can’t I have both?” Asta offered feebly. The two stared at her in horror as if she had suggested doing a blood magic rite at the ceremony. “Sorry,” she sighed, resigned, wishing she were as lucky as Cullen to be having to train recruits. Or at least that‘s the excuse he had made. “But it’s not going to be quite spring when I get there, Josie,” she muttered, in vain.

“There will be ivy around in any case,” Josie pointed out, “the gardens at the Winter Palace are covered with it. But she has to say the vows under the Arbor Blessing. Otherwise, she’s risking poverty and hardship! ‘Blessed by the vine in spring, I shall not fear the winter‘s sting,’” the Ambassador quoted.

“Do you really think the Inquisitor and her Commander are ever going to want for anything, Josephine? And for the Maker's sake, their entire relationship has already been hardship!” Dorian threw at her. “And I’ve never heard of such a silly tradition. It’s a southern thing, apparently.”

“I’m hardly southern, ‘Vint,” the Antivan fumed. “And Arbor Blessing is done in Orlais. Where they will be married, if you haven’t noticed. You should embrace the traditions of where the ceremony is taking place as well as…” a scratching came at the door, and Asta straightened up from her slumped posture in her chair and opened the War Room door to Dane, who whined and jumped away, wanting her to follow.

“Sorry!” Asta smiled, “Dane needs something. I’ll be back… later.” She slammed the door with alacrity and faced her dog. “Good boy,” she praised. “Did Cullen send you?”

The dog barked and panted.

“All the Druffalo ribs,” Asta promised. “I couldn’t take another minute of that nonsense.” Dane barked and trotted off, while she followed. “Let them figure it out,” she sighed. “At this point I just want to…” she realized half the Main Hall’s inhabitants were watching her and quit talking to the dog, with an apologetic look.

She reached Cullen’s office and opened the door. “Sorry, Commander,” Rylen was insisting. “Bull says we need you. Now.” Cullen looked at Asta, eager and pleading, his brow creased with panic.

“Inquisitor! Are you here for our… meeting?” Asta looked confused. “You know, the meeting,” he urged, “the important one that can’t be delayed?”

“Oh,” Asta nodded in understanding. “Yes, that meeting. Yes, he can’t be spared, Knight-Captain. Perhaps…” Cullen shook his head violently. “Oh, he’ll be busy all day,” she assured the former Templar.

“I see…” Rylen grinned. “A little bit of slap and tickle before the ceremony, eh, Commander? Can’t say I blame you…” Cullen blushed and stared at the ceiling. “Surely the Inquisitor could spare you for the rest of the afternoon though? And maybe the evening? You‘ll be back by morning, I‘m sure.”

“What’s going on here?” Asta asked slowly.

“Just a little ‘fare-thee-well’ for the Commander’s bachelor days,” Rylen grinned. “Sure you can’t spare him?” Cullen looked at her desperately. “Or is the Commander too tied to his Lady’s apron strings?” Rylen smirked.

“I am not…” Cullen sighed and looked at Asta like he wanted her to solve his problems for him. She leaned back, hip cocked.

“What does this… ‘fare-thee-well’ involve?” Asta smiled at Rylen sweetly.

“Bull planned it,” Cullen muttered. “You know what it is going to involve.” He stared imploringly. “Inquisitor, I don’t want…”

“Then say no,” Asta laughed at him. “Or go. I don’t mind.” She turned to Rylen, a little more seriously. “No dancers dressed as desire demons?”

“No,” the former Templar said, thinking slowly, “That would be in really poor taste. Desire is nothing to laugh at, Inquisitor.”

“You can say that again,” Cullen looked at the ceiling again, despair written across his face.

“No dancers dressed as Chantry Sisters?” Asta asked cautiously. “Or mages?”

“No…” Rylen was taken aback, “Honestly, what do you think Bull has planned here? It’s drinks in the pub! Some cards and a few laughs about the size of his…”

“Well, that doesn‘t sound so bad,” Cullen interjected, relieved.

“Oh, you can’t joke about that,” Asta drawled to Rylen. “Let me know if he needs his honor defended.” Cullen blushed the same color as his coat. “Don’t be so shy, Cullen,” she insisted. “You should be bragging. I‘d bet you have all of them beat. Send a runner if you decide to have a competition. My money is on you.” She grinned and turned to leave. “At least someone will have some fun today - I have to go discuss flowers with Josie and Dorian. Is Arbor Blessing a tradition in Fereldan, Cullen?”

“We _have_ to have Arbor Blessing,” Cullen confirmed. “I don’t care about the rest, but that is essential.” Asta nodded thoughtfully. “Are you sure that you don’t need me…” he started.

“Not unless you want to switch places,” Asta wistfully sighed. “I’d rather be playing cards and making jokes about the size of your…” Cullen blushed even deeper and she laughed directly at him instead of finishing. “Get going, Commander. Think of me, while you are laughing and making cock jokes amongst your friends. Maker, I hope Josie doesn’t carry a dagger.”

“How sharp does she keep her letter opener?” Cullen asked seriously, and Asta blanched.

“I’d better get back and tell Josie that she wins this round, then.” She smiled at Rylen. “Let me know if he’s going to lose at Wicked Grace? Or if he gets too drunk to walk?”

“Gladly,” Rylen grinned back. “Wouldn’t let you miss it.”

***

Cullen staggered away from the Herald’s Rest. He hadn’t lost at Wicked Grace, but it was close - he was down to his trousers. Thankfully, that was enough.

Rylen and Bull slapped him on the back as Dorian, who had joined them considerably later, eyed him appreciatively before Bull steered him away. “Go get ‘er, Commander,” Rylen yelled back at him. “Bet she’s up there thinking about you!” He waved to the Inquisitor’s tower, where lights were still shining, despite the late hour.

Cullen wove his way through the training ring and up the steps, pleased with how well he was managing, even without a railing to lean against. He obviously wasn’t that drunk, despite the Maraas-Lok.

At least there hadn’t been singing after the Maraas-Lok this time. It had just been a few of them, Krem and a couple of other Chargers, Rylen, Cole - who was extremely confused by the proceedings (‘Why did he think there would be dancers? He doesn’t like to dance…’) and Dorian. No one had attempted to compare penis sizes, thank the Maker, and the rude jokes at his and Asta’s expense had been limited to their known escapades and private letters. Not too bad.

Singing, though, Cullen mused, head spinning, as he made his way up to the tower room where Asta was waiting. It had been a while since he sang anything. That was sad, he decided. Asta deserved more music in her life. And she had liked it when he sang to her before. She probably would like it again. He hadn’t had time for the Singquisition meetings since before Adamant. He climbed the stairs, rather crookedly, hitting the wall at a few places.

Perhaps he was rather drunk after all, and he laughed, louder than he intended. He remembered the stairs being a bit… straighter. He reached their room and saw Asta, in bed, reading. He smiled hugely.

“You’re reading,” he observed brilliantly.

“You’re drunk,” Asta looked down her nose at him. “I see you didn’t lose at Wicked Grace this time. Maraas-Lok?”

“Maraas-Lok,” Cullen confirmed, beaming. “Not so bad. Didn’t have to compare sizes. Think Bull would‘ve won.” He snorted, “Seen Rylen’s. Nothing special there. No privacy in the Kirkwall barracks.”

Asta laughed, “That’s good then. Can you get your own pants off? Or do you need a hand?”

“You could come over and help me,” Cullen tried to leer, but the effect was limited due to nearly falling over. He frowned at his recalcitrant legs. They usually did what he wanted them to.

Asta rolled her eyes. “Or you could just sit down and do it.”

Cullen beamed at her again, “That is clever. You are far smarter than me. This is why you are the Inquisitor.”

“Because I realize I can sit down to unfasten my pants?” Asta busted up laughing. “Oh, Cullen, how much have you had?”

“I have no idea,” Cullen tried to look sober. “A lot.”

“Where is Dane?”

“Sleeping. Under table. Cabot said he could stay,” Cullen managed a single leg, and then looked sad. “I should sing to you more.”

“All right then,” Asta set her book aside and stood up. “I think we’d better get you to bed. Good thing I cancelled all your Commanding tomorrow. You’re going to be the Commander of your own pillow for the whole day, at this rate. Perhaps even the Commander of your own army of elfroot potions, extra strength.”

“You’d get me an elfroot potion?” He looked at her with those puppy eyes and she nearly melted. “I love you. You take care of me.” He looked sad again. “I could at least sing to you more.”

She did melt at that. “I love you too. You won’t love how you are going to feel in the morning, though. Wasn’t once enough?” She shook her head in exasperation. She got his other leg untangled, and stood him up, with difficulty and hauled him to the bed. She tipped him in and he tried to pull her with him. “No, you don’t,” she pulled back. “You need sleep.”

“I need _you_ ,” he muttered. “Didn’t even realize how much. Whole life, needed…” His eyes were already getting hazy though, with sleep instead of drink. “Love you, Inquisitor.”

Asta laughed again. “And I, you, Commander.” She pulled the blankets up over his body. “Maker save us both.” She crossed to her side of the bed and blew out her candle gently, leaving his lit in case he woke up in the night.

He did wake, in a few hours, with a nightmare of the deep roads, bolting upright, with his head spinning, and his body braced against the falling rocks of the Fade. He panted hard, shaking, and dripping with sweat. Had he cried out? He looked at Asta, sleeping peacefully next to him. Apparently not.

He rose, careful not to disturb her, and walked out to the balcony, to watch the sentries, as he usually did when he had bad dreams. They had learned to not sleep, and not take for granted that they weren’t being observed ever since he had moved up here. He was very pleased with the night sentries.

Asta shifted in the bed behind him and he turned and watched her for a little while instead. She was abandoned in her sleep, sprawled out, hair wild and messy in the light of the candle she always remembered to leave lit for him. How had he ever done anything to deserve this? He shook his head. He kept trying to figure it out, and came to the same conclusion every time - he was just lucky, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He smirked a little. He could live with luck.  He crawled back into the bed and tucked himself a little closer to her.

Luck had brought her to him.

 


	106. Worth Waiting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW. I hope this and the next one were worth waiting for. :D
> 
> Tethraghast forever!

Varric waited by the dock for the second day running. It was hard to tell when the ship would be spotted, but he didn’t want to risk his contacts missing a single ship’s arrival in the mess of things that were still being repaired in Kirkwall. He hadn’t had to tie and gag Bran yet, but if another day passed without her arrival, he imagined that he’d have to take drastic measures. There were only so many days in a row you could claim to be ‘inspecting’ the dock repairs, after all. He figured if she didn’t show up today, he’d try to claim the shipyards needed a little supervision, and then the warehouses that were at least _near_ the port.

The winds must be against her ship. It had been a week and still no sign of the _Waking Giant_. The water was unusually calm. He kicked a random pebble, irritated beyond belief at something as uncontrollable as the prevailing winds and currents. The sun was starting to go down, and he had to get back to Hightown, or risk a Carta ambush armed with nothing but a second rate crossbow that barely shot straight. They hadn’t tried yet, but surely it was just a matter of time.

His contacts had claimed nothing was happening. That Bianca’s Clan was just ignoring his existence. It was too good to be true. He had done his part, spreading the story about his involvement with the Hero of Orlais, but rumors could only take him so far. Besides, he needed her presence like water, longed for her, ached for her. And yet thanks to the Maker-be-damned winds she hadn’t shown up yet. And the tide wasn’t favorable for docking - or wouldn’t be in about two hours. It wouldn’t be today.

“Back to the Keep, I guess,” he sighed. Maybe it would be tomorrow. For tonight, he would retire to his bath and think of her again, olive-skinned and lovely, leaning over him with love and purpose and desire… he sighed, lonely beyond belief, and turned to go.

“Ship ahoy!” A lookout yelled, and his head snapped up. He ran up to the lookout post, scaling the ladder faster than anyone should have been able to manage. “Viscount Tethras?!” Varric snatched the spyglass out of the sentry’s stunned hand and looked.

“What ship is it?” He couldn’t tell - why had he even tried? He wouldn’t know one ship from another unless it was Isabella’s. They all looked the same to him. He handed the glass back apologetically.

The lookout looked through it again, studying carefully. “I’d say it was the _Giant_ , by her sails, Serrah.”

Varric took a long shuddering breath. It was her. She was actually here. He grinned, and slipped the lookout a sovereign. “I was never here,” he whispered, unnecessarily. The lookout nodded. “Have yourself a nice evening.” He shimmied down the ladder in a hurry. He had about an hour before the ship docked. The stores were still open. He would be waiting, with flowers, wine and chocolates… and he was over thinking this. But flowers, yes. She liked the flowers before, he reminded himself, wondering if he should consult the little list he had been keeping of ‘Things Cassandra Likes’. He purchased a small nosegay of mayflowers for welcome, tipping the shopkeeper generously for her quick work, and sending a quick thanks to the Maker for Asta’s weird mother, the irony not escaping him.

He made it back to the docks in record time - a small, stalwart figure against the white and golden buildings of the dock, silhouetted against the dying sun, his shadow longer than he was by far. He was the only one waiting for this particular ship. Nobody came to Kirkwall lately that didn’t have to - either they lived there, had family or they were there on business. The tourist trade was essentially dead. But at least she wouldn’t be able to miss him.

And then he saw her.

Of course she was first down the gangplank, her glare focused on him. Maker’s Hairy Balls, that _glare_. His throat tightened and he started to step forward to greet her. He made it two steps towards the ship.

“How _dare_ you…” She marched up the steps towards him, a fucking huge bag that could have held a small dragonling in one hand, a holy shining warrior in the plate he had sent her, a beacon of righteous anger in tight leather pants. Unable to resist for a second longer, he grabbed her shoulders from two steps up and kissed her, first this time. The first of many kisses to make up for her having to take that step with only a chickenshit letter to guide her. Cassandra pulled away, in shock and anger, her fellow passengers gawking at them as they strode by on their own way into the city. “You foolish _dwarf._ You came out here _alone?_ Did you or did you not start a Clan war?” She scolded, and he kissed her again in gratitude and joy. She dropped her enormous bag and began to dissolve against him - her hands slowly drifting to his arms. Her anger was melting away - his mouth working against hers in a way that she could not deny. Her lips were warm, and salty from the sea spray that she had been subjected to for days, and she opened her mouth and let him claim her tongue while she fisted her hands in his shirt and tugged him closer. “You… dwarf,” she sputtered against him again, and then flung herself against him, nearly knocking them both over. She slanted over his mouth in a slow and torrid attempt to reconnect and he lost his train of thoughts and his breath at the same time in the onslaught of her so-long restrained passion.

He didn’t need to breathe anyway. Breathing was overrated. He could live on just her mouth alone. Cassandra was a damn good kisser after she got over being shy. He wondered idly what other things she could do with that mouth besides kiss and yell at him. He hoped he’d get to find out soon, and another part of his body shouted their enthusiastic agreement.

Just possibly he was in love with her for her mouth alone. He let his thumb trace the scar on her cheek and deepened the kiss still further. She didn’t fight him, just made a strangled sound deep in her throat.

“Isn’t that the _Viscount_?” Someone whispered near them. “Heard he was involved with the Hero of Orlais, but… wow. Didn’t think I’d ever see…”

Cassandra moaned into his mouth and he upped his game to block out the noises that didn‘t come from her, resisting the temptation to flip off his own citizens. Nosy Kirkwallers, couldn’t ever mind their own business. He’d show them ‘involved’. He slid his hand down to her ass, mentally noting the leather pants again, and moved his lips to her jaw, kissing down the edge of it, the destination of her throat clearly in mind.

“Varric,” Cassandra moaned again, and he nearly lost it, moving back to her mouth, driven with all the months of separation and years of wasted time. His tongue thrust and twirled into hers, not coaxing any longer, but demanding. He squeezed, gently and she pressed against his near-painful erection. “Perhaps… somewhere private?” She managed to gasp out, and in response he moved away from her lips again, and started working on her pulse point at her neck. She liked that, if the squeak could be believed, and he started sucking harder. She moved to the corresponding point on his neck and nipped him, gently. He groaned in response, a subtle way to cheer her on in her tentative explorations.

He heard a couple of sailors chuckle and offer a couple of off-color suggestions, but didn’t care enough to respond.

Maker’s Glory, would they even make it back to the Keep? He knew that people had done it right here on the docks before - Hawke was always finding articles of torn clothing behind crates and barrels. He was starting to understand why, as the Seeker whimpered at his touches and lowered one of her own hands to cup his ass as well - the other still fisted in his collar. He twisted his hand in her ever-short hair and pressed against her harder.

Andraste’s Ass, if they got any closer he was probably going to indent that shiny new breastplate. Void take it, he’d buy her a new one. He grabbed her ass, a whole lot less gently, and she gasped and bit him, _hard,_ in retaliation, and then claimed his lips again furiously.

“VARRIC!” Aveline strode out of the shadows, and he jumped away from Cassandra - as guilty as any teenager caught in the act - at the sound of her voice, bossy and assured. “Aren’t there better places for such things?” Cassandra slumped against him, and he supported her, his arms around her back, as she blushed that fiery red, into the crux of his neck. He wondered if she could stand. Maker’s Breath, he hoped she couldn’t stand. The Hanged Man was fairly close, after all, and there’s no reason that he couldn’t just take her… he stopped that thought cold. Of course he couldn’t take her to the Hanged Man. He did have standards, as far as Cassandra was concerned. And he wasn’t just himself, any longer, he was the Viscount.

He was really starting to dislike the Viscount. Who the hell was he to get in the way, anyway?

“Andraste’s Tits, Aveline!” Varric cursed, and tried to recover his composure and bravado, more than a little shaken. “Can’t you see I’m welcoming the new head of my Personal Guard to our fine city?” He smiled his most whimsical grin at her and then turned it back to Cassandra, and his grin turned into a pure smile. Maker’s Golden City - had he ever been this happy before? “Welcome to Kirkwall, Seeker Pentaghast.” She nodded silently, her head slightly lifted, still mottled from her blush and completely unable to look at Aveline, focused on his lips instead. His own gaze dropped back down to hers, swollen and red from his attentions.

Aveline scowled, not impressed. “You are disturbing the peace, and from the looks of it, about to commit public indecency,” she pointed out. “Move along, _Viscount_. Before you cause a scene.”

“Why are you on dock duty, anyway?” he grumbled. “Surely the Captain of the Kirkwall Guard has better things to do?”, and offered the slightly smushed flowers - they had been crushed against her hair at one point - to his girl… _his girl,_ his stomach clenched in excitement at the knowledge. She took them, still dazed. He lifted her bag, and nearly fell over. “Shit, Cassandra, you must have a whole set of armor in here,” he grinned at her. “Good thing I’m sturdy. And these arm muscles have to be good for something, right?” He flexed the other arm at her and grinned larger when she swallowed. She liked his arms. Duly noted.

“I can carry my own bag, Varric,” she started to take it back, embarrassed, evidently, by a minor show of gallantry.

“But you aren’t going to,” he insisted. “Come on. Let’s head to the Keep. Aveline,” he passed the Guard Captain, now nodding in approval at his display of chivalry. “Say ‘hi’ to Donnic. We’ll come by tomorrow, if we aren’t too busy.” He smiled at Cassandra, a little breathless with the possibilities. “But we’re probably going to be too busy.”

“At least keep it in your pants until you get to the Keep, Varric,” Aveline recommended. “Welcome back to Kirkwall, Seeker Pentaghast.” She paused and smiled, surprisingly affable, if a bit stiff, “It’s nice to meet you at last. Let me know if you ever need me to point out the lies in Varric’s wild stories. And don‘t believe everything he tells you about me. I did _not_ send a goat and a sheaf of wheat to Donnic’s mother.” She paused. “I sent four. He was worth that.”

Cassandra could only nod, and blush. Varric stared at her. “Sweet Andraste,” he muttered in her general direction, “You’re even more beautiful when you blush than I remembered.” He swallowed. “Unfortunately, we have a long walk up to the Keep.”

“It will feel good to walk after being stuck on that ship for so long,” Cassandra claimed. She hesitated for a long minute and then took his hand. “It will feel good to walk with you.” And then she recovered enough to glare at him again. “Honestly, Varric, you have no business being alone at the docks after sundown! What about the Carta? What about thieves? Kirkwall just got over all the trouble with Starkhaven as well - surely there was someone who would have accompanied you?”

“Exactly,” Aveline called after them. “Why do you think I’m here? And make sure you remind him that he has responsibilities! He‘s been down here, alone, for two days, pining. It‘s absurd.”

“You two are going to get on just fine,” Varric groaned with an inner smile. “I’m never going to get a minute of peace.” He grinned happily. “And when Hawke gets back it’s going to be even worse. Surrounded by bossy, demanding women who could kill me in less time than it takes to blink.”

“And you will love every minute of it,” Cassandra stated confidently.

“Never said I wouldn’t, Seeker,” Varric smiled even larger. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” He looked at her again, unable to resist the draw of her presence.  “I wouldn’t lie to you at all.”

“You are lying right now,” Cassandra drawled. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her eyes slanted at him sideways. “Two days? You waited for me for two days?” Her mouth turned up at the ends, ever so slightly.

He was deadly serious, the grin wiped from his face. “It might take a little practice, to get out of the habit,” he admitted. “But I will try. You’re worth trying for. But I don’t want to hide from you, Seeker.” He sighed, defeated, “I've waited a lot longer than two days.  But, yes, it was two days at the port. I told Bran I was inspecting the dock improvements.”

“Funny,” Cassandra pursed her lips in humor, “I got the impression from one of your letters that you wanted me to hide from you.”

The grin came back, “Only so I can find you again. And again, and again,” he stopped, and dropped her bag and tugged her down to his level, so that he could kiss her - just once more - a soft peck on the lips. It wasn’t enough. “Let’s get back to the Keep,” he muttered. He hefted her bag again. “What is in this thing?”

“I will carry it,” Cassandra reached for it. “Just don’t open it. Not yet.” She turned a little red - she was too pale from the Deep Roads. He‘d have to get her out in the sun a little more. “There is armor inside. And also other… things.”

“No, I’m going to carry it,” Varric insisted. “Why’d you bring armor? I told you I had a whole set waiting for you here! And what other things?”

“It is not for me,” Cassandra clammed up. “And I will not tell you more. You will have to wait. And at least the rest of my luggage is being delivered. This is only the bare necessities that I had with me in the Deep Roads.”

Varric stopped in his tracks, stunned. “The rest… Cassandra, are you taking your cue from Vivienne? How much luggage did you bring?” The torches of Lowtown shone around them dimly and he tried to study her face by their light.

“No,” Cassandra looked down at her feet. “I… do not intend to leave Kirkwall for a few months, however. I thought… I am having my things sent from Skyhold. Mostly books, and weapons. Is that…” she looked in his eyes, and he saw fear behind them. “Was that a mistake?” Her lips straightened, almost painfully.

“Well, shit,” Varric’s smile gleamed in the light of the lit torches. “Not at all.” He swallowed hard. “I guess… Welcome home, then, Cassandra.”

Cassandra’s face lit up at that and she squeezed his hand. “It is good to be here.” She laughed, but it was more breath than chuckle. “I was very intimidated to come back here. To see you again. Petrified, really.” She turned away and started to climb the hills again. “I’ve spent the last week wondering whether if I dove off the ship whether I could reach land before I drowned.”

“Trust me,” Varric said, “If you had reacted any differently at the docks I would have dropped into stealth and scooted right back to Hightown, probably never to be heard from again. I would have confirmed every rumor of the Viscount‘s curse.” He looked at her face in wonder. “You mean it, right? You aren’t going anywhere?”

“I am staying,” the Seeker said assuredly. “The other Seekers can wait until after the Exalted Council.” She bit her tongue. “Shit. I was going to tell you tomorrow.”

“Exalted Council,” Varric’s eyes grew wide and frightened. “Cassandra, is the Divine…”

“Yes,” the Seeker confirmed. “But she says she is calling it to try to avoid an Exalted March, not to demand one. The Most Holy claims it is necessary - she has changed so much and plans to change still more.” She faced him, and stopped her march up the hills to the Keep. “The Inquisitor has requested your presence in her usual informal fashion. I imagine Josephine will send engraved invitations soon enough. Will you go?”

“Will you?” Varric countered.

“Not unless you are,” Cassandra put her foot down. “I am… tired of being someone else’s servant, Varric. I need a purpose, but I do not _want…”_

Varric put his hand over her mouth. “Then we’ll talk about it tomorrow. I want to get you back to my absurdly big home, and show you the bath that I’ll have some long-suffering but extremely well-paid servant draw for you.”

Cassandra twisted her lips together. “Are you going to join me?” She was holding her breath, and Varric restrained himself, with difficulty. He owed Aveline that much, at least.  And the Hightown residents were just as nosy as the rest of Kirkwall.

_Ah, Fuck it,_ he decided, and Varric leaned in. “I thought you’d never ask.” Their mouths met again, there at the edge of Hightown, fully aware that they were probably being watched by at least half a dozen eyes from the ostentatious homes all around them.  “We really need to get to the Keep,” he murmured again.

“I agree,” Cassandra grabbed the bag this time, and lifted it without so much as a grunt, walking determinedly uphill towards the mansion in the distance. Varric scrambled to follow her, giving himself the freedom to drop behind her slightly to check out her ass.

He was only a man, after all.  And it was even better than he remembered.

 


	107. Thoughts that Count

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is safe for work, but the next chapter won't be. Can't guarantee that one will be up today - might be Monday. Still needs a little tweaking, a little editing.
> 
> For those of you waiting for them to just get it on already - sorry. But you all are the reason I'm posting another chapter today. Lots of people were waiting for this to happen.
> 
> You are welcome. Thank you for reading!

“Welcome to Kirkwall, Seeker!” Bran should have left work hours ago, and Varric was extremely unhappy with him.

“Bran,” Varric tried to get him to step away, to no avail. His seneschal just couldn’t take a hint.

“It is good to be here,” Cassandra replied stiffly. “Seneschal Bran, I take it?”

“Quite right, Serrah,” he bowed over her hand, and Varric watched her lip curl with delight. This might be worth the delay, at that.

“Good,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “I would like to know exactly why the Viscount of Kirkwall was alone at the docks after sundown. Is his protection not one of your duties? Does Kirkwall need better Guard recruitment, that no one can be spared to look after the safety of its most illustrious personage?”

Maker’s Breath, she was amazing, and Varric wanted to cheer her on. Bran stuttered and stammered, “Actually, Serrah,”

“Technically,” Cassandra continued, “You should address me as ‘Seeker’. Varric and I still need to work out my rank in the newly formed Viscount Guard. Until then, one of the others will do. I am still - and will remain - a Seeker, so I would suggest that to begin. From Kirkwall‘s terrible record with Templar and mage abuses one of us should have been stationed here permanently a long time ago. Perhaps all the unpleasantness of the battle at the Gallows could have been avoided entirely.” She glared at the man as if she held him personally responsible for Orsino’s use of blood magic and Meredith’s red lyrium madness. Also perhaps the Qunari occupation. She was just that pissed off. It was beautiful.

Bran was left silent, and Varric leaned up against a wall for a better view, letting himself stare at her with respect and longing and more than a little amusement. “Absolutely, Seeker Pentaghast,” Bran managed at last.

“I suggest we meet tomorrow to discuss the details in depth,” Cassandra added. “For now, I am tired, and would like to retire.” She dismissed the over attendant Seneschal with the air of a born princess and met Varric’s lovesick eyes over the man’s shoulder, trying not to smile. “Varric? Would you care to show me where I am staying?”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Varric leveraged himself off the wall and steered her carefully towards the doors that led to the more private area of the Keep, unable to resist winking at Bran. “See you in the morning, Bran. Maybe.”

The doors closed behind them and Cassandra spun to Varric in the vestibule. “You let him push you around,” she frowned. “He works for you, not you for him. You are accountable to the people of Kirkwall, not that… jumped up… butler.”

“Even Hawke never managed to put him in his place,” Varric marveled. “He’s always been like that.”

“You should have him replaced if he can’t remember his appointed role,” Cassandra criticized.

Varric shrugged, “He is good at keeping me on task. He’s an expert nag.”

“Not that good, if you manage to escape his notice for two straight days without argument,” Cassandra noted. “Another thing to discuss tomorrow.” She did not spare him from the harsh look on her face, either, but he couldn’t have given a damn. It was too wonderful to have her around to glare at him again.

The household staff had been summoned, no doubt by Bran. But here, Cassandra lost her confidence entirely.

“Hey, everyone,” Varric breezed in. “This is Seeker Pentaghast. She’s our new guest - the one I told you about. Please do anything she asks, and treat her requests like I made them. For now, I think we’ll eat in my rooms. Sorry if that’s an inconvenience, Cook. Oh, and could one of you draw her a bath?” Varric smiled at them whimsically. “She’d really like a bath.” He turned back to her, “Anything else you need, Cassandra?”

“No,” Cassandra stared at her feet. “Just the bath. Thank you. All of you.”

“So this is the lass, is she?” A kind Starkhaven voice piped up. “Oh, Viscount Tethras, she’s a looker.” A bustling woman swept forward. “And so shy! You had us believing she was all steel and sharp edges!” Cassandra looked at Varric, almost panicking.

“Now, now, Glynis,” Varric stepped in. “Don’t overwhelm her. Normally she is far more forward. It’s been a long trip, and she just got back from the Deep Roads.”

The woman tutted. “Of course. That bath will be drawn directly.” She sized up Cassandra in a glance. “Seneschal Bran tells us you were born Nevarran royalty. I can see the armor suits you better,” she grinned. “Welcome to Kirkwall, Seeker.” She clapped her hands and the staff scattered. “You can meet the rest some other day. In the meantime, I bet you and the Viscount have things you want to do.” She waggled her brows suggestively.

“I would appreciate that,” Cassandra answered stiffly. “It is all a bit… much.” She looked around. “It reminds me a bit of my uncle’s home.”

“Maker forbid,” Varric blanched on her behalf. “Let’s get out of here then.” He steered her to the stairway gently. “That wasn’t my idea,” he muttered. “Bran must have got at them. I usually stand on no kind of ceremony at all.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra murmured in return. “I’m telling you now that if you ever create that kind of scene for me again, I will literally dump your dwarven carcass into the harbor and go back to Skyhold.”

Varric chuckled. “If I pull something like that, Seeker, you have my permission. I‘d deserve it.” They reached his room, and he opened the door for her. “Here it is,” he waved her in, and she stepped inside and dropped her bag. He watched her reaction carefully.

It was everything he had described, complete with the overly gothic decorations - gargoyles, really? - and roaring fire - and entirely too much space. “It’s just as you said,” she swallowed.

“It’s too much, isn’t it,” Varric watched her carefully as she spun in place, awed. “Look, Cassandra…”

“It is not,” Cassandra smiled. “It is exactly the way you described it in your letter.” She spun to him. “Can we put out the fire and light all the candles?”

“What, now?” Varric almost choked. “Don’t you want your bath first? Or something to eat?”

She marched towards him, intent as a cat stalking its prey. “Five months of letters, Varric. Five months of the Deep Roads with you writing me delicious letters and… teasing me. There is only one thing I want right now, and it’s not a bath.” She stopped suddenly. “I am scaring you. I see it in your eyes.” She tried to turn away, embarrassed again.

“Hey, hey,” Varric pulled her hand away from her face. “On the contrary,” his face was lit with soft light, joy shining from within, “I’m not scared. I’m a little surprised.” He grinned and she smiled slightly. “But it’s a good surprise.” He swallowed the laugh that threatened to escape. “I honestly thought I’d need to do a little seduction right about now. Apparently not.”

“I am already seduced,” Cassandra declared, positively. “You have been doing that for nearly half a year. And now, I am impatient. And frustrated. You have done your job too well. And _you_ kissed _me_ at the docks. And… handled me.”

“Well then,” Varric laughed. “You realize that in about five minutes someone is going to knock on that door and tell us that there is food.”

“They can leave it outside the door,” Cassandra argued.

“And in another fifteen minutes that your bath is ready,” Varric added.

“It will wait,” she announced. “I am not one to mind tepid water. It cannot be as cold as the rivers in Fereldan.”

“Well then,” Varric went over to the massive bed and climbed up his stepstool to sit on the side of it. “There is a pitcher of water on the washstand, and matches on the mantle.” He grinned at the Seeker again, irrepressible. “Let’s start some fires, Seeker.”

Cassandra looked at him, as if she was waiting for the punch line. “All right then,” she announced, and marched over to the washstand and grabbed the pitcher. “Are you not going to help me?”

“I’d rather watch you make yourself at home,” Varric leaned up against the unholy number of pillows on the bed and threw her a smile. “It’s amazing to have you here.”

Cassandra eyed him suspiciously and then doused the fire in the fireplace with a single toss of water, and watched as the smoke flew up the chimney. She pulled down the matches from the mantelpiece a little slower, and walked around the candelabras softly, lighting one and then lighting the rest with the first, tossing the used taper into the fireplace. “That was not thoughtful of me,” she noted. “Your… staff is going to have a very hard time lighting that fire again in the morning.”

“I’m not particularly thinking about them right now,” Varric admitted, watching the smaller flames strike up against her breastplate and double the number of flames that she was actually lighting. “I’m a little preoccupied with a different staff.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Will you always be twisting my words and making terrible puns?”

“Probably,” Varric admitted. “Second nature. Do you mind?”

Cassandra paused in her candle lighting. “No. I suppose not. As long as you don’t always expect me to laugh.”

“Fine with me,” Varric nodded, “Then when you do, it will be all the better.” She lit the last candle, the closest to the bed, the closest to him and stared at him across the suddenly massive expanse of the bed. “You know,” he observed, “suddenly this bed seems wider than the Waking Sea.” He sighed. “There’s an extra armor stand in the dressing room. The door next to the fireplace.” He held his breath as she walked over to the door and opened it, slowly.

Cassandra gasped. There were two sets of armor - one practical - the breastplate notably missing - and the other… “Varric,” she sighed. “It’s beautiful.” She traced the line of the delicate engraving of the Kirkwall coat of arms, as red as blood this time against the golden armor, touched the red silk of the accompanying cape, roughened fingers catching on the threads, and swallowed hard.

“Volcanic Aurum,” Varric cleared his throat. “I know you hate ceremony, and dressing up, but there is bound to be a few things…” he sighed. “Check the inside of the breastplate.”

Casssandra unbuckled it from its place, and turned it over in her suddenly shaking hands. “To protect…” her throat closed off.

“… my heart,” Varric finished. “They’re all engraved. I got… a little carried away,” he admitted. “But I…”

Cassandra marched determinedly towards her bag at that point and jerked it’s ties and buckles open. “I have something for you as well.” She tossed him the gauntlets. “Put these on,” she ordered.

Varric complied, warily. “Seeker? What on…”

“Just do it.” She slid her own gloves on carefully. “It’s important.” She leveraged the weapon out of the bag carefully, the armor clanking as she shifted it around, and set it on a blanket on the chest at the end of the bed.

Varric’s eyes were wider than saucers. “What is it?” It gleamed a dull grey and blue against the orange of the candlelight, and whatever it was, he wanted it - all his repressed Artificer skills clamoring at him to take it apart to see how it worked.

“It’s a crossbow,” Cassandra bit her lower lip. “I think. Sort of. It acts like one, anyway. I brought you all the bolts I could find, but you may need to write to Dagna and see if she can make you a supply.” She stepped away. “It’s for you, obviously. It’s infused with lyrium, and so I figured you would need the gloves until we determined whether or not it’s safe to touch with bare hands. If it isn‘t, I have an entire set of armor that will protect against such dangers.”

“Fucking Void, Cassandra,” Varric lifted his eyes to her face. She was blushing, but firm. “You carried this back from the Deep Roads for me?”

“Not the Deep Roads,” Cassandra corrected, “From the Titan we found when the Roads ended. And yes. I did. If you don’t want it, I will send it to Dagna so that she can study…”

“NO!” Varric flung himself off the bed and strode towards the weapon, awe in his eyes. And then stopped. “This isn’t some misplaced attempt to get one-up on Bianca, is it?”

“No,” Cassandra bit out. “It is a gift. Because I care about your safety and that excuse for a crossbow you had today wouldn’t kill a nug. Not that any of us in the Inquisition would dare kill a nug after Sera met their King.” Varric nodded in acceptance, and looked at the object again with more than a little longing. Cassandra sighed, with impatience, “Are you going to touch it or not?”

Varric reached out slightly shaking hands and lifted it. “It’s lighter than I thought it would be.” Bianca had been heavy.

“Most of the weight in my bag is the armor,” Cassandra admitted.

“Seeker,” he breathed, but didn’t finish the sentence.

“What?” Cassandra asked, irritated.

“Her name is Seeker,” he met her eyes, almost bashfully, looking up through his eyelashes. “Do you mind?”

“I…” Cassandra lost her words for a moment. “No. I do not mind,” She finished, blushing. “I also have the… remains of Bianca in my bag. If you really wanted to burn her. But I would suggest at least sending those to Dagna, to see if she can duplicate them. She is far more clever than… Smith Davri.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name, Varric noted. They still had talking to do, evidently. Tomorrow.

He lowered the weapon back down reverently. “She’s beautiful,” he looked at the Seeker, unsure if he was talking about the weapon or the woman in front of him.

“She will protect you,” Cassandra replied. “That is what is important.” She looked deeply into his eyes and held them seriously.

“She will,” Varric stepped back around to the other side of the chest, towards her, and Cassandra stepped away quickly to place her breastplate on the stand, as if she were unaware of his intentions. Maybe she was, but maybe she was just being practical. “Cassandra, I…” She turned back to him, almost cautiously, obviously intimidated again.

And then a soft voice accompanied a knock on the door. Varric cursed out loud, at length and creatively. “Sorry, Serrah,” the voice called. “I’ll just leave it here. But the Seeker’s bath is ready as well.”

Varric jerked the door open, a little contrite, but mostly irritated. “Fine, thank you. I’ll take it from here,” he grumbled, and grabbed the tray. The maid curtseyed and walked away, used to his insistence on serving himself. He carried it to the small table in the room, and slid it on carefully. “Well, at least we’ll only be disturbed once,” he noted.

Cassandra was twisting her fingers together. “Why is this so awkward?” She blurted out. “You have been writing… things to me. Beautiful, passionate things. And I know how you feel. You kissed me…” her words trailed off.

Varric shrugged, “It’s taking that final step.” He looked at her. “Are you still seduced?” He started to chuckle when she blushed yet again. “I’m fascinated,” he confessed, “At how you swing from bold to bashful at a blink of an eye. It makes me want to write about you, try to capture your behavior in words,” he added. “You are a marvelously complex person, Cassandra.” He sighed, “If you aren’t ready to…”

“No!” Cassandra was horrified now, and stepped forward to grab his arm. “I am. I’m just…” she let out another disgusted noise. “Ugh, so embarrassed. I hate this about myself. I can kill dragons, but I cannot…” she released his arm. “People skills are not my strong suit.”

“You did just fine at the docks,” Varric pointed out. “A little less of Aveline and we would have given the sentries a show they’d never forget.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Cassandra looked up at the ceiling. “You… made me forget myself.”

“Same here,” Varric reached out and took her hand. “You made me forget that I was that guy they call the Viscount. It’s a good feeling. I could use more of that feeling. You?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “I had every intention of greeting you in a similar fashion, but it went to the Void as soon as I saw you standing there, alone, in the middle of seedy Kirkwall with nothing but a posy and a worthless crossbow to keep you safe.” She glared at him again, lost in the memory. “You should know better.”

“There’s only one thing I want to know better,” Varric grinned, “And it doesn’t have anything to do with my personal safety. In fact, it might be a little dangerous.”

Cassandra’s lips twisted up, “Most assuredly dangerous. But for you, I will take off the sword first, and then you will only have to contend with my hand to hand skills.” She eyed him, humor glinting in her eyes. “They are formidable enough.”

Varric stepped back slightly, “Seeker, was that a joke?  A mildly dirty joke?!” His mouth stretched wide in delight.

“I do have a sense of humor, dwarf,” she sighed. “Are you going to kiss me again? Or should I just go take that bath?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Varric announced, and pulled her down and wrapped his hand in her hair. She fell to her knees in front of him, unbuckling her sword belt as quickly as she could, and laying it down next to her. He looked at her solemnly, and then leaned in to make contact once more.

This time, there would be no audience, no interruptions. Just himself and his lovely Seeker and the light of dozens of candles - all three of them going up in flames.

 


	108. Come Breathe on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely NSFW. Never safe for work. So if you don't want the smut, skip it.  
> Tethraghast forever!

His lips were soft and insistent as he dropped to his knees in front of her, and Cassandra restrained herself. She had already scared him once, she was sure of it. And she _wanted_ this. Him. Desperately. She put her hands behind his ears and scooped him forward, dipping her tongue against his still closed lips. Surely he would not have… offered himself this way without intending to follow through?

She should not have doubted, she realized in the next minute. His mouth parted for her without hesitation and he met her halfway, groaning into her mouth as he slid his hands to her waist and up and against the skin at her waistline, and then above it. “Tell me if I go too far,” he muttered against her.

“There is no such thing,” Cassandra spat back, and then he was back against her even harder, wrapping a arm around her back and pushing her towards him. In turn, she ran her hand over his ear, and pulled the tie loose from his hair, letting it sweep forward against his jaw. It was longer than she realized, and she immediately ran her fingers through to his scalp, cupping his skill to press his lips harder against her own.

His hand slid up under her breastband, pausing at the back as if he was questioning whether she wanted this, and then gently pulled the tucked fabric loose, letting it trail down softly under her tunic to fall next to her. She encouraged his newly questing hand with a soft moan against his mouth, and he found her breast and cupped it with a level of gentleness she could not have imagined from this man, this amazing man.

He surprised her, so often, but she wasn’t scared any longer. He was meeting her where she was, and again, she wanted this. Had wanted him for so long, even before she realized that all her silly dreams for a romance to span the ages were centering around the person she had had in front of her for years. She let her hand fall from his hair to his front, and stroked his chest with her slim fingertips, dropping to where his shirt, characteristically, was half unbuttoned and she flicked the next open.

***

He was holding his breath, he realized, as Cassandra starting opening his buttons. He wanted her to take the lead, to feel safe - but it had been a very long time for him, after all. He softened his lips further and she shoved the coat off his shoulders in impatience. There was Cassandra. No hesitancy now, just desire and the intention to get exactly what she wanted and damn the consequences. Every time he kissed her softer, she kissed him harder, so he pushed back into her mouth with firmer lips and toughened, with a hand behind her neck and the other returning to its new home under her tunic.

She mewled desperately into his kiss and then made a strategic retreat, to pull her top loose and over her head - a little self-conscious again, but when he didn’t move his hand, diving back into his warmth before he could comment or protest. That was just fine with him - they had shared enough words in the months of their separation. He would tell her later, he vowed to himself, about how lovely she was, how strong, how the curves and angles of her were the stuff of legends and fairy tales. How she tasted like cinnamon and salt water - and smelled improbably of roses - and how he was drunk upon her taste and the scent of her.

Her hands had drifted to the laces of his pants now, and they shook there slightly, so he took the hand at her neck and stilled her quaking fingers with his own. “Go ahead, Seeker,” he offered, and dropped his hand to hers as well. “May I?”

“Yes,” she bit out, and tore into the ties jerkily, frowning at them intently, as if their presence was an insult. He was far gentler, loosening hers with a brief pull, and letting them part against her abdominal muscles. He ran his fingertips back up her torso to between her breasts and she shuddered, pausing in her battle with the strings. Her nipples were pink - but a darker dusty pink than he was expecting. He ran his palm over one, and she shut her eyes, quivering slightly. He bent forward, meeting her eyes as they opened ever so slightly, and tasted one, with soft lips and tongue. Her hands flew to his head, and gripped him against her as if she couldn’t bear to let him go, tensing her fingers into his scalp at the roots and he groaned against her breast.

She tasted of roses as well. An oil or lotion? He would find out, and make sure she always tasted this way - like candied flowers. He held her waist with his strong hands and took more of her into his mouth, kissing and rubbing against her until her breast pebbled against his tongue. She was moaning now, like she had at the docks, and so he made his way back to her neck - to the point where he could see her pulse pounding against the thinner skin. He mouthed her, and nipped a little, leaving a slight reddening where her blood streamed so close to the surface of her skin, and stopped, deliberately, pulling back away.

“Cassandra?”

“Why did you stop,” she sounded offended. “Did I do something? Should I not have… pulled your hair?”

“Just wanted to know if you wanted to take this to the bed, or continue where we were,” he explained, and ran his hand over to the other breast, brushing it with a thumb. “I like the hair pulling,” he grinned and looked into her eyes through his eyelashes again. He traced the place he had kissed on her neck with his other hand.

“I like it down,” she confessed. “You always tie it back. It’s too pretty to do that.” She sighed, “Let’s move to the bed. My knees are starting to ache. I am not precisely young, Varric.”

She thought his hair was… pretty? “For you, I’ll leave it down,” he replied. “And thank the Maker you just said that, because mine are killing me.” He chuckled at her and stood, with only a little difficulty, holding his hand out to his girl. She took it, and rose as if from a full curtsey, regal and graceful, hardly putting any weight on his hand at all. He remembered suddenly she was royalty - so easy to forget with the nature of her line of work.

She strode to the bed, and stripped out of her leggings practically - as matter of fact about their removal as about killing a demon, and turned to him, brazen, daring him to comment. He didn’t say a word, and kept his eyes on her face as he removed the remainder of his own clothes, no less forward. Her eyes dropped first, and he could swear he could feel the heat of them where they focused on the cock standing between his legs, making him stiffen further. He wanted to tease her, but since she was already blushing, restrained himself. He didn’t want to make her self conscious.

She hoisted herself up on the bed, and he took the circuitous route - the stepstool that was sadly necessary for him to reach the bed’s grand heights. He leaned back against the many pillows, arms behind his head, and let her look. No reason to be embarrassed after all - his arms were just one of the many muscular features of his body. He just tended to keep the rest of them covered.

If she liked the arms, she would love the rest of him.

***

She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The scars he never showed - were they from his adventures with the Champion? And for Maker’s sake, he was _thick_ with muscles. Everywhere. She could feel the blush creeping up her neck as he let her stare, and then walked over to the stool to climb into the bed as she hoisted herself up still staring. His ass, his thighs - they were all so defined, and she suddenly wondered how… skinny she looked. Her own scars were obvious - the one on her cheek hardly had put him off, but she wanted to run her hands along his legs, his abdomen, trace every thin and twisted line. Maybe he would tell her the stories, someday.

She smiled, briefly. He would tell her all the stories. And a whole lot sooner than someday.

***

When she smiled, his heart lightened. He had seen the shadow crossing her face, and wondered what had caused it. She was shining like polished stone in the candlelight, shadows playing across the angles of her ropy muscles.

“Do you need an invitation?” He asked at last, trying not to laugh as she stared him down, up and down, again and again, her gaze winding around his legs, where the Bone Pit’s dragon had marked him forever. “Or just can’t get enough?”

“I will never get enough,” Cassandra swallowed, and couldn’t go on.

“You haven’t had anything yet,” he pointed out, smirking. “And it’s all yours, Seeker. So come and get it.” He let his hand gesture to himself, head to foot and grinned wide.

“Ugh,” her disgusted noise did draw a laugh out of him, but he wasn’t prepared for the sudden lunge of her, lining her body up over his. “You will regret offering me that, dwarf.” She was so close, hovering just over him, and it was his turn to try to choke down a sudden lump in his throat.

“I hardly think so,” Varric said softly, all teasing left behind. “I’ve been offering myself on a silver platter for months. Took you long enough to find me, Seeker.” She was so close that their noses touched.

“It was hardly my fault,” Cassandra defended stiffly. “But I am here now. And you - we - are wasting time.”

“For once we completely agree,” and he sat up slightly, and stroked the scar on her cheek, letting the hand travel back around her head and kissed her again, once, twice, and then moaning, pulled her down against him so that he could finally feel her skin, her breasts against him. He dropped his other hand to her ass, and pulled her up, so that she was sitting against him solidly. She kissed him with abandon, like she had at the docks, her tongue meeting his again and again, and rocking against him.

Sweet Andraste, she was _wet_ , and despite all the evidence - in writing, no less - that she wanted him, he had almost doubted that this was actually going to happen. But now, his Cassandra, gleaming by the light of what seemed like hundreds, millions, of candles, was rocking against his cock, tight between them… and it was real.

“I know dwarves can’t dream,” he breathed into her ear as she arched into his hands, now back at her breasts, “but I swear I’ve seen you like this a million times in my mind. Heard the sounds of you losing yourself over me. Touched your body in a hundred different ways.”

“Then do it now,” Cassandra managed, with difficulty. “Touch me, Varric,” she ordered. “I will not break.”

“But I might,” he confessed, and then obeyed, stroking her core and brushing himself accidentally. “Keep moving like that and I will.” He groaned as she pressed down harder. “Holy Maker, Cassandra!”

“Yes,” she insisted and did it again. “I want you to break. I want you to break _now._ ” She sat up and aligned him with herself, and hesitated, looking at his dazed eyes.

He shook, trying to hold back. Fucking Void, it had been a long time.

“By all that is holy and pure, I want this,” he assured her. “Break me, because I love you, Cassandra Pentaghast.”

She choked, and swallowed, and then slid him home, her back arched like an olive branch as she adjusted around him. “Shit, Varric,” the obscenity fell from her lips unbidden. “I cannot,” she rocked again, and he slid further inside. “It’s been so long…”

“I know,” he nearly whimpered, in a breathy voice. “I know, Cassandra. I’m… this is going to be embarrassing.” He tried to laugh at himself.

“Do not be embarrassed,” her voice, her breath were warm against his cheek as she moved and he tried not to. “I love you, too, Varric Tethras.” And then she claimed his mouth and started to ride him in truth.

They lost their words again, as they thrust and rocked and pushed and pulled against each other, their bodies fighting to find a rhythm they could match. It was as awkward as hell at first - and then something changed. They stopped fighting each other and met equally, wood and stone, both hard, but wrapped around and rooted against. Their breath was the wind that shaped them both. Their bodies twined naturally, like a river around its bank, their mouths panting and kissing in little waves, tongues touching and then only lips. Their skin and muscle and bone became one, hands twisted into each other as she pressed his arms and hands into the pillows of the bed - suddenly too soft for the nature of what they made.

She was everything that he had thought about and more - raw passion and true love. And when he came, he came with the wonder that he had lasted as long as he had, and the knowledge that she was shaking like a leaf above him, around him, quaking like an aspen as she rode him to her certain pleasure.

In the end, she fell against his neck, clutching him desperately, her anchor in the storm’s aftermath, and he ran his hands up her back, soothing and holding and marveling that they were here. She was… crying, and he wiped the tears away, so gently she could barely feel the pressure of his fingers at all.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I do not… cry.” The horror in her voice echoed through her limbs, stiffening slightly.

“I seem to have that effect on you,” Varric chuckled. “I think this is twice? That I know of. Did you cry while you were in the Deep Roads? What about after you met Bianca the first time?”

She glared at him and he kissed her twice, in quick succession, as a reward for the look. It was so nice to have someone to call him on his shit. “So this is your fault,” she accused.

“Blame me if you like,” Varric grinned, “I probably deserve it on some level.”

And Cassandra… laughed, like a rusty gate, but laughed, all the same. “I’m sure you do.” She pulled back and slumped against his pillows on her side facing him, black hair mussed and spiky, a sweet soft smile playing around the edges of her lips, red and swollen.

He wanted to say so many things, but the words fell over each other trying to make it past his lips, piling up behind his closed mouth. So all he said was, “Sweet Andraste, you are beautiful,” and watched her blush red against the white of the pillows, redder than the curtains, redder than the flames of the candles that were burning down all too quickly.

“I should take that bath,” was her response. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you with your household staff.” She paused, and added shyly, “You could join me, you know.”  Her hands traced through his chest hair gently.

“Seeker,” Varric had to stop there and let his throat loosen again, a little overcome. “I would love to.”

As it turned out, the water was still warmer than the rivers in Fereldan, the tub was just as absurdly large as Varric had promised, and Cassandra looked just as lovely above him - and beneath him - as he had thought.

The next morning the housekeeper had words with Varric about all the splashed water on the floor, and he was forced to apologize in depth to the maids that had to clean it up, of course drawing it out with colorful language and elaborate hand gestures, as Cassandra blushed red and left the room in embarrassment.

It was worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I think about these two, I'm positive that Cassandra is one of the stories that Varric just doesn't tell - he never tells his own stories, after all!
> 
> Just fire the cannons already, I'm going down with this ship.


	109. Dare Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the Tethraghast goodness! Hopefully I'll have another chapter of these two up later today as well.

“I do not wish to outrank Guard Captain Aveline,” Cassandra insisted. “She has put years of dedicated work into the Kirkwall Guard. Either make her a Commander or make me a Captain, because I swear I will not take where others have earned.” And with that, Aveline had her respect, and Cassandra was Captain of the Viscount’s Guard. They spent the entire afternoon comparing notes on the corruption in the city, and the Free Marches in general. Varric was excessively diverted by the two painfully honest and upright women.

“It’s not just the Carta,” Aveline confessed, “It’s the entire Merchant’s Guild. And we can’t get rid of them, because they own the lawyers. Well, most of them.”

“Hey, don’t let me stop you. Get rid of the Guild and I‘ll have a whole lot more free time,” Varric put his feet up on his desk, and Cassandra frowned at him. He just grinned at her, impossibly happy, and she blushed, inexplicably. She had been doing that all day. It was fantastic.

They had woken up next to each other, and had eaten breakfast as naked as the day they were born on that massive bed. Varric had tried to feed her and she had glared at him, and then accepted what he was offering - a piece of fruit - delicately. She had tried it on him, and he had sucked the juices off her fingers and licked them clean, humming softly.

She had been breathing hard through her nose after that. But of course Bran had to pick that moment to barge in where he wasn’t wanted, and try to make him actually do some work. At least he hadn’t come straight into the bedchambers. No, the bastard had knocked, politely but insistently, with Glynis protesting behind him that the Viscount should be left alone for the day with his guest. Bless her heart. She deserved another raise.

Cassandra had taken point, wrapping herself in his too-short-for-her robe - seeing her in his clothes did things to him - and opened the door with that ‘worship me, I deserve it’ air, with Varric laying out on the bed, flaunting his nudity around his teacup. He had figured that he would let Bran be embarrassed. It was his fucking bedroom. “Care to explain why you are here, Seneschal?” Cassandra eyed him like one of the giant cockroaches that lived in Darktown. “It is very early to be so disturbed.”

And Bran lapped it up like a dog. “Of course, Seeker Pentaghast. The Viscount has several important meetings this morning. The Merchant’s Guild, the…” he caught a glimpse of Varric over her shoulders and blanched white in horror while Varric waggled his fingers.

“Cancel them,” she demanded, imperious and oh-so-regal. “We have more critical issues to discuss today. We will be available in a little over an hour. If you need something to do until then, see when Captain Aveline is available to meet with us.” And she had shut the door in the man’s face, and gone back to eating, not even raising her eyebrow at Varric’s inability to cover up. “I hope my things from Skyhold arrive soon. I need my own robe. That… man… has no manners.”

No, she didn’t blush at him being naked. His smile made her blush, his touch at the small of her back made her blush, the kiss he stole before they left his - their - room made her blush. He had instantly decided to see how many ways he could make her blush today.

He was up to six, and it was barely eleven.

And the way she handled Bran - he was starting to understand why Asta got off on Cullen being her shield. Because damn, Cassandra was hot when she was in princess mode. He watched her steer Bran expertly away from him again and again - and he got about three times the usual amount of work done because he wasn’t being interrupted every five minutes by someone arguing there was something more important to do.

Mind you, it was work on Swords and Shields, and not on rebuilding Kirkwall, but hey, somebody had to keep his Seeker in smut. It had better be him. And the words were flowing easily today - fed with the thousand remembered moments from the night before. He couldn’t waste that.

But the current argument, about the Dwarven Carta and the Merchant’s Guild - well, that was personal. He couldn’t just let them argue it out without at least attempting to contribute. It was his skin, and Cassandra‘s, if they decided to get really serious.  After their performance at the docks, all of Kirkwall - and possibly most of Thedas - was confirming the rumors he had spread around.  The thought made him grin like a small child.

“Honestly, Varric,” Aveline argued, “You say that now, but you know what would happen if we took them head on. I hate corruption, but we just don’t have the political power…”

“I absolutely agree,” Cassandra affirmed. “You cannot anger the Guild. Kirkwall isn’t large or strong enough. If we had more allies…”

“Oh, we have allies,” Varric grinned. “Think Asta wants a challenge?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned, “We are not going to drag the Inquisition into a Clan War caused by your…”

“Caused by me dumping a married ex for a new, better, more appropriate model?” Varric flung his feet to the floor. “Eh, they’ve helped me out before. All that mess with people stealing my work… murders… Choirboy invading… they‘re already embedded in Free Marcher politics. Shit, they’re embedded in politics from Fereldan to the Magisterium, thanks to all those attempted Venatori assassinations. And Asta owes me. I‘m sure. For something.”

“Varric, that is a gross misuse of Inquisition resources…” Cassandra started to argue.

“Come on, Seeker,” Varric grinned, “Bianca deserves this.” She hesitated, and he pressed the issue. “It’s not that I want revenge. If she never makes a move, nothing will happen. But,” and he looked up through his eyelashes at her. She blushed. Seven. “I thought you wanted to keep me safe?”

She had lost, and she knew it, by the glare on her face, still coated with the mottled red. “Fine,” she bit off. “YOU can write to her and tell her that YOU want her help to clear out the corruption here. You know how idealistic she is - she will immediately send troops, resources…”

“We already have troops,” Aveline interrupted. “The Inquisition forces that she sent before to bolster us against Sebastian are still here. We would just need her permission, or Commander Rutherford’s, to use them to protect against another threat besides the Prince of Starkhaven.”

Cassandra eyed her suspiciously. “And what are your thoughts on Prince Vael?”

Aveline rolled her eyes. “He should have married Hawke when he had the chance. It would have given him stability when Elthina died in the explosion, someone to talk to. Instead, he’s running Starkhaven alone, convincing himself that it’s Andraste’s will that he‘s on the throne and that she wants him to annex Kirkwall. It would have been good for Hawke as well. That kind of companionship would have given her someone to run to after Anders... Instead, she’s somewhere between the Anderfels and Starkhaven now, with the intent to burn things running through her veins. I worry about rage demons finding her.  And it‘s a mix of his fault and Anders‘.” She thought for a moment. “And Orsino’s. And Meredith’s.” She laughed outright. “Maker’s Breath, her life is so screwed up. At least Carver is safe.”

“Be fair,” Varric defended his best friend, “She always runs off with the intent to burn things. And Carver is never safe. He‘s Carver. He finds his own trouble with his big mouth and lack of filter. Remember when he propositioned Isabella?”

“That’s besides the point, Varric,” Aveline insisted, “Now she is going to make Sebastian hurt for threatening her city, and not a little of that is really about him and that stupid ‘proposal’ he made to her way back when. Honestly, can you imagine Hawke serving Andraste?” The Guard Captain’s mouth twitched in humor. “How did I manage to fall in with all of you? I’m so… normal.”

Varric couldn’t deny that, any more than he could deny the scar on his nose.  "It must be our innate charm, Aveline."

“Hawke serves Andraste just fine in her own way,” Cassandra sighed. “Prince Vael sounds like a fool.”

“He is,” Varric confirmed. “But he was Hawke’s fool. And now he’s our problem. Unless she decides to take him out and solve that problem for us.”

“That would be inadvisable.” Cassandra scowled at him. “Mages in the Free Marches will be dealing with unfair treatment for ages to come thanks to Anders. If she goes to Starkhaven and sets it and his Prince on fire…”

“Hey, she’s her own woman,” Varric raised his hands up in defense. “I can’t stop her. You, Aveline?”

“No chance,” the Guard Captain confirmed. “She’s never listened to me. She even sold my deceased husband’s shield.”

“She did what?!” Cassandra’s mouth hung open.

“Careful, Cassandra, flies will get in,” Varric grinned at his girl’s glare.

Aveline shrugged, “We needed the money to finance the Deep Roads. I understood why. Mostly. And I had a better one.  It's just... it was Wesley's.  All I had left of him.  And it’s thanks to her that I have any kind of life in Kirkwall at all, a husband and a job. If it hadn’t been for her family… but still, she never listens.”

“How is the rebuilding coming at the Chantry site?” Cassandra changed the subject.

“It’s going,” Varric shrugged. “Slow, but steady. It won’t be as elaborate as it was, but it’s a Chantry. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d recommend saying a Chant,” Cassandra sighed. “If Hawke is indeed as impulsive as you say, that’s about the only thing that can save her now.”

***

The two of them retired back to the Keep’s private rooms considerably later that night, Varric burdened with a pile of papers that he had promised Bran to go through. “I hate bringing work home,” he fumed, settling into a comfortable chair at his desk in his study.

“That’s what you get for writing Swords and Shields all day when I was meeting with him and Aveline,” Cassandra pursed her lips. “When do I get the next installment? You said you had finished it,” she reminded him.

“I have,” Varric smiled slightly.  "I didn't realize that you knew what I was working on."

“Then where is it?”  Cassandra frowned.  "I can tell when you are writing smut, Varric.  You have a tendency to smile randomly."

“Around,” he grinned mischievously.

“On your shelves?” Cassandra looked at his bookshelves with interest.

“Nope, cold.” Varric put on his Wicked Grace face and Cassandra nearly lost it. “Go ahead and look for it. While you look, I‘ll tell you ‘hot‘ or ‘cold‘.”

“What?” She sputtered, impatient. “Just tell me where to look.”

“Nope.” Varric turned his eyes back to his parchment. “I have work to do.” His eyes twinkled at the page. He had been setting this up since he had finished the damn thing and informed her that she wasn't getting it until she came to Kirkwall.  It would be more fun to play this game than go over the paperwork by far.

“Give me that,” she tore the papers out of his hand. “I will help you and then you will tell me where to look.”

“Cassandra, don’t…” But the damage was done. She was looking at the top of the stack with a blank look that was slowly turning into caution.

“This is from King Markus,” she observed. “Why… why would you have a letter from King Markus?”

“It wasn’t my doing,” Varric grumbled. “Bran did it. When I told him you hadn’t dismissed the idea of… contracts… completely. Said we had to start there.”

“WE?!” Cassandra tossed the pages down and started to pace. “I do not belong to the Nevarran royal family, Varric. I am a Seeker. I have spent my life building myself into more than that.”

“Fucking Void, Cassandra, I know that!” Varric braced himself.  So much for a fun evening. “I don’t care about any of that crap.”

“Then _why?_ ” She fumed. “Why would…”

“You’ve met Bran,” Varric swallowed. “And you see how I can’t exactly manage him. And…” he stopped. Would he lose her with the admission? “And I didn’t hate the idea.”

“You didn’t…” she stopped and stared, open mouthed. “What do you mean?” She was frozen, wary, prepared to bolt.

“I mean,” he took a deep breath. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… going that far. If you wanted. But only if you wanted,” her assured her. “I wasn’t going behind your back, trying to rope you into some crazy betrothal out of a stupid book. I promise. I’m not lying,” he insisted.

She sunk into an overstuffed chair. “I… see.  I think I believe you.  Perhaps.” She was breathing heavily again. “Good. I think.”

“You… think?” Varric held his breath briefly.

“I’m not stupid, Varric,” she drawled. “On the contrary. And you did mention that before. I just didn’t realize that you would have to talk to my… family.” She blanched. “Holy Andraste, you haven’t written to my uncle, have you?” She even cursed like she was saying a prayer. Maker’s Balls, he had it bad.

“No, Bran said it would be useless. And I wasn’t interested,” Varric replied, blunt and honest. “It kept him busy and out of my hair… and had the potential to be… helpful, I suppose, if it went anywhere,” he confessed. “I have no idea what such things involve. My parents haven’t tried anything of the sort with me since before I met Hawke.” His throat closed off. “What did the letter say?”

“I didn’t read it,” she was closed off again, tight and firm. “I’m not sure I care. I only saw the crest on the stationery.”

“Hey, See… Cassandra,” Varric corrected. “I swear, I won’t let Bran go any further if you don’t want…”

“If I don’t want to marry you?” She stared him down. “You won’t even say the word, Varric.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “It scares the shit out of me, Cassandra.”

“Likewise, Varric,” she spat out. “The last suitor I had I got rid of by breaking his _arm_.”

Varric busted up laughing, “Was it an accident?”  He looked at her adoringly.  "That is so _you._ "

“Yes,” She stared at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Well, mostly.” And then started to laugh as well - a laugh that was rusty and underused, but still like music to him. “I will not break your arm.”

“Thanks?” Varric leaned back in his desk chair, and stared at her, amused and lovesick. “That’s a start, I guess. But know this, Cassandra, if I wanted to… marry… anyone it would be you.” He swallowed the bogfisher that had jumped into his throat when she blushed again. Eight. “So what do you say to that?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she grumbled. “Let me read that letter.” She grabbed it and read it quickly, her face turning white and then red, and then back to her normal olive tones again, relaxing. “That’s not so bad,” she muttered. He wasn’t sure if that counted as an independent blush, so didn’t count it at all.

“What isn’t?”

“King Markus has informed you that while I am descended from royalty, I belong to the Seekers first - he always was a traditionalist - and then to myself. And he thanks you formally for requesting the information from him rather than from my uncle, who would have accepted on my behalf, I know, because he would be so relieved to be finally rid of the responsibility of finding me a suitable match.” She sighed. “So it’s my decision, apparently. But he also fences it in with caveats that if such a union does take place that he will not consider himself strictly bound by family matters to protect Kirkwall in the case of another invasion. So Bran cannot solve Kirkwall’s defense issues by marrying you to me.”

“I see,” he sighed now, absurdly disappointed in her visible relief.

Cassandra stared at him suspiciously. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” he lied automatically.

“If you did not intend to trap me in a contract of marriage, Varric, why are you sighing like that?”

“You just looked disgusted at the very idea. Of marrying me. And I’m… bothered by that.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, embarrassed at his own admission.

“Ugh,” Cassandra groaned and covered her eyes. “Varric. I have been in Kirkwall for 24 hours. In that time, I have had sex with you three times.” She was blushing again. Nine. “I have been offered a job, and accepted. I have planned defense strategies for your personal safety and the preservation of all of Kirkwall with Aveline. Before I got here, I was on a ship for over a week, going mad with anxiety, and before that in the Deep Roads for five months. Forgive me, Varric, if I am relieved that suddenly I don’t have to plan a wedding - _my_ wedding, no less - just because a random male relative and nominal King thinks that it would be a good alliance!” She scowled. “I am far too old to be worrying about such things.”

“Sorry,” Varric replied truthfully. “It’s true, you… deserve better than that.”

She nodded, curtly and then they stared at each other for a moment. “Then that’s that, then,” she said slowly.

“Right,” Varric confirmed. “Unless you wanted…” he trailed off.

“I will not dignify that weak attempt at a proposal with a response,” she answered stiffly. “You can do better than that.”

Varric grinned. “That sounds like a challenge, Seeker. Are you daring me?”

She only glared. He smiled wider, innocently, while mentally his gears were whirring. Well, shit. Now he had to do it.

Never let it be said that Varric Tethras, rogue, author and Viscount, didn’t accept a dare.

 


	110. Permission vs. Forgiveness

The next morning Cassandra was fidgety. “Where do you practice?” She demanded of him over breakfast. “I have not trained in days, and I need to exercise!” Varric looked at her, positively twitching over her breakfast rolls and fruit, and deliberately chewed and swallowed.

“Inner courtyard, for warriors,” Varric allowed. “But personally, I’ve taken some liberties with the throne room. My targets are in there. I never hold audiences unless I have to anyway. And the Arishok and last Viscount died in there. I hate the vibes. Being in there with a weapon helps,” he admitted sheepishly.

“That is understandable,” Cassandra said. “Are there training dummies?”

“There will be now,” Varric smiled sweetly at her. “I’ll tell Glynis to have a footman haul one in. Or more?”

“Three,” Cassandra stated firmly. “Two for drills and one for backup, when the first one inevitably falls apart.”

“Three it is,” Varric dabbed his lips and folded his napkin, absurdly excited. “Can I watch?”

“I suppose,” Cassandra graciously granted permission. “Just keep out of the way. Archers have no place in a melee. And I am not used to holding back in practice.”

The room was almost exactly the same, though the carpets had been replaced - to remove the blood stains. He hated it in here, but maybe watching her train would be a better memory. He hated having to avoid whole areas of the Keep just because it recalled a rotten moment in his life. Being the Viscount kind of sucked. But even Bran hadn’t complained when he had set up his targets. Just arranged for his audiences to be held in his office. Less room for gawkers, anyway. He had no desire to set himself up with a little court - or anything like it.

So he led Cassandra to the room after breakfast and let her look around. “This will do.” She announced. “Lots of room, uneven terrain,” she eyed the stairs with approval. “I’ll use that the next time. This is where the Arishok died?”

“Well, the last one,” Varric allowed. “Hawke spent a lot of time running from him around those pillars.” He nodded at them. “I know people think I’m making that up, but I swear, it’s all true.”

“I believe you,” Cassandra vowed. “Having seen Bull in action, I know that the Qunari can move incredibly fast.”

“You are possibly the only person in Thedas who does then,” Varric said bitterly. “Everyone swallows the stuff I made up as fact. The true stuff they argue about every time. There’s even a group in Fereldan that insist that Hawke didn’t really kill Anders.” He laughed hoarsely. “Idiots.”

“That must have been difficult,” Cassandra looked at him. “Killing someone that was your companion for so long.”

“Well, I didn’t have to do it,” Varric pointed out, wearily. “But yeah, it haunts Hawke. He… loved her. Loved her like no one else did, no matter how crazy or possessed he was. She just couldn’t deal with how unstable he was, so she distanced herself. And then after Choirboy turned on her, she…” he sighed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get pulled into the past. This room does it to me every time.” He thought for a moment. “Bet that Chuckles would say the Veil is thin here. Tell us some shit about the dreams he could have.”

“I wouldn’t want to have those dreams,“ Cassandra swallowed, “You don’t think that Asta will have to kill…”

Varric looked at her, horrified. “Fuck, I hope not.” He unstrapped Seeker from his back. “I’m going to take this out. Want to watch?” He deflected his despair with humor, waggling his eyebrows.

“No thanks, I’ve seen it in action before,” Cassandra drawled, letting him diffuse the tension. “It’s nothing too special.”

Varric winced, “Oh, Cassandra, that _hurts_.” He grinned though. “I’ll show you how special it can get.”

“Raincheck, Varric,” she smiled. “Let me get loosened up.”

He watched her stretch her muscles, distracted, while he loaded the weapon she had given him. It was the first time he had fired it, but he had spent a few days poring over it, to make sure he understood the basic components. They had written to Dagna about the ammunition, and hoped to hear soon. In the meantime… well, he couldn’t own something as beautiful as this and not use it. Soon enough, Cassandra was slashing at the three dummies and working as hard as he had ever seen her, and he was up the stairs facing the dais, ready to aim and fire.

She fired like a lady coughed - silent and genteel. He was expecting recoil, and stared at the chip he had just made in the stone wall. Bran probably wouldn‘t approve of that. Oh well, it was only a chip. “She’s got a learning curve, Cassandra!” He grinned. It had been a long time since he had a challenge with a crossbow. “Lighter weight and no recoil!”

“Is that a good thing?” Cassandra was whirling through her sword forms, but she could still hold a conversation. She was elegant.

“It will be!” He fired again, a single shot. He hit the target this time. Needed to be closer to the center, so not good enough. And she was so light - “My trick shots are going to be a thing of beauty!” He paused again to fire, dead center this time. “Much like you! Have I ever told you how watching you sweat makes me want to make you sweat?”

“I don’t believe so,” Cassandra drawled back. “Why is that?” She glanced at him, pausing in her drills, one eyebrow arched. She was beguiling, a long, lovely line of lethality. He made a note to write that line down later. He pulled a flip shot, and then rained down bolts, one at a time, all hitting the target, though perhaps not as precisely as Bianca’s. In time, he promised himself. He had decades to learn how she worked, after all. “That was very impressive, Varric,” his Seeker watched him work. “Actually, I believe I understand without any explanation.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “What do you understand?”

“Your arms…” she sniffed. “They are…” she sighed, softly, and more than a little wistfully. “You are very athletic, bulky, but still capable of stealth and acrobatics. All these things, they give me… ideas.”

“I like ideas,” he placed Seeker down gently, and glanced over his shoulder. “What kind of ideas?” It was so nice to not be alone in this horrible room of awful memories… he realized he never wanted to be alone in there again, and swallowed, hard, squashing the thought down for a more appropriate moment. “Care to share?”

“Well, first I want to see you do pushups,” Cassandra’s lips bent up. “Many, many pushups. And then… I will tell you.” She skirted around him, eying his physique. “So, drop and give me fifty, Varric.”

“Yes, Serrah,” Varric grinned at her, and dropped to the ground, hefting himself easily. “I can do this forever, you know,” he observed. “Should I give myself a challenge?”

“If you like,” she was definitely breathing hard now, just watching him. “What did you have in mind?  He tucked a hand behind his back, and seamlessly kept going. “Oh, well, that is… even more… diverting.”

“Oh, so now you are diverted instead of just impressed.” He tilted sideways and lifted himself sideways, so he could see her easier. “I can keep going. I haven’t done quite fifty yet…”

“I suppose that’s not necessary,” Cassandra’s pupils were wide. “But I could return the favor?”

“Anytime, Cassandra,” he smiled at her winningly. “I imagine I would like training a lot more if I had your ass in front of me while I was working out. I’m sure you’d be a wonderful motivation.”

She blushed, and he started his count over for the day.

And then she sat down and started doing crunches.  "Hold my feet," she demanded.  He stood, ever obediently and made his way over to her.

"You don't need me to hold your feet," he observed.  "You've got this."

"Yes, but this way..." she blushed again.  Two.  "You are close, and touching me."  She smiled, gently, never allowing her shoulder blades to touch the floor.  "I like your arms," she admitted, looking in his eyes, shyly.

"I know," Varric smirked cheerfully.  "I have a whole list of things Cassandra likes."

"You do?" She stopped moving and sat up, very close to him.  "What is on it?"

"Want to guess?"

"You should be first on that list."  Varric sat back a little.  Was the Seeker - flirting with him?  "And your arms second."

"Just my arms, huh?"  Varric grinned and leaned back in, "Not... other things?"  She shoved him slightly.

"I suppose I haven't had enough experience with the other things to offer an opinion," she replied, smugly, but blushing again.  Three.

"I guess we need to fix that," Varric drawled out.

"Yes, we should," and she grabbed his ponytail and dropped her knees to pull him closer and kiss him, more gently than he was expecting. He kissed her back, just as gently.

They were a little late getting to work that morning, but Varric couldn't have cared less.  It was nice to make a good memory in that horrible room.  And the fact that Bran was scandalized when he told him why they were late made it even better.

And she blushed again when he told him.  Four.

***

_Curly,_

_So, Bran had this fancy pants letter all drafted that requested permission for the city of Kirkwall to use the Inquisition soldiers already stationed in Kirkwall for a different purpose, but I burnt it. Because we are men of action, you and I, and all that trumped up language is just unnecessary.  I know you agree._

_So, I dumped Bianca - both of them - as Asta has probably told you. How is the grapevine in the Inquisition these days, anyway? Still thriving, I assume. But I digress._

_The upshot is that I sort of - maybe - might have started a Clan War, and now that Cassandra’s here and plotting with Aveline we were sort of wondering if we could borrow a few Inquisition scouts to keep an eye on the Carta and possibly the Merchant’s Guild. Thoughts? They are already assisting with the rebuilding efforts and the removal of red lyrium, as you suggested, and I don’t even know whether or not the Carta will attempt anything._

_But Cassandra is insisting that I have to ask permission first, and not forgiveness later. Yeah, women. So I’m asking permission, Curly._

_May I please direct a few of your troops to further protect my little city? And yeah, I’m aware this situation is my own fault. Should have done it years ago, before I started risking an entire city to my fucked up relationship issues._

_Oh, and tell Asta that the Merchant’s Guild might decide to get involved. Maybe. If anything even happens. Because it’s not like Bianca’s family liked our involvement. They might be throwing parties for her and what’s-his-name to celebrate the occasion. It could happen._

_Yeah, and nugs could learn to fly without a trebuchet._

_Let me know what you guys would like for a wedding present. Has to be soon, right?_

_Varric_

***

“Inquisitor!” The War Room had turned into wedding planning central, and Asta was going absolutely crazy. She had attempted to sneak out again, and Dorian and Josephine had drug her right back in.

“Commander!” Her relief was visible. “Tell me that we need to clear all this crap off the war table and do some real work? Please?” Her eyes begged him.

“Actually, yes,” he smiled hugely. Dorian scowled, and pulled Josie out of the room swiftly.  “That bad, love?”

“You have no idea,” Asta scowled, and helped him sweep the various samples and swatches away. “Can’t we just… elope?”

“Technically, it’s still eloping,” Cullen chuckled.

“Easy for you to laugh,” Asta grumbled. “You’ve gotten out of almost all of it. I don’t care what wine we serve at dinner, or whether there is more than one main course to choose from, or if we request fancy place settings. Josie’s out of control. I need to get out of here."

“Just another few days,” he smiled, happy. “And she can’t plan too much while we’re on the road, after all.”

“Thank the Maker,” Asta sighed, still pissed off. “So what do you have for me?”

“Varric is asking, rather politely and at Cassandra’s request, for scouts to investigate the Carta. And possibly the Merchant’s Guild. They seem to believe that there will be repercussions from the… Bianca fiasco,” Cullen cleared his throat.

“Wait, so my ’real work’ is actually Varric asking whether or not the Inquisition will protect his sorry ass from his relationship fallout? And Cassandra thinks it‘s worth a try?” Asta started laughing hysterically. “Oh, oh, Maker.”

“It’s a bit more than that,” but Cullen grinned in response. “The Carta is dangerous, and their legitimate business ties with the Merchant’s Guild…”

“Oh, the threat is real,” Asta bent over the War Table, wheezing with surpressed laughter. “But those two… Maker’s Breath, I wish I was in Kirkwall to see what they are doing with their time together. It has to be more interesting than… all this,” and she stared at the massive amounts of paperwork and fabric and menus everywhere, in more than a little despair. “It’s just a dinner for nine, and she’s got enough information to plan a siege on the Winter Palace.”

“It does seem a bit… much,” Cullen admitted, and set Varric’s letter down to hold her instead, leaning his forehead against hers. “We could try to leave early?”

“That’s very tempting,” Asta sighed, glancing up at him through her hair. “Can we leave in the dead of night? Josie doesn’t actually want my opinion on any of this - she just wants me to agree with her and gush over it, and take her side when her and Dorian argue. I’m so over gushing and fearing for my life between a mage and a former bard if I don't gush enough.”

“You rarely gush, except over a book,” Cullen agreed.

“Mmm, I get excited about all sorts of things, Commander,” Asta teased. “But tablecloths and place settings are not one of them.”

Cullen hesitated and then brought it up anyway. “Varric did ask what we would like as a wedding gift. What should I tell him?”

“Tell him I want to escape,” Asta teased. “If he can manage that, he can have all the scouts and troops he likes to fight the Carta.” She paused, “It’s a worthy cause. But probably a neverending war that would doom Orzamaar to extinction. But I can’t imagine that he or Cassandra are planning to be proactive. It’s defense, surely. Like Starkhaven.” She sighed, resigned to her fate. “Tell him he can use them in exchange for any information he discovers.”  She tightened her arms around his back.

“I’ll send a reply right away,” Cullen murmured against her hair. “In the meantime, pack. I’ll tell Josie we’re going to ride ahead. It’s only a difference of a couple of days. I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”

“Nothing about Josie is reasonable right now,” Asta pointed out dryly. “But you can try. Be my guest.”

***

_Varric,_

_The Inquisitor has approved your request for the use of Inquisition troops to investigate the Carta, in exchange for any information you may discover that has repercussions for the Inquisition._

_As far as the wedding gift is concerned, Asta only wants to get out of the planning madness that Josie has buried her in. Otherwise, she could care less. I’m sure you can imagine what it’s like. Josie has taken over the War Room entirely, and Asta is held captive to flowers and menus and fabric. Send help._

_I’m thanking the Maker daily that all I have to do is show up and read a few things. I can do that._

_You and Cassandra are missed. Asta is bored - I predict that shortly after the wedding she is going to decide to go kill a few more dragons out of sheer ennui. The bridge at the Emprise du Lion is finally completed, so that’s the logical destination. She isn’t convinced that the Western Approach is necessary, as there are so few actual residents in the area. You know how her and Helisma feel about the removal of necessary predators from an area. I tried pointing out that perhaps the Varghest population would rebound if the dragon was gone, but she only frowned at me thoughtfully._

_The day itself fast approaches. We leave for Halamshiral soon. It’s still supposed to be a secret, so we aren’t going to say exactly when. I’m sure Cassandra has a good idea._

_Good luck to the two of you. Hope things are going well._

_Cullen_

 


	111. Cards on the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from John Legend's "All of You".
> 
> This was so fun to write. After this we are back to the main plotline, with a few deviations. Hopefully fun ones.
> 
> Editing is going well, so there will likely be multiple chapters for the next few days.

Cassandra had finally reached her limit with Bran. She was yelling at him right outside Varric’s office, letting the whole Keep know exactly what was wrong with this situation. Apparently, he was overbearing, inefficient, whiny and a poor dresser.

Well, Varric was reading into the last one, but he’s sure that if Dorian was around to make additional comments he would agree. Also that his hair needed an updated look. He sighed, missing the Inquisition crew a little more than he liked to admit. But at least he had Cassandra.

She was fuming at the Seneschal in a way that he remembered all too well. Next thing she would be stabbing his books. Maker, he hoped so. Bran favored political satire and sappy tales about animals. “Bran, you are an insufferable prig!” Bran wanted Varric to do a ribbon cutting for some noble’s pet project of a hospital for the poor - that was all well and good - and wanted Cassandra to wear a dress. “I am the Captain of the Viscount’s Guard. I don’t wear _dresses._ You cannot protect the leader of Kirkwall in a _dress_.”

“Milady Cassandra…”

“ _Captain_ or _Seeker_ ,” she fumed. “I am here in an official capacity. Not as some… accessory for the Viscount’s arm. As much as you would like it to be no more than that. I _have a purpose_ , Seneschal. One that you should care about, as it may save your superior‘s life some day. Surely Kirkwall has lost enough Viscounts to bloody coups? How many in a row is it now? Isn’t there talk of a curse?! NOT on my watch. I will wear the dress armor provided for me. Unless I have to prove my skills with my blade? We could arrange a little match, if you would like?”

Bran blanched and quickly demurred. “That is not necessary, I’m sure, Seeker. Your skills are… formidable. Legendary. I would not venture to…”

“Good.” Her eyes were narrow and her color was up. She was a whirlwind of dangerous woman. Maker, he adored her. “Do not ‘venture’ to challenge me, or my authority, again. Many of the tales about me are true, Bran. You don‘t want to end up on my bad side.”

Bran stared at her as she left in a fury to hack at training dummies in the throne room, “I wouldn’t dream of it, Seeker.” He met Varric’s eyes with more respect than he had ever seen in them before.

“Her bad side is sharp,” Varric suggested helpfully. “It usually involves a sword or dagger. Also, she kills dragons for fun with the Inquisitor. She protected two Divines, an Inquisitor, and did a backflip off a high dragon onto the Spire to become the Right Hand while she was still a teenager. All while wearing a combat skirt and inadequate armor with tits hammered into it. I really think you should think about your life choices and let her wear what she wants.” He went back to his work, approving stone quarries for the Chantry project, and funding for the improved lighting proposed in Darktown.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bran answered, stunned, and left him alone, without making any demands of Varric for the first time since he had become the Viscount.

Varric started putting his plans in place that day. Food, flowers, wine… ring. All convenient and portable. Unfortunately, with the way she was hanging around him constantly he was having to be very sneaky. Drawbacks to seeing someone that was supposed to be protecting you, he supposed. How had Hawke and Asta managed with the conflict of interest? Well, Hawke just hadn’t. But most of that failure was on Choirboy‘s head.

He was a bit out of practice on the stealthy side of things, and caught her looking suspiciously at him more than once. But he disarmed her with his trademark pull of a smile, and kept right on going, with muttered instructions to Keep personnel and notes sent through runners.

It was ready in less than a week. Too quickly, and too many people knew about his plans - half the city was smirking at him while he cut that damn ribbon, with Cassandra shining and brilliant at his side, her hand on her sword suspiciously. Now he just had to get rejected. He tried to tell himself that she might actually accept, but he knew better. He didn’t deserve her, and she knew it. What they had right now… would have to be good enough. Assuming she would stick around after she dumped his dwarf ass. Hard. And probably she’d laugh while she did it. Bianca had, when he had confronted her after she had missed the wedding he’d planned for her.

But she had dared him, or implied the dare, anyway, and Varric Tethras never passed up a dare. Even when it meant that he was going to get his heart crushed with all the weight of a high dragon. It had happened before, after all.

And she might… but no, that way lay madness. He wasn’t going there. He knew better.

So he marched into the study where she was reading, full of bravado, and announced. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. I need to get out of the city. Want to take a hike up the Sundermount? I’ll show you where we met Merrill.” He had learned that when he looked at her through his eyelashes she almost invariably gave in, so he did so now, laughing to himself when she blushed and closed her book.

“That sounds… pleasant…” Cassandra admitted. “I was getting a little weary of hanging out around the Keep in my spare time, but I didn‘t want to leave you alone, either. I know it is difficult for you to get time off. ”

“We’ll take a picnic,” he announced. “I’ll tell you a story about how all the spiders came out to play, and how Hawke killed them all with fire.” He ran his fingers up her arm and grinned again, when goosebumps raised on her arm at his teasing touches. “I’ll even show you the cave where it happened.”

“That’s not necessary,” Cassandra said dryly. “Nor do I wish to visit the Bone Pit, unless we have to kill a dragon. Or see where you killed that… elven monster. Or met Corypheus for the first time.” She thought quickly. “I think that’s it. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else I absolutely don‘t want to do or see.”

“I think I can handle that,” Varric took a deep breath. “Let’s go?”

***

The mountain was beautiful, and Varric found the place he was thinking of quickly - with a panoramic view of the Wounded Coast and Kirkwall proper. Maker knew he had been up and down the mountain often enough with Hawke. Nothing more than a day‘s outing with her. He was younger then. “Go check it out,” he motioned to the Seeker, who was gawking like a tourist at the view. “I’ll pour some wine, and get out the cheese and tiny cakes. And cook made us salmon quiche - well, fish and egg pie, as Starkhaven insists on calling it. But I‘m not big on Starkhaven lately, so quiche it is.”

“I can’t decide if that makes you sound more Orlesian or Fereldan,” Cassandra mused, not looking at him at all.

“One thing you should realize, Cassandra, is that Marchers are free. We do what we want, live where we want, eat what we like, say what we mean,” he took a shuddery breath and plunged right in, “Love who we love.”

“Hmmm,” she stood at the edge of the cliff. “Asta would have fallen off this mountain by now,” she commented, not really listening. “I wonder how her wedding plans are going?”

“You should write to her,” Varric suggested. “We can’t make it in time, but I still want to send a gift. You can help me, since you never did tell me what you thought of my ideas.” He handed her a glass of wine. “A letter might still make it before the ceremony. Just send it to Halamshiral.”

“This is lovely, Varric,” Cassandra stared at the blanket, spread out with food and a couple of candles. It had been a lengthy hike, after all, and the sun was going down. “How did you…”

“Strong arms, Seeker,” he breathed a little slower, forcing his heart rate to slow down. “Do you remember that picnic site Asta ran across in the Emerald Plains?”

“With the wheel of cheese, and the couple that had been devoured by the giant spider?” Cassandra blanched. “This isn’t where you and Hawke…”

“No!” He laughed out loud, and it calmed him. “No, that was a cave. One of many caves filled with giant spiders.”

“Sounds familiar,” she took a sip of wine, looking over at him. “Something is on your mind.”

“You can say that again,” Varric sighed. “Seeker, I…” he blew out fast. “Andraste’s Ass, I don’t think I can get this out.” He looked her in the eyes, deadly serious. “I love you.”

Cassandra choked on a tiny cake, coughing. “Varric…”

“No, let me finish, cause apparently I’ve got to say this completely honestly, and damn, Seeker, that’s hard.” He shuddered with the effort. “You remember how I told Asta I don’t have the knack for romances?”

“Yes, but that’s nonsense,” Cassandra waved the claim aside. “You are a professional. You can write anything you like. And your romances are perfect. The work of a master.” The sun had set now, and they were dining by candlelight, weapons at hand in case of surprises. “This, for example, is incredibly romantic.”

“You have a lot of faith in me. I hope it‘s not misplaced,” Varric breathed out a laugh. “I am writing a romance again, but Cassandra,” he took her hand and another deep breath. “It’s ours.”

She went wide eyed at that. “You never tell your own stories, Varric,” she started.

“Yes, well, only you knows how this one ends,” he confessed, and pulled out a small box, and handed it to her. “And I can’t finish it until I know.”

Her face went blank, and she opened the box, slowly. A flat silver ring, stone sunk deep into the metal, and otherwise plain, laid inside on crimson velvet.

“If this were Wicked Grace, you’d have me stripped,” Varric confessed with effort. There were a few long moments of silence while she stared at him and at the ring in confusion. “It’d be nice if you’d say something right about now. Make it quick and hopefully not so painful?” He braced himself, searching her eyes. “Maybe flip over the Angel of Death and put me out of my misery?”

“What should I say?” She looked puzzled.

“Yes? No? Tell me you have to ask your Qunari and Tevinter friends? Write to the Inquisitor for her opinion?” Varric tried another laugh, but it fell short.

“Oh,” Cassandra stared at the ring again. “Oh!” The coin dropped, almost audibly. “Varric…”

“Yeah, I know, terrible idea,” and he started to pull his hand away, only to have her grip it intensely, almost painfully. “It’s okay. I knew how this would go.”

“Varric,” she had tears in her eyes again, and he reached over and wiped them away.

“Damn, I just have that effect on you, don’t I?” He joked feebly. “Sorry, Seeker.”

“Cassandra,” she said. “I am Cassandra. Not Seeker. Seeker is your weapon. I am _not_ your weapon.” She cleared her throat, “Call me Cass, if you must give me a nickname. But to you… I am Cassandra.”

“Okay, Cassandra,” he smiled weakly, all humor lost, and a tragedy written across his face.

“And…” she took a breath, fear crossing over her like the shadow of a dragon. And then her face cleared and firmed and she spat out, “Yes. I will. Assuming you are asking what I think you are asking.” She looked at their hands, still linked. “I’m a little confused.”

Varric stared at her, stunned, “Well, shit.”

“What?” She replied, irritated. “You asked. Sort of. Don’t just sit there surprised. Surely you realized…”

“No, actually,” Varric cut her off. “I thought I was coming up here to get the ‘we don’t need marriage, our love means more than that’ talk. That’s what happened the last time.” His mind was spinning, just as confused as she was.

“I am not Bianca. Nor are you Regalyan.” Cassandra threw back at him. “I know what I have found. I will not take it for granted.” She glared at him. Maker, he loved that glare. “You drug me all the way up a mountain just to let me dump you romantically?”

“Well, yeah,” Varric admitted.

She shoved him. “Foolish dwarf. You are possibly the most romantic man the Maker ever made, if that is true.” A smile was playing around the edges of her lips, and he wanted to kiss it until it appeared in it’s full glory.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Cassandra.” He leaned forward over the blanket, daring himself to take that final step.

“I am beginning to believe you.” They stared at each other over the blanket, blinking in mutual shock.

And then he glanced down over the hill and cursed. “Well, shit, I‘m late,” Varric stood up. “Come here, I want to show you something.” He grabbed her hand and lifted her up.

“What is it?” Cassandra stood cautiously. “It is dark. We can‘t see anything.” Varric lit a lantern, and flashed its shutters three times in quick succession. Kirkwall’s torches gleamed far below, and they started going out - in large blocks of darkness. “Varric?” The remaining lights arranged themselves in an odd shape, and Cassandra laughed, still confused.

“Kirkwall may be my city,” Varric explained, “but you, Cassandra…” he grinned, her answer finally catching up with him and making him a little braver, a little more excited, “Where you are feels like home. So…”

The shape completed, and it was a perfect heart. Well, not quite perfect. The asses in charge of the Lowtown markets apparently had missed a torch or four, but… close enough. He watched his girl by the light of his lantern. She had covered her mouth with her hand, and… fuck. She was crying again. He let it pass. Just this once. Apparently he had the rest of his life to make her cry and then wipe them away again. Instead he found his voice. “I love you, Cassandra. You are the bravest, most amazing, most deadly, most beautiful princess I have ever known. I know you hate titles, and your fancy name, and all that crap. Quite honestly, so do I. But I don’t think the Viscount can do his job without you. So, I’ll say it. All the words. Cassandra, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine, Captain of the Viscount of Kirkwall’s Guard, Princess of Nevarra, Companion of the Inquisitor…” he stopped to catch his breath, “Will you marry me?”

“I already said, yes, dwarf,” Cassandra choked and continued to stare at the lights and then gripped his hand, far too tightly. He couldn’t help but wince, but lifted his lantern one more time, swaying it steadily. This time letters formed in the center of the heart - ‘V’ and ‘C‘.

“The ‘V’ is for Viscount, and the ‘C‘ is for Captain,” he whispered at her and she dissolved into helpless sobs of laughter. “Hey, that took a lot of work!” He protested. “You can’t believe how many people it took to pull this off!” She shoved him again. “Seriously, I wanted to write ‘Marry Me’ but I couldn’t find enough people! Or torches! Also, Kirkwall isn‘t quite big enough for it to all fit,” he admitted. “I would have had to find boats to go into the harbor. I considered it.”

She collapsed in a heap on the ground at the edge of the cliff, and rocked back and forth in almost silent laughter. He had never seen her laugh like this, in all the years they had known each other - even the recent ones when they had been friendly. She reached up and pulled him down next to her. He put his arm around her, and held her waist while the torches far below slowly relit and returned to normal, and the stars came out, and she slumped against his shoulder in relaxation.

“It won’t be for a while,” Cassandra finally spoke. “We have to see what the Exalted Council decides.”

“Like shit we do,” Varric protested. “I’ll marry you tomorrow, if you’ll let me. You can wear your dress armor, and then I‘ll take it off afterward,” he leered. “You can order Bran to stand up for me, and Aveline will do just about anything for you. Especially since she won’t have to wear a dress.”

“What about the Seekers?” She was throwing up barriers as quickly as she could think of them.

“Bring ‘em here,” he said promptly. “I was going to suggest it anyway. Asta always thought they should be separate from the Chantry. Why not Kirkwall? I hear the Viscount is spending a lot of money on infrastructure. And not everything has to be in Orlais. Fuck, the Wardens have their headquarters in the Anderfels! Kirkwall is more central than that!”

“You are sure about this?” She stared at him in slight disbelief. “You realize that I have a temper, and am not always an easy person to live with, correct?”

“Cass, you are never easy to live with. But easy is boring. I’ve had most of my life to have boring. I’d rather have you blowing up at me over the tea tray and threatening my books with daggers,” he said honestly. “I need that kind of excitement now that I’m stuck at a desk all day. And you control Bran. He’s just a lapdog around you. I can’t do that.” He paused, “You realize that doing this means you’ll have less adventures. You love adventures.”

“You will not stop me from having adventures,” Cassandra scoffed. “You will be envious that you cannot have them as well.”

“Well, maybe,” Varric admitted. “But you’ll have to put up with a bit of ceremony here and there.”

“As long as I don’t have to wear a dress,” Cassandra sighed. “I can put up with it. If it is too much, I will run away.”

He couldn’t tell if she was kidding.  “Only if you let me go with you,” Varric muttered. “Maker, I still can’t believe I’m caught in this mess.”

“It is because you love your city,” Cassandra told him quietly. “They see that you care. It was a smart choice, and you are doing a good job.” They were quiet for a long time, staring out towards Kirkwall and the Wounded Coast. “Should we get back? What comes out at night here?”

“Whatever is out there, I’m pretty sure that we can take it together. You, me, and Seeker,” He held her just that little tighter. “Besides, I want… I want to have you all for myself, for just a little longer. Tomorrow, I have to share you with all of them.” He nodded to the city. “That’s what the Viscount does.”

“This Viscount will have to make more time for himself if he’s going to have a wife,” Cassandra noted dryly, but with a secret thrill running up her spine.

“You can say that again,” Varric grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.” His grin got wider. “But you get to tell Bran. I just want to watch.”

 


	112. Sneaking Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to the main story line!
> 
> Thank you all for the constructive criticism - and the indulgence on my probably not quite necessary tangent. I want to get better, so I welcome those sort of comments. Actually, I welcome all comments.
> 
> I like that people are invested enough in my silly story to want to make it better.

Cullen made his way quietly down to the Undercroft. When he had told Asta they could leave early, he hadn’t taken Dagna into account.  He needn't have worried.

“Commander!” The dwarf beamed at him. “It’s done! Just as you wanted.” She fished out a small box from under a desk and handed it to him, watching as he opened it.

It was perfect, the engraving simple but lovely. “Dagna, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“And melee protection, just as you asked,” she smiled even larger. “It was hard, but it will help. As long as she remembers to wear it anyway.”

Cullen smiled wide. “Wish you could come,” he started. “I owe you.”

“Nah, I hate Orlais,” Dagna confessed. “Too many people that are wearing masks that won’t let them look down. I get tripped over and stepped on. So I’ll pass.”

Cullen nodded, resigned and understanding. “Still, can I bring you anything? What do I owe you? It was a big order, and not exactly Inquisition business,” he started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dagna grinned. “Sera paid for my supplies. Says it’s her gift. And this way she got to hang out while I worked. It was nice to see her, even when I was so busy.” She laughed happily. “But you know what that’s like. Just make sure the Inquisitor has a good day. And give her a good one for me.”

Cullen blushed red, but saluted the Arcanist cheerfully. “I’ll do just that.”

***

Asta had to be even more sneaky, since Josie was still holding her hostage when she wasn’t sleeping. So it was late when she finally made her way down to the Undercroft, a small gift of cake in her hands, hoping beyond hope that Dagna would have it finished early.

She was just putting the final polish on the ring, and Asta stared at it in awe. It was beautiful, simple and masculine, and she lifted her eyes to Dagna’s, full of tears. “Chocolate cake has never seemed so inadequate,” she stammered. “What can I do instead?”

Dagna set the ring firmly in her hand and hugged her tightly. “Have a long life, and a happy marriage,” she chirped. “That’s what you can do.” She pulled back, grinning wide. “And know that Cullen was here picking up his order not two hours ago. You are going to love it.”

“Oh,” Asta blinked. “I didn’t even think about that.” She smiled, wily. “So… are you going to tell me?”

“Nope!” She clammed up. “It’s a surprise. But he knows you pretty well. You’ll love it.” She nodded. “Now, I heard a rumor you two were going to try to slip away early. Is that true? Because if it isn’t, I’m going to need another piece of cake for Sera. She said you wouldn’t dare.”

Asta winked at Dagna, “It’s a secret. But maybe you’re right. I guess we’ll see what I can get away with?”

Dagna whistled, “Good luck, Inquisitor. I wouldn’t want to be crossing Josie right now.” She thought quickly, “Or ever.”

***

They didn’t get away with it. Josie was waiting on the front steps of Skyhold with a scowl on her face and her bags packed. “If you are ready to leave, Inquisitor, we all are.”

“Josie, this isn’t what it looks like,” Asta tried to explain, to lie, but Josie knew better.

“Honestly, Asta, you can’t fool me,” Dorian swanned out of the shadows and leaned up against the statue of Andraste.  "Why don't you quit trying?"

“Traitor,” she said, but she knew she had lost, and drooped visibly with the knowledge.

“I expected better from you, Commander,” Josie said, firm and cruel. “Where is your discipline? It’s only another two days.”

Cullen stared at the sky, and refused to defend himself.

“So we have a choice,” Josie paced a little on the landing. “We can all leave now, or you two can go back upstairs and put away your things and be a little more…” she sighed loudly, “patient.”

Asta scuffed her boot’s heel against the stair behind her and tried to convince her body to turn around and go back inside.

“I don’t want to be patient,” Cullen said, finally. “We’ve been patient enough.” Asta looked up and met his eyes, smiling wide.

“Very well,” and now Josie was trying not to smile, “You do realize that if we get to Halamshiral early, we will still have to wait for a week for our plans to be complete? And Inquisitor, quite honestly, I would have appreciated a little more interest in the possible tablecloths and centerpieces.” She flipped her hands away from where they were twisting in front of her. “But no matter. Get your things, Dorian. Apparently we are leaving ahead of schedule.” She smiled wickedly, “Luckily I planned for this eventuality. Everyone is ready - they have been for three days. Never bet against an Antivan, Inquisitor.”

"One of these days I will remember," Asta replied dryly.

***

The party moved at a snail’s pace to Halamshiral, Josie insisting on stopping at a proper inn every night, and traveling no more than six hours a day. The snail’s pace was killing Asta and Cullen, who, while Josie had booked into separate rooms, managed to sneak into one or the other’s every single night. Asta was only doing half the sneaking.

“I feel like a teenager,” Cullen gritted out, the night he actually had to climb out his inn window, walk across a roof, and come back in through Asta’s. “For once I’m actually glad that I didn’t live with my parents during those years.”

Asta only laughed at him. “As if you took advantage of them!”

Cullen leaned up on his side in the bed, facing hers. “I was a Templar, Asta, not a Brother. I may not have had sex, but I did my fair share of kissing up until Kinloch - happened.”

“Oh really, Chantry boy?” Asta scoffed. “Who was your first kiss, then? I know it wasn’t Solona Amell. You said you ran.”

“Oh, it was far before that,” Cullen grinned. “Mabel McCullough, back in Honnleath.”

“You started young,” Asta observed. “How old?”

“Eleven,” he grinned mischievously. “She was twelve.”

“Oh, you liked older women?” Asta laughed at him. “Should I write Mabel a letter to thank her? Does Mia know how to find her?”

“No, it was only once,” Cullen replied. “My real experience started a few years later.”

“Mm-hmm,” Asta encouraged. “When, then, my oh-so-wild Templar?”

“I was fifteen, and there was this Templar recruit,” he sighed, remembering. “We were… training. Hand to hand combat. She flipped me on my back and had me on the floor before I could say…”

“Hmmm,” Asta wasn’t smiling any longer. “What was her name?”

Cullen frowned, “I can’t remember.” Asta raised an eyebrow. “Truly! She was transferred to the Spire a little while later! But for about a month, she kept getting me alone and… well, she taught me to kiss.” He blushed. “She was rather good at it.” He grinned at Asta, who reluctantly smiled in return.

“If I had had a Templar that looked as good as you to train with I might have tried harder,” she teased. “Just as well I didn’t, I suppose?”

“What about you,” Cullen tossed back. “You kissed like you had done it before, when I first… took the liberty,” he held her hand. “So who should I thank?”

“Hmmm, that’s more complicated,” Asta laughed. “Do you promise not to get upset?”

“You didn’t when I told you about my wild youth,” Cullen laughed. “Why should I get upset with you?”

“It was a girl,” Asta giggled at his stunned impression. “Shocked, Commander?”

“A little,” he shook his head. “I definitely didn’t expect that. All right, then, how?”

“It was a game,” she explained. “It was her turn, and the bottle pointed to me. She didn’t teach me how. Didn’t like me at all, actually.” Asta looked up at the ceiling. “I wasn’t liked much. I had been with the Chantry forever, was a know-it-all, with a minor title, parents with money and no weapon skills.” She sighed, “I was still trying to fit in, in those days, so I played. It… wasn’t a good experience. But it was my first kiss.” She looked back at Cullen. “I’m a little envious of yours. Two good first kisses.”

“Did you have any good kisses after that?” He asked, a little sad that he had brought it up.

“I was fourteen,” Asta confessed, “And I was just finally deciding that I had had enough of trying to be liked. So I was rebelling, a lot, and snuck out of the Chantry home.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, impressed. “I see. I had no idea that you had done anything like that.”

“Oh, I tried,“ Asta assured him. “But I was really bad at it. I didn’t know about stealth then. I got caught all the time. Once, this boy followed me, tried to convince me not to go. Thought I was going to leave for good, and tried to tell me that I wasn’t a quitter,” Asta continued. “But I barely knew him - he was a couple of years older. He was… going to be a Templar. Probably would have been a good one.” She looked down at Cullen’s hand. “But his older brother died less than a month later and his parents came and got him. So I never saw him again.”

“When did he kiss you?” Cullen asked, trying to decide whether to be jealous or sad for her.

“When I told him off and cussed at him,” Asta grinned. “In a Chantry courtyard, no less. I was such a sinner. He just pulled me in and kissed me. I was shocked.” She blushed a little, “It went on longer than I was expecting. There was tongue. Obviously he had more experience than I did.”

“Well, now I just regret that I haven’t kissed you in one,” Cullen laughed. “Honestly, you could have collected a set. First a would-be Templar and then an ex-Templar.” He paused, “Did you ever kiss Brother Sebastian?”

Asta busted out laughing, “Are you joking? Andraste’s Belt Buckle? Hell, no. Nobody did. He was known for taking a vow of celibacy.”

“Would you have?” Cullen raised his eyebrow at her, daring her to answer.

“Assuming he was interested?” Asta thought aloud, “Probably not. All of Kirkwall could see he was hung up on Hawke and that vow. There were lots of Sisters that would have, though. They talked about him all the time.” She flipped over onto her side to face him. “Were you… jealous? Why?”

“Well, when I first taught you a few things, back in Haven, you wore…” Cullen blushed shyly, “This… outfit. Tight pants, loose tunic, visible breastband. You said… It…” he gave up, “It made me think that it would have tempted a Brother away from his vows.” He was red all the way down his chest.

Asta snorted, and then laughed in his face. “Not that Brother. Not even Hawke managed to do that. And he claimed to love her.”

“He took his vows seriously,” Cullen tried to defend him. “That’s commendable.”

“It was stupid,” Asta threw back, frowning. And then she stopped. “We’re not going to agree on this, are we? Are we going to fight about someone else’s love life?”

“Only if you make me,” Cullen reached out and held her waist. “I don’t really care. It’s between him and the Maker.”

“Hmmph,” Asta managed, but she was trying not to smile.

“So, did this young man kiss you more than once?”

“Yes,” Asta sighed. “But like I said, he left. I didn’t try to sneak out often. That would have been predictable. I was doing my best to be unpredictable. And shortly after that, Sister Dorcas contacted me about becoming her apprentice, and I was set on a different path than the Templars entirely.” She paused for a moment. “I was only kissed one other time, before you.”

Cullen stroked her back, softly. “Who?”

“A nasty old man - oh, he had to be about forty and I was twenty-one - at one of my Great Aunt Lucille’s parties,” Asta confessed. “I bloodied his nose. My mother was horrified, and my Great Aunt was immensely proud.”

Cullen laughed, wheezing. “We have got to work on your hand to hand combat. You must have a hell of a punch.” He stopped, with difficulty. “And that’s it?”

“Until you appeared next to a rift and stole my breath away,” Asta grinned. “Not too exciting of a love life. After I was in the robes no one looked past them. The hat, you see.” She stopped smiling. “Or at least I always thought so. On the good days. On the bad days, I just figured I wasn’t attractive at all,” she confessed. “People just didn’t like me. I was weird, and smart, and didn’t like to hide it, so… not attractive.” She sighed loudly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Are you sure?” Cullen scooted her a little closer. “I’ve kissed a few more people. Nobody complained.”

“I don’t know,” Asta frowned, “I know you are more attractive than me, Cullen. I’ve listened to all the whispers over the years at Skyhold. I know what they were saying about my looks at the Winter Palace. I’m hardly… gorgeous, like Josephine or Vivienne. Or pretty, like Leliana. I’m not even handsome, like Cassandra. As far as looks in the Inquisition go, I have a good ass - thanks to all the bloody stairs,” she grumbled. “Though I had the tits before. I could be described politely as ‘cute’. I don’t have good facial structure, and even Dorian despairs about my skin…”

Cullen was laughing against her.

“Why are you laughing,” she grumbled. “That’s mean.”

“Asta, you could have had anyone,” he confessed simply. “At one point Blackwall would have slain a dragon to be with you.”

“Okay, now you’re just being weird and creepy,” Asta announced. “Ew. Not interested. I have to work with these people, Cullen. I don‘t need to be thinking… ugh.” She shuddered.

“They all knew you were interested in me,” he explained. “It held them back, because they are good people. You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Well, you certainly seemed oblivious enough,” Asta humphed irritably.

“No, just shy and scared,” Cullen sighed. “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

“Probably not.” Asta reached out to trace his cheek. “But you seem to like me, for some reason, so maybe…” she blushed. “Maybe it’s okay. I don’t really need people dying for love of me, after all. I just need you.”

“Even if you think I’m more attractive than you,“ Cullen tried not to laugh, “You’re the only one I want to kiss for the rest of my life. It has everything to do with you, Asta, how lovely you are, your intelligence and occasionally filthy mouth, your silliness and humor…” he curled up against her. “I wish I could make you see.”

“You do make me feel pretty,” Asta smiled against his chest. “No one has ever done that.”

“Not even not-quite-a-Templar?” He shook with laughter. “He sounds like a nice guy. Knew to kiss you when you cussed, at least.”

“I almost hit him,” Asta confessed. “But… they were nice kisses, unlike the other one,” she admitted sheepishly. “It felt like he actually meant it.”

“Okay, now I am getting jealous,” Cullen admitted. “He probably did mean it.”

Asta teased him a little. “I remember his name at least.” Cullen sighed exaggeratedly. “You claim that you don’t want to kiss anyone else, Cullen,” she giggled, “Maybe you should prove it.”

“I can do that,” Cullen whispered into her hair, and bent to her ear to get started.

 


	113. Arbor Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully just the first of two chapters to go up today!

Josie was flipping out, but this time, she wasn’t alone.

“Just relax,” Sera whined. “The Friends always come through. We just got here two days ago. There are days until we’re supposed to be all sneaky in the garden.”

Josie and Dorian both glared at her. “We have to set up,” Josie began, trying to be civil.

“Sera, sweetheart,” Dorian broke in, “There are things to accomplish. We have yet to visit the site, as it stands, in person. It is winter, or practically so. The whole garden could be frozen solid.”

Sera blew a raspberry, “As if. Winter Palace’s gardens are maintained with magic, like Elan’s greenhouses back at Skyhold. They’ll look fine.”

Josie breathed a little easier. “Well, that is one worry I don’t need to have,” she started again.

Asta was staring out the window. “Can’t I go out?” She asked wistfully.

“Not unless it’s on official Inquisition business, to make arrangements for the Exalted Council,” Josie insisted. “You’ve done enough damage, you and your Commander, sneaking around at night. You didn’t even bother to make the other bed look slept in.” She sighed, “Amateurs.”

“I am terrible at sneaking around, I admit,” Asta started, “But Josie…”

“Don’t ‘but Josie’ me,” The Antivan fumed, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two pulling each other away to ‘consult privately’. You are supposed to be keeping a low profile! We are here for a completely different reason! You two can’t remember that, so the Inquisitor is _not_ going to accompany her Commander. I will make the necessary arrangements with nobles for the troops it will be necessary to bring. I will meet with Vivienne when she arrives. I will do _everything_ , since you two are incapable of keeping anything about your relationship private!”

Asta pouted. “We didn’t want this massive thing.”

“It’s not massive. It’s exactly as you wanted, but, Inquisitor, it takes more work to plan anything in secret and have it stay that way,” Josie pointed out. “It helped that Dorian was taking care of things from the Deep Roads, but now that you are back, everyone’s eyes are upon you! You saw the people, tossing flowers at you when you passed through that village. They will be telling their grandchildren someday of when the Inquisitor rode through their town. If they knew our true purpose here, it would become a legend. Just keep to yourself for a few days, and then get this over with.”

“We just should have asked Mother Gisele to marry us in Skyhold,” Asta grumbled, her eyes turning back to the window.

“Nonsense,” Dorian humphed, “Sera and I went to a lot of trouble to make this happen. You’re going to have an amazing day and it’s all because of us.”  He preened proudly.  Josie glared at him, “All of us, Ambassador.” She nodded, mollified slightly. “So suck it up, get some of your work done, and when the Commander gets back, you can leave to take care of your side of things.”

“I think it’s a plot to keep us apart,” Asta confessed.

“Of course it is,” the Ambassador threw her hands in the air. “As I said, you two are incapable of discretion! I had no idea it was this bad! I should never have let you outside Skyhold without a chaperone.”

“Oh, they usually had chaperones,” Dorian laughed, “but it didn’t stop them.”

“That’s even worse,” Josie’s brow was worried. “Let just hope the damage isn’t already done. Until then, the two of you get to stay apart.”

***

Vivienne arrived three days later, regal in her new battle armor emblazoned with the Sunburst.

“You look amazing,” Asta smiled, and air kissed her cheeks. “How is the new job?”

“It’s a challenge, darling,” the mage smiled. “But I can handle it. You, however, should be on guard. Always.” She looked into Asta’s eyes seriously. “You never know who will try something.” Asta nodded in understanding. The mage continued, a little lighter in tone, “Honestly, I have been hearing rumors about you and the Commander all the way here from Val Royeaux!”

“Exactly,” Josie fumed. “Those two! I should just give up and go back to Skyhold.”

“Oh, you can’t do that, Josie, dear,” Vivienne shook her head. “At this point I would say they have to get married.  For their own protection.” She met the Ambassador’s gaze for just a moment, and Josie nodded, blanching slightly. “But for now, we have an appointment, my dears. No business allowed.”

***

Dorian lounged elegantly on the chaise, with little cheese wheels over his eyes. “Vivienne, if you weren’t an Orlesian I would propose. You have the best ideas.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Vivienne laughed, “Of course I have the best ideas.  Was that ever in doubt?”

Asta removed one of the wheels from her eyes and asked in confusion, “Vivienne, what is the cheese for?”

“Darling,” the mage sighed, “If you have to ask…”

“She’ll never understand,” Dorian sighed in turn. “When do the masseuses arrive?”

“Oh, in a few minutes,” Vivienne guessed. “In the meantime, Inquisitor, you should be relaxing. Stop thinking so hard! I can _feel_ it!”

Asta tried to relax, but she heard many footsteps right behind her head, and what sounded like Sera… giggling? “What was that? Sera?!” She tried to sit up.

“Don’t you _dare_ move,” Vivienne threatened. “Spa Day is sacred, Inquisitor. Not time for business, or anything else. Just relax.” The mage stretched her long body out further on the chaise, a picture of elegance.  "If you don't relax you are going to wish you had, darling."

“My face isn’t going to smell like cheese after this, is it?” Asta asked at long length.

“No, it won’t,” bit off Vivienne. “Are you incapable of relaxing? Do we need to get some chamomile? Perhaps a salt rub…” she sighed.

“I’m relaxing!” Asta insisted. “I am! I just want to know…”

“ _Spa Day_ ,” Dorian hissed. “Quit looking a gift spa day in the cheese, Asta.” He paused. “I know you haven’t done anything like this before, my friend, but you will love the masseuse here. The muscles…” He sighed.

“Mmm,” Vivienne agreed. “They should be here just about any time.” They heard a small sound, like that of squeaky wheels. “Ah, there’s the table now,” the mage sighed, blissfully. “I needed this. The Cathedral is so stressful.”

“I can only imagine,” Asta murmured. “Can I take the cheese wheels off my eyes now?” A cloth slipped over her eyes, holding them in place. “Apparently not,” she observed. Strong hands helped her up and laid her down on the table. “So I’m first then?”

“Spa Day!” Vivienne waved her hand idly. “It’s a gift, darling. Enjoy it.”

Strong hands rubbed together audibly, and then came into contact with Asta’s shoulders. “Urgh,” she moaned. “That’s…” The oil started to heat and she went limp in seconds.

“Exactly,” Dorian’s smile could be heard, it was so wide. “I hope he’s using the warming oil.”

“Mmmm,” Vivienne commented, loose and content. “That is a treat.”

“Is…” Asta muttered into the hole in the massage table. “Maker, that feels…” and then she lost the ability to talk, putty in the hands of the master masseuse.

“Vivienne, you are a genius,” Dorian complimented. “Remind me to send you a fruit basket.”

“Of course, my dear,” Vivienne accepted. “So glad you are enjoying it.” She paused. “I wonder how Josie’s mud bath is going?” The mage listened, and heard Sera’s cackling in the distance. “Oh dear, perhaps not so well.” She paused, and then purposefully relaxed. “Still, Spa Day,” she sighed again, letting the inevitably unhappy Ambassador‘s problems with her bath go. “No worries allowed.”

***

The day of the wedding itself dawned bright and sunny, if a bit chilly, and Asta woke alone - thanks to a increasingly panicked Ambassador who was hung up on wedding superstitions. “Time to get up!” Josie swanned in and pulled the heavy curtains open. “You have to get to the Winter Palace as soon as possible. You will dress there. Everything you need will be waiting.  Sera's friends have come through beautifully.”

Asta rolled over to hide from the sun, face down. “Can I see Cullen first?”

“Absolutely not,” stressed the Ambassador. “Dorian is with him, and Cole and Bull. They will meet us there, of course. Rainer is escorting us to the Palace.” Josie looked at the Inquisitor, buried in her pillow. “Come, Inquisitor, the sooner you are up, the sooner it will begin. You’ve done very well, considering,” she allowed, a trifle grudgingly. “I’m sorry it had to be like this. If you had used more discretion…”

“Discretion can suck the Maker’s Balls,” Asta retorted, muffled in her pillow. “This last week has been worse than my time in the Fade, except for the Spa Day.”

“Well, it’s almost over,” Josie comforted. “Now, get up. We need to get you bathed, and you need to eat something.”

“Not hungry,” Asta groaned.

“You must eat,” Josie ordered. “Now, Inquisitor!” She barked, and Asta reluctantly swung her legs to the side of the bed, unable to disobey her Ambassador at such a time.

***

“Oh please,” Dorian rolled his eyes at Cullen. “It’s only a couple more hours. It‘s not going to kill you. Quit being so melodramatic.”  Dane rumbled his agreement from the corner, watching his friend move around restlessly.

“I’ve barely seen her for days,” the Commander argued, pacing his room like a caged Mabari. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt to just…”

“Not unless you want the Ambassador to slice you open with her letter opener,” Dorian chirped cheerfully. “That is always an option.”

“Lonely, lost, lucky,” murmured Cole. “Light reflecting on her hair in the morning, mussed and messy. Maker, let me be brave.”

“See, Cole gets it,” Cullen shot at Dorian, desperate. “I need to see her. What if she doesn’t show up? She could be having cold feet, decided I’m not…”

“Why can‘t I see him?” Cole cut in. “Maker’s breath, I can’t eat at a time like this. And this ham tastes like despair. Where is he, already? Maybe he’s changed his mind?”

Dorian laughed outright, “Cullen, if Asta changes her mind, _I’ll_ marry you. That’s about as likely as you changing yours.”

Bull growled in the corner. “No you won’t.”

“It’s just an expression, Amatus,” Dorian waved the Qunari’s jealousy aside. “Means nothing.” The Qunari just made a displeased sound and continued watching Cullen pace.

“Can we just leave already?” The Commander grumbled. “Surely the Jennies are in place?”

“It's not a siege, Commander.  Asta is supposed to arrive first,” Dorian repeated for the fifth time. “And I have been threatened with death if I don’t keep you here for an appropriate amount of time. From Cole’s ramblings, Asta is just eating. So perhaps you should sit down, eat something, have some more coffee, and try to relax!” Dorian rolled his eyes towards his man. “Amatus, could you help me out with this?”

Bull stood slowly, and made his way over to where Cullen was pacing. “Sit, or I’ll make you,” he growled.

“Fine,” Cullen bit off. “I’ll sit. And have more coffee. But I won’t eat.” He slumped into a chair at the small table, and put his head in his hands, making no move towards the coffee pot.

“She’s done eating,” Cole observed, head tilted. “So keep him away from the windows for a few minutes. Josephine will know if he sees her. She’s a bit scary lately. Sees everything.” He smiled. “I like her. She’s helping.”

Cullen swallowed his opinion of exactly what Josephine could do with her help.

Cole frowned at him, “That’s not very nice to say about Josephine, Cullen. And I’m pretty sure a nug wouldn’t fit.”  Dane whined inquisitively and tilted his head.

Bull barked out a short laugh, and Cullen glared at him, impotently.

***

The Jenny at the Winter Palace let the small group of women, plus Thom, into the side entrance that led to the servant’s quarters and the gardens. “Sorry that you’ll have to dress down here, Inquisitor,” the Jenny apologized. “The Grand Apartments are still being repaired after the peace talks. I understand they still haven't gotten all the blood off the tiles.”

“That’s all right,” Asta was shaking with nerves. “I don’t mind at all.” She stared around. “Has the Commander arrived yet?” Her eyes barely registered the garden at all, searching.

“NO!” Josephine fumed. “They are arriving after us. For the millionth time, Inquisitor. Now, let’s get you dressed.” She looked around at the gardens with approval. “Everything looks perfect!” She beamed happily, relaxing slightly.

“I’ll just guard the door,” Thom offered.

“Perfect,” the Ambassador steered Asta towards the servant’s rooms off the kitchens. “Let me know when the Commander arrives and is ready?”  She eyed Asta, "We have a lot of work to do."

***

Max was waiting for Cullen when the Commander was finally allowed to arrive, in a filthy temper and nearly growling with impatience. “Temper, temper, my soon to be brother!” Max grinned. “That desperate to see my Little Sister?”

“Don’t call her that,” Cullen spat at him.

“Oh, you are protective…” Max greatly approved. “Good. I guess that means I don’t have to remove your intestines after all.” He grew more serious. “I heard about the Deep Roads. That… that was… Thank you,” the man said honestly.  "She could have died down there."

Cullen was a little embarrassed, but calmed down a bit with the gratitude, “I couldn’t just…” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, and then back, suspiciously, “So why are you here?”

“My sister is getting married,” Max was a picture of innocence, but was dressed in his most impressive Inquisition armor, with the Trevelyan crest at his shoulder.  "The Jennies made sure I knew."

“Besides that,” Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “You are up to something.”

Max sighed. “You’ll see. It’s up to Asta, actually. Speaking of Asta, I need to go see my sister. Surely she must be dressed by now? How long can a bride take to get ready?” Cullen swallowed hard at the word, and Max smiled at him irrepressibly. “Like that, do you, Commander?”

“Not likely,” Dorian drawled. “Josie has about a million and one additions to her appearance for the day itself. But you can try…” He eyed the Commander, “Cullen has to get dressed in any case.” Cullen grumbled at him. “Don’t fight, Commander. You promised that you would show up in your dress uniform and read things. Time to live up to your side of the bargain.”

“Fine,” Cullen surrendered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Good,” Dorian approved. “The sooner you are dressed the sooner you can see your Lady.” Max left after nodding to the ‘Vint briefly. “Bull, do you know what he has planned?”

“Yeah,” Bull grinned impishly. “But it depends on Asta. It’s all up to her, today.”

***

The Divine glided into the servant’s quarters in deep cover, followed by Mother Gisele. “Most Holy,” Josephine knelt before her, followed by Sera.

“Oh please, Josie,” Leliana begged, “Don’t do that. I know I’ve messed up a bit,” she bit her lips, brow creased, worried. “It’s not getting any easier. But… I’m here. Even if I can’t be myself,” she sighed. “Asta, did you make up your mind?” Her eyes searched Asta’s worriedly. “Am I rescinding your excommunication?”

Asta sighed, “I have to decide now?”

Leliana cleared her throat. “I’m afraid so.”

“You swear that you won’t annul our marriage?” Asta scanned the Divine for clues. “Something is worrying you. Can you tell me what?”

Leliana closed her eyes. “No, I cannot. But I need your answer. I will not annul your marriage, no matter what happens. That I can promise, even if I can‘t promise anything else. But I need an answer, Inquisitor.”

“Then the answer is no,” Asta answered bluntly. “I cannot say that Andraste was divine. I do not know that she is at the Maker’s side. I believe in the Maker, but not in Andraste. I think that should exclude me from the Chantry.” She sighed and looked away from the Divine, “I wish, so much, I could give you a different answer, to make it easier, but… that is the truth. There should be truth between us, even if there are things we cannot share.”

Leliana nodded, resigned. “Thank you for your honesty. Let me know at some point if you change your mind due to further evidence.” She sighed, and put on a more cheerful face. “Let’s see you married, then, shall we?”

Asta stared back at her, wary, and then nodded, bothered. Josie tucked a Dawn Lotus blossom into her hair and Sera straightened out her hem. Leliana nodded back, and left with Mother Gisele, pulling her hood back up as she left the room. “Right, that’s not going to be trouble,” she murmured.

“Just be glad you aren’t dead yet,” Sera muttered back. “You’ve got the balls of a Druffalo going up against her.”

"That or I'm incredibly stupid," Asta worried.  "Too soon to tell."

Max entered the room, next, papers in hand, and stared at his sister. “Well, you cleaned up nice. Little pale from the Deep Roads, but still nice.”

Asta glared at him. “Max. I wondered when you would turn up. Like a bad egg.”

“What, stinky and brittle? He’s not so bad,” grumbled Sera. “Bit high and mighty, but he knows how to play.” Asta made a face at her.

“So little love for your brother,” smirked Max. “I have something for you to look at.”

“I’m a little busy, Max,” Asta sighed. “Can’t it wait? You have the worst timing.”

“I’ve been busy for months with this, Asta,” Max was uncharacteristically solemn. “At least do me the honor of reading it?”

Asta took the sheaf of papers from him and scanned it quickly. “Max…” she breathed, flipping through them incredibly quickly. “What are…”

“What do you think?” Max asked quietly.

“What about our… your parents?” She looked up at him, confused.

“This is mine,” Max shrugged, “Great Aunt Lucille left me something, too. And since Mother and Father show no signs of disowning me, however rebellious and inclined to unwise matches, being a little short on children with only an heir and a spare…” he grinned, “I won’t need it.  Probably.”

“Josie, is this… legal?” Asta handed her Ambassador the papers. “Is he serious?”

Josie took them and read, quickly. “You’re giving her land?!”

“A wedding present,” Max actually blushed. “I thought maybe, one day, when our parents weren’t around, she might want… to come home. And need a place. It‘s not really developed,” he clarified, “but it’s fertile, I’m told. Could be used for just about anything.”

“It’s in order, Inquisitor,” Josie breathed. “It’s his to do with as he pleases. And it’s only fifty acres, so hardly anything that anyone will fight over…” The Ambassador stared at the man blankly. “I wouldn’t have thought you capable of this kindness, Maxwell.  I've misjudged you.”

Asta threw her arms around her brother. “I don’t know what to say,” she said in his ear. “Except… it’s a nice thought. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to go back…”

“Then I’ll keep an eye on it until you decide,” Max said, clearing his throat, oddly constricted with something like emotion. “Until then, I have one more request.”

“Oh, a gift with caveats? I should have known.” Asta drew back, scowling. “What is it now?”

Max sighed, “Can I give you away?”

 


	114. Not Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here!!!! If you knew how many times I rewrote these damn vows... ugh.
> 
> I think I got it right. I hope so.

Max sighed, “Can I give you away?” He asked it nearly shyly, as if expecting to be turned down.

Asta folded her arms firmly. “No.” Max slumped, resigned. “I won’t let myself be dispensed with like a bag of flour.” But Asta smiled slightly. “But you can escort me to the Commander, instead,” she allowed. “If that is acceptable?”

Max grinned. “Gladly.” The siblings smiled at each other, and the family resemblance showed, for just a second.

“You are ready,” Josie declared, with a tone of surprise. “Sera, tell Thom to tell the Commander it’s time?” Sera smirked and slipped out cheerfully.

Asta took a deep breath and started shaking again. “It’s about fucking time,” she grinned to diffuse her tension, and took her brother’s arm firmly. “Shall we go make an honest woman out of me?” Her eyes sparkled in excitement, looking at her brother.

“It’s about time the bastard married you,” Max smiled innocently. “Any chance of a niece or nephew by this time next year? I‘m going to need an heir, and Bernie tells me that dwarf-human offspring is incredibly unlikely.” He looked sad.

“Not in the least,” Asta smirked back. “We have things to do first. Lots of things. Find your own heir. There‘s always adoption.”

***

“Oi! Commander Tightpants!” Sera grinned. “She’s ready. You’ve got somewhere to be.”

Cullen started to surge forward and Dorian hauled him back, laughing. “Dignified, Commander,” the mage teased. “Try to uphold the honor of the Inquisition, please?”

Cullen straightened and pulled down his jacket. “Right. Dignified. In control and very important,” he muttered.

“Better,” Dorian approved. “Now, let everybody else go in first. I’ll follow you. You have the ring?”

“Oh!” Cole perked up. “Asta needs the ring! I have to go!” The man walked out quickly, steering unerringly towards where the other group waited.

Cullen blanched and patted himself down frantically, and then found it, and relaxed. “Yes,” he slumped.

“No slumping!” Dorian ordered. Bull kissed his Kadan on the head and walked out to find a place to watch. “You can do this, Commander. Don’t lock your knees,” the mage advised. “Otherwise you might pass out.”

“Any other advice?” Cullen muttered. “Oh, Maker, I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say.”

“That’s why you wrote it down,” Dorian reminded him. “If you can’t remember, read it.” He sighed. “It’ll be fine. And wait until you see her. I did an amazing job, and Josie will more than follow through,” he complimented himself, preening slightly. “Now, let’s go.” He shoved the other man slightly, and Cullen stepped out, slightly stumbling, of the small room they were getting ready in, and straightened still further, resting his hand on his sword to hide the shaking in his hands - not from the lyrium today, but shaking all the same, Dane pressed against his leg in quiet support.

He made his way towards the gazebo, draped with Arbor Blessing and dotted with Stephanotis and Dawn Lotus against the greenery of the ivy, probably faster than Dorian would have liked, but Josie was nodding in approval, so it couldn’t be that bad. He stepped towards Mother Gisele, and took his place at her left hand.

“Hello, Commander,” the Mother smiled and he managed a slight half smile in return. “Don’t be nervous,” the Mother encouraged. “It will all be over quicker than you can possibly imagine.”

Dorian snickered, “That’s what she said.”

The Mother chuckled, despite herself. “Well, that’s up to the Commander, isn’t it?” She met the mage’s eyes with humor at his surprise. “I wasn’t always a Revered Mother, Altus Pavus.”

“The Southern Chantry will never cease to surprise me,” the man drawled. “Touché, Mother Gisele.”

Cullen was barely paying attention. “There she is,” he breathed at last as Asta slipped into the garden alcove, the late morning sun shining behind her and lighting her up like Andraste herself. The embroidery of golden ivy vines in a diamond pattern glowed against the white silk, and her face beamed when she saw Cullen waiting for her, hand still on his sword, in the breathtaking smile that he remembered from Haven that had stolen his heart so quickly. His knees started to shake in turn. Cullen swallowed the lumps that were rising in his throat. “Maker’s Breath,” he sighed. “She’s… beautiful.” His eyes drank her in.

Her brown hair glowed - despite being dark with the lack of light from her recent descent underground. Her dress was simple, and almost Fereldan in style, but suited her perfectly, off the shoulder and trimmed with more gold around the neck and cuffs. No veil, just a single flower. She carried nothing, but Cole took his place at Mother Gisele’s right hand with his hand over his pocket, muttering softly. “Keep it safe. Keep him safe.”

“Not bad,” Dorian mused. “Josie nailed this one. With my help. The flower is a nice touch.”

“Dorian,” Cullen muttered at the mage, “Am I sleeping? This isn’t the Fade, right? This is actually happening?” He couldn’t take his eyes off Asta, gliding serenely up the center of the garden, her hand tucked into her brother’s arm. “It can’t be real,” he continued, a shadow of doubt crossing his face. “I want this too much.”

“Oh, it’s real, Commander,” the mage said, amused. “If that were a desire demon, she’d probably be wearing a lot less clothes after the week you two have had.  Josie and I planned it this way.”

Max glared at Cullen, and then grinned, winking, as they arrived at the gazebo at last. Cullen barely noticed, his eyes all on Asta, his breath shallow. “Here you go, Commander, escorted, safe and sound,” Max smiled at his sister, with a gentle look on his face. He kissed her cheek, and Asta’s surprise showed as she pulled back slightly. “Good luck,” he said to the both of them, and retired to the bystanders, standing next to Bull.

“Good job,” the Qunari muttered.

“Same,” Max grinned, and turned to watch the show.

Cullen and Asta stared at each other blankly for a minute and then Asta started to laugh uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just…” a tear trickled out. “I didn’t think…”

“We’d ever get here,” Cullen finished and wiped the tear away and took her hands lightly in his. “But right now it all seems worth it.” Asta nodded in agreement and they stared at each other again, forgetting momentarily what they were supposed to be doing.

Mother Gisele decided to prod them, gently. “Right now is when you two are supposed to make a promise.”

“Oh, right,” Cullen came back to himself. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, and for the second time in his life that he could remember, said exactly the right thing, finding his voice.

“I promise, by the Holy Andraste, that I will love this woman forever. I will be her sword, her shield, and the one who forges her way through her enemies.” He took a deep breath, and kept going, saying the words to Asta now, and not to Mother Gisele. “I will be your knight, and your champion, and your companion on any adventure you find for us. I will do my best to keep you safe, and to trust when you say you don’t need me to protect you. Together we will find strength, safety, and quiet amidst the chaos that our lives have become. Thus do I swear.”

There were sounds of choked off tears, and a rough cough that sounded like Bull in the spectators, as Leliana wrapped her arms around Josie kindly, with a sad look on her face. Cullen stared at the tears welling in Asta’s eyes, unwilling to let go of her hands to wipe them away.

“Do you have the ring?” The Mother asked, laughing slightly. “One would think you didn’t want to get married, you have so little focus, Commander.”

Cullen blushed, “Sorry,” he muttered, and fished in his pocket to bring out the small circle of shiny metal.

Asta stared at the ring, breathless. “Dandelions? Oh, Cullen,” her voice died. The dandelions danced around the ring, seeds blowing in an unseen wind, frozen in time.

“Read the inscription,” Cullen whispered.

Asta blinked her tears away, freely falling now. “I can’t… I can’t see to read,” she confessed. “What does it say?”

“The wish I didn’t know how to make,” he whispered back.

“Dandelions,” Asta repeated. “Love’s Oracle.”

“And wishes come true,” Cullen grinned. “Even if I didn’t know how to wish for something so wonderful.” He slid the ring home onto her marked hand, and covered it with his own. Asta beamed at him through her tears.

“I believe it’s your turn now,” the Mother murmured at Asta, and Cole started muttering madly. Dane barked from his place at the Commander’s side, and ran over to the man, to lean against him instead.

“Shhh, Cole,” Asta hushed the man. “I think I have this.” She smiled widely. “Though for once I don’t think I can do as well as our Commander.” Cullen laughed weakly, and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I promise, by the Maker, that I will love this man forever. I will be his words, his light in the darkness, and his door when the walls close in.” She paused and took another breath. “I will be your Lady, and your Inquisitor, and most of all, your wife. I’ll be your support when you can’t stand, your hands when yours shake, and slay your demons when you can’t fight any longer.” She gazed deep in his eyes. “Together, we will find peace in the madness, love in the hatred, and an escape from the chains that hold us both. Thus do I swear.” She turned her head but Cole was already there, hanging the ring over her shoulder. “Thank you, Cole,” she smiled, “You helped.” She took the ring and placed it on his finger. “It says, ‘The one who slays my dragons’,” Asta whispered, and Cullen laughed in delight, that impossibly wide smile lighting up his face for the first time in weeks.

“Well, I try,” he laughed again. “With the help of a few bees.” He looked at the ring, flush against his hand. “Is it…”

“Dragonbone,” Asta confessed. “Dagna made it out of the Storm Coast dragon that you killed with the Chargers.”

“Oh,” he stared at the ring, and then caught her eyes again, surprised. “That’s… nice.”

Asta busted up in laughter. “Only nice?” Her mouth twisted, “I thought it was poetic,” she teased. “And yet masculine.”

“It’s very nice?” he offered, and then pulled her hands closer, and started to lower his lips to hers, and then stopped, and looked at the Revered Mother, who still had one more duty.

“It gives me great pleasure to present to you Commander Cullen and Inquisitor Asta Rutherford,” she announced. The two of them smiled at her, waiting for permission. “Go ahead,” the Mother laughed at them. “As if you could be stopped. Definitely the first time you’ve ever asked someone for permission to kiss in public.” She noted wryly. Cullen grinned at her and pulled Asta the rest of the way in.

His lips met hers and the cheering of their little group of friends drifted away into a haze of random sounds, the buzzing of… “BEES?” He jerked back away from Asta and looked at Sera in horror.

“It was just a joke,” Sera muttered, dropping a very small jar. “It was only a couple, Cully-Wully.” He glared and started to march towards Sera, only to have Asta stop him, cup his face and pull him back down to her. She claimed his mouth, and he quickly forgot his ire as she wrapped her fingers into his hair and tugged him deeper into her body.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her up on the tips of her toes, letting his tongue sweep against hers with abandon, lost in the moment, the culmination of so many years of waiting and worrying. No doubt there would be more ahead, but now, he was hers. He dipped her, just a bit, and Asta laughed against his mouth, kissing him back just as victoriously, her arms wrapped around the back of his neck.

They finally stopped, and slumped against each other, exhausted. “I feel like I’ve just killed a dragon,” Cullen admitted. “Who knew that getting married would be so draining?”

“How soon can we dump these guys?” Asta replied quietly.

“I heard that,” Josie was smiling, however. “Inquisitor and Commander Rutherford, I believe you have a party to attend. In a thankfully private room, assuming the instructions have been followed.”

Asta made a face, “It still sounds… odd.”

“If you don’t like it…” Cullen worried.

“No, it’s the title, I think, not the last name,” Asta laughed. “Inquisitor anything sounds… wrong. Inquisitor Rutherford, Inquisitor Rutherford…” she repeated. “Do you see what I mean?”

“No,” Cullen admitted. “I don’t.” He grinned, “And that’s the official response.” He swooped down and kissed her again, blissfully, if briefly. “Let’s go to a party.” He laughed, “Maybe there will be food.  I didn’t eat anything this morning.”

“Just as well,” Asta smirked, “The ham tasted of despair. It was depressing. Go thank the Revered Mother, Cullen,” she nudged and he drifted away from her dutifully, if reluctantly.

Leliana pulled her aside. “You know I can’t give you long,” the Divine started.  "Unless you want to change your mind?"

“I know,” Asta’s throat threatened to close off. “And no, I can't.  How long?”

The Divine shook her head sadly. “I wish I didn’t have to…” she sighed. “I won’t be attending the party, Inquisitor. Too much risk with me just being here.”

“I understand. I wish you didn‘t have to either.” Asta’s face fell. “I will always consider you a friend, Leliana.”

“Likewise, Inquisitor,” the Divine stiffened, mask back in place. “Until we meet again.” She left, without looking back, and Asta watched her go, only pulled back out of her grief when Cullen wrapped his arm around her waist and looked at her worriedly.

“I’ll tell you later,” Asta whispered. “For now, let’s celebrate?” She nudged him with her elbow. “It’s not every day you get married.”  She tilted her head and smiling, asked, "Do you have some time?"

He nodded, and smiled again, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and Asta let her worry melt away in its warmth.  "For you?  Always," and he kissed her one more time beneath the Arbor Blessing.

Far above them, Solas pulled away from the balcony he watched from, pulled in two by his duty to his people and what he had to do to save them, and his respect for a woman who held the future in her hands and still longed for the past.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is NOT the end of this story. I will understand if I lose a few readers, however. It's always bothered me when I read a romance and the couple gets married and it's all happy ever after. Possibly I am weird that way.
> 
> These guys have all of Trespasser and a few extra hurdles that I've created for them to jump through. It's far from over. Buckle up.


	115. Raise 'Em for Winning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is SFW. Next one won't be. Hope to have it up today.
> 
> I leave on vacation for Thanksgiving today for several weeks. THE STORY IS NOT OVER. So don't panic if you aren't getting updates. I wanted to be done and have it all posted, but editing went... slow there for a while. The relatives I'm visiting are elderly and don't have wifi (insert painful scream here) so I doubt I'll be able to post at all. I'll be writing and editing, but it won't be posted until I get back.
> 
> I'd love to hear whether at that point you would all like to have it a little at a time or all at once. Because with nearly three weeks of boredom, the editing will be finished (almost certainly, barring illness or the like) and Asta will be wrapped up.
> 
> When I get back, though, it's full on Trespasser. Hope I don't lose too many of you to my long silence. It's been great having my stuff read, especially since it's so often fluff and silliness.

The party was small, and smaller than expected with Leliana and Vivienne leaving without attending, to Josie’s sorrow. But Max came, and that made up for it a bit, with his good humor and wit.

Josie had booked Maryden, and Cole spent the entire evening staring at her, much like he did from his usual place in the Herald’s Rest. “She makes everyone so happy with the music,” Cullen heard him muttering. But mostly, Cullen’s eyes were on Asta.

She had had to change, but with his ‘help’ this time, and he had kissed her again several times with devious intentions while they tried to get out of the Winter Palace. Now, she was in a variation of her usual clothes, with the flower still in her hair - and joking with Dorian about how he and Josie had collaborated to keep the two of them apart for the last week.

“Can we at least go out into the city with each other now?” Asta was asking Josie.

“No.” Josie was firm.

“But…”

“No. We will know when it‘s the right time to make it public, and it isn‘t now.”

Asta sighed, frustrated, and caught Cullen’s eye from across the room. He walked over to her again, drawn like moth to a flame, leaning down behind her, “I can’t imagine where we would want to go, anyway,” he breathed into her ear softly. “Bull says he and Dorian booked us a private room, and that Sera has agreed to watch Dane.” The dog grumbled softly and pushed the back of Cullen’s knees forward, so that he was right up against his wife.

Holy Maker, his wife. Who was looking at him like he was the most brilliant man on Thedas. “Well, fucking Void, Cullen, what are we waiting for?” Asta slammed her drink into the table and made as if to leave.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Josie scowled. “Dane, stop them.” Dane looked at her, weighing his options and then went and sat at the door, panting. “You aren’t leaving yet. The party is for you, and I’ve been planning for weeks. There will be cake, and dancing…”

Asta beamed and Cullen groaned. “I don’t really…”

“You did fine at the Winter Palace!” Asta pouted a little. “For me?”

Cullen couldn’t resist her, not today, “I’ll try,” he surrendered.

“You’ll like this dancing, Commander,” Josie smiled. “Maryden?”

Maryden nodded, and struck up a folk tune, light and elegant. Cullen blinked. “You… you requested her to play Fereldan folk dances?”

“And Marcher,” Josie smiled triumphantly. “I know my parties, Commander. Play to your audience.”

“I haven’t danced these since I was a boy,” Cullen protested, but Asta drug him out to the floor all the same.

“Oh, so you did dance as a boy?” Asta had him trapped, and he knew it.

“Well, occasionally,” Cullen admitted. “Barn dances, festivals and that sort of thing. It was hard to escape it, even when girls were gross. I had sisters. And they had friends that knew they taught me. And parents that insisted that I mind my manners.”

“I take it girls are a little less disgusting now, Commander?” Dorian laughed from the sidelines, only to have Bull grab his arm and pull him in. “Amatus, I don’t know these dances,” the ‘Vint protested.

“Eh, doesn’t matter,” Bull said. “I like to dance. So let’s just dance. We’ll figure out how it goes.”

Cullen tried, laughing, to remember the steps, but was faltering. “Perhaps you should lead?” He suggested to Asta, who shook her head.

“It’s not as much fun to lead,” she insisted. “It’ll come back to you.” Stumbling, Cullen tried again, and found the rhythm. “If it doesn’t, just make it up!” She laughed, and Cullen remembered how happy she’d been when he had danced with her at the Winter Palace.

“Fine,” and Cullen grabbed her waist and spun her around gently in one direction, and then switched hands to spin the other. “Keep in mind that the last time I went to a dance, besides the Winter Palace, I was twelve,” he said. “Girls weren’t gross, but I was shy, and I only danced twice.” While he talked, his steps were stable. “Both times were with my sisters, who blackmailed me to into it.” He spun Asta out and then back in. “I wish we had enough people for a reel,” he continued. “Those were always my favorite.”

“Maybe someday,” Asta smiled at him, following his lead, slightly more confident with her in his arms. “I like dancing too much to let you sit on the sidelines, Cullen.”

“I was afraid of that,” he confessed, “But I’ll try. I’ll always try.” The music sped up a little, and they danced together for a little while, faster, while Maryden increased the speed, until they lost track of their steps, and collapsed into each other, laughing blissfully.

Maryden started a slower song after that, and Cullen picked up Asta’s hands, intending to waltz. She fell right in, looking at him as he lightly spun her around the room. He spun her out, like he had at the Winter Palace, remembering her hem belling out and her hair falling down, and then back in, her back against his chest, and inhaled the flower still in her hair. He stopped dead, the music forgotten.

“Cullen?” Asta looked back up at him awkwardly.

“Dawn Lotus. The pond,” he choked. “Your hair. The smell always reminded me of home. The pond had - has - Dawn Lotus.”

Asta smiled broadly. “It took you long enough,” she spun around in his arms. “But I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“Was that… on purpose?”

“No,” Asta tucked herself against him, careless of their watching friends. “I didn’t realize myself at first. Not until the Deep Roads, actually. When you started to try to figure it out. The Storm Coast doesn’t have Dawn Lotus, just Blood and Black. So the penny dropped, and I figured it out.” She hesitated, “It’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“Quite the contrary,” Cullen tilted her chin up. “I love it even more now.” He bent down to kiss her, but Sera barreled into the Inquisitor and pulled her away to dance with her.

“My turn!” The elf crowed. “Less kissy face!”

“But Sera, you can’t…” Asta laughed and gave in to the waltz with the elf. “Dancing is dancing, I suppose,” she looked wistfully at her husband over the elf’s thin shoulders.

“The next is mine,” Bull claimed, leaning up against the wall by Thom, and Cullen joined him. “Josie got the nuts I like,” Bull noticed. “The sweet and spicy gets me every time,” he leered at his Kadan, who was now leading Josie in an elaborate version of a Tevinter waltz. “I bet you know what I mean, eh, Cullen?”

Cullen was watching his wife trying in vain to keep up with Sera’s antics. “I know a bit,” he admitted.

“Oh?” Max made his way over and propped himself on the wall, looking uncannily like Asta again with his mannerisms. Cullen shook his head. Had they always carried themselves so similarly? Or had he just been around long enough to take note of all the ways Asta behaved, and now could draw parallels? “Telling saucy stories about my sister, Commander?”

“I never kiss and tell, Max,” Cullen smiled slightly, catching Asta’s increasingly desperate eyes while Sera stepped on her feet yet again, while trying to - what was she trying to do? “Unless Asta asks. I’ve told her a few stories.”

“Hmm,” Max mused. “Well, I can’t argue with that.” He slipped the paperwork he had shown Asta earlier into the Commander’s hands. “I’m going to go save my sister from Sera.”

“Hey, the next dance was _mine_ ,” Bull complained, but didn’t move as Max cut in, and drew his sister away. The change in Asta’s grace was abrupt and lovely, and Cullen was transfixed, folding the papers in his hands idly and tucking them into his breastplate without looking at them. “Well, shit,” Bull rumbled. “They dance well together.”

“That’s because he’s the one I learned with,” Asta threw back. “My Great-Aunt Lucille gave me lessons, but I was a Chantry kid. So my brother was my partner until I was old enough to actually attend her parties.”

“I hated it, do hate it,” Max tossed over at them. “But I figure I can dance with my sister one more time on the day of her own wedding.” Asta punched him on the shoulder, hard, even with the limited range of movement. “Hey, that still hurts.”

“Good,” Asta challenged him. “Are you going to let me dance with my husband now? Or do I get to start playing the foot-stomping game?”

“No, Bull’s next,” Max grinned at her. “And you know I’m better at foot-stomping than you.” Asta came down hard on the bridge of his foot with her heel and he yelped. “Hey, I wasn’t ready!”

“Siblings,” grunted Cullen. “My sisters pulled the same trick. Made it seem like an accident though.”

“You poor innocent kid,” Bull eyed him. “Your sisters must be something else.”

“You have no idea,” Cullen sighed. “Mia is a force of nature. And Rosalie is spoiled rotten. Or was, when she was six.” He kept watching Asta beat up on her brother with a mixture of humor and memory, “Maker, I wonder how much she’s changed.”

Max was limping with both feet when he finally conceded and led Asta over to Bull and Cullen. “Take her away, please,” he begged. “I’m permanently maimed.”

“Oh, hush, you’re wearing armor,” Asta scoffed. “You’re lucky. My heels aren’t even metal today. Just wood. You’re just a bit bruised, you pansy,” she muttered, and then smiled, winningly. “Bull?”

“No thanks, Boss,” Bull was weighing her appraisingly. “If you’re capable of that kind of damage…”

“Oh, I only do that when someone gets grabby or for my brother,” Asta smiled. “I’ll be nice to you. You dance beautifully.”

Josie stepped up, “I’d like to dance with the Inquisitor,” she smiled. “I’ve wanted to since the Winter Palace, and your dance with the former Grand Duchess.”

“Will you lead or shall I?” Asta smiled with humor.

“You’d better,” Josie said, “I haven’t led anyone except for Yvette,” and Asta bowed courteously, and twirled her away, leading effortlessly as Maryden struck up an Orlesian dancing tune without being asked.

“Well, that’s kind of hot,” Bull observed the two women idly, and reached for his drink. “So, have you done any work on the Boss’ hand to hand skills?” Dorian was browsing the table of food idly, and Bull eyed his backside openly.

“Not yet,” Cullen admitted, “She’s told me a couple of stories of people she’s hit barehanded, and at least one broken nose.”  His own eyes followed the form of his lady, twisting and gliding the Ambassador through intricate steps that he could never have gotten his feet to perform.

“Trust me, she’s a natural,” Max limped over to a chair. “Leonard and I still have scars. She may be average with her daggers, but trust me, put her in a ring with two other girls her size and she’ll come out standing, barely scratched and the other girls will be bloody. It happened more times than I can count.  Our parents were at their wits end with all the letters from the Revered Mothers. They couldn't understand how she did so poorly in weapons training when she could obviously defend herself.”

“Not just girls,” Asta threw back, still dancing. “Remember the Comte?” She led Josie through a complex series of turns and twists that would have set the Orlesian court clapping.

“He was old and out of shape,” Max pointed out. “And he underestimated you.”

“I was out of shape, too.  So I used my advantage!” Asta sassed. “That makes me a good tactician,” she grinned at Cullen and winked, never breaking her impeccable rhythm with Josie.

“Are you a little… scared of her?” Bull muttered to Cullen. “'Cause maybe you should be. I wouldn‘t have thought it of the Boss, but…”

Cullen shook his head. “Nope. Not at all.” He watched her, beaming slightly as she enjoyed herself so thoroughly, and wanting more than anything to get her alone. “So… how much longer do Asta and I have to stick around for?”

Dorian laughed a little evilly, making his way over with a full plate of tidbits. “Until somebody agrees to distract the Ambassador so that you can make your getaway. But I would suggest you eat something first.” Asta’s eyes were watching Cullen avidly, with hunger behind them, even while she danced with the Ambassador. “I think that our Inquisitor is going to need you to have some stamina.”

Bull grunted out a laugh, "That's an understatement.  Cullen's going to have a great night."  Thom guffawed and handed Cullen a cup of ale while he blushed red, grinning the whole time.  He drank it a little too quickly, wanting to hide while he regained his composure.

The dance ended and Asta and Josie curtseyed to each other, laughing. “Oh, we definitely need to take you dancing more often,” Josie enthused breathlessly. “I have never had such a partner!"

Asta was over against a near wall, trying to convince Cole to dance with her now, but he was shaking his head. “He’s watching, wanting, longing. He wants to dance with you, alone, and never stop.” She gave up, slightly saddened, but caught Cullen’s eye again, a little wickedly, and went over and whispered to Maryden, who whispered back, worriedly, and then accepting, nodded.

She wove her way back to Cullen and held out her hand. “She’s going to play our song,” she announced. “So you have to dance with me again.” Maryden started up a softer version of the “Queen of Argyll” and Cullen slumped slightly with lack of confidence, and then took her hand and waist, and stepped out with her gently at an easy pace, holding her far too close.

“What were they,” Asta whispered in his ear, “your intentions, again?”

“Honorable, Inquisitor, I assure you,” Cullen breathed into her hair. “Do you doubt me?”

“I think you’ve attained me,” Asta smiled against his neck, and he forgot to worry about the dance entirely in the feeling of his hands upon her and her breath against him. “Wasn’t that the phrase?”

“I must find some way to gain her; To court her and attain her,” Cullen sang softly. “Have I, then, love?”

“Mmhmm,” Asta hummed with the tune lightly. “This one is definitely yours, Cullen. Checkmate?”

Cullen laughed, and bent to kiss her, there in the middle of the dance floor, while Sera and Thom whooped and hollered and Bull roared by the wall. Josie smiled into her hands, and Cole smiled softly, and Dorian groaned, but with a grin behind his disgusted facade. Max smiled, and sighed, and stood to take his leave, slapping Bull on the back, and shaking Dorian’s hand, and slipping out, without telling his sister or new brother in law good-bye.

They didn’t need to be interrupted.


	116. Consummation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, leaving on vacation. No wifi = no updates. :( THE STORY IS NOT OVER. When I get back, it will be full on Trespasser spoilers, rather than just the scattered ones I've managed so far.
> 
> Almost completely NSFW. :D

Several fun but painful hours later, cakes had been eaten, and Asta was sore with laughing, with dancing, and with all the food and drink she had managed to devour. Their companions were annoyingly trying to keep them apart at this rate. Every time they managed to get to the door, their dog, or Sera, or Thom, or Dorian would chase them back away with the excuse of food, or a dance, or lightening arcing across fingertips or a rumbly bark followed by panting and a demented look.

That Cullen was impatient was an understatement, so it was a relief when Bull took Dorian out for a spin, muttering, “I’m gonna give ‘em a show. Get her out of here. Room 17 is yours. Key’s already in your pocket.” Bull drug Dorian out and started a dance that was all clinging and dragging and bodies pressed against each other, and the mage was already blushing against his lover when Cullen grabbed Asta’s hand and pulled her to the door, as subtly as he could manage. Dane was watching, but deliberately turned his back to stand up on a chair and gobble at the leftover food on the table.

“Oi! Dane!” They heard Sera’s voice distantly, but they were already halfway down the stairs to the annexed inn, stifling their laughter.

“What room number?” Asta gasped.

“17. Do you think we can stop running?”

“Don’t stop,” Asta panted. “Sera is fast. Dorian can fade step. Just run. We won’t be safe until the door is locked along with all the windows. And maybe not then.”

Cullen barked a laugh, and sprinted, hoping that 17 wasn’t that far away. It wasn’t, and he collapsed into the door with the found key in his pocket, Asta keeping a lookout while he struggled with the tumblers. “It’s stuck,” he cursed.

“Draw your sword,” Asta ordered, “and keep watch.” Voices were getting nearer, and she dropped down to one knee and pulled out her lock picking tools.

“Asta, you brought lockpicks to your wedding?” Cullen asked, confused, but obeying, weapon drawn.

“You brought your sword,” Asta pointed out. “Same thing.” She finished the lock and the door clicked open. “Inside, fast!” She dove in, and Cullen came next, slamming the door against possibly imaginary intruders, and shaking with laughter. “Who knew they could be so annoying?” Asta barred the door and locked it fast, and then went over to try the windows. “Stuck” she sighed. “Are you going to be okay with them closed?” She asked Cullen worriedly.

“I’ll live, if it means we won’t have Sera coming through one at midnight,” Cullen stated seriously. “Possibly once they give up…” There was loud singing coming in through the door and windows now, and he yanked the curtains shut. “It’s going to take a while for them to give up, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Asta laughed. “What are Thom and Sera singing? Something about a barmaid?”

“The Nut Brown Maid,” Cullen’s lips were twitching. “Maker, haven’t heard that one in a while.” He listened carefully. “I’m shocked that Sera doesn’t know the naughty lyrics,” he sighed in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

And then the song changed and he winced. “What is it?” Asta asked, alarmed.

“They’re singing the one about the man from Starkhaven that got falling down drunk and… had two girls take advantage of him.”

Asta grinned and listened closer. “They tied a blue bow around his…”

“Yes,” Cullen was redder than his coat by now. “And then he…” he dissolved in laughter. “Have you really never heard the song? And you a Marcher born?”

Asta shook her head in wonder. “Do you know many dirty songs, Cullen?”

“No.”

“But Cullen,” she tried, “you said you didn’t sing to me enough…”

“No,” he laughed, and went over to hold her, laughing. “I will not sing you naughty songs, Asta. Not for all the jewels in Orzamaar.” Asta pouted, briefly, but couldn’t hold the face for laughing. “Thank the Maker, they’re going to stop singing.”

“Surely Josie will keep them from doing anything further?” Asta asked. “I mean, we’re supposed to be keeping a low profile…” The noise died down to a grumpy argument that they could barely hear, Josie‘s higher cultured voice piping over the pair‘s deeper and more strident ones. “Yes, that sounds like it.”

Cullen visibly relaxed. “Good. Thank you, Josie.” He held his wife a little closer, and she smiled slyly and slipped away. “Asta…” he started to follow her.

Asta was exploring the room curiously, with stolen looks at her new husband, who was still stalking her. “A fruit basket? Cullen, Dorian got us a fruit basket,” she dissolved in laughter yet again. “The first time I met him he told me everyone loves a fruit basket. Maker, how I love you, Dorian.”

Cullen was determined, “That was very thoughtful.” He was just on the other side of the small table now, smirking and trying to hold her eye.

“And a fruity wine!” Asta crowed. “And chocolates! Antivan chocolates!” She dodged his reaching grasp easily, box in hand.

“You fed me the entire box Josie bought you when you defeated Corypheus…” Cullen tried a new tactic, unfastening his armor and trying to ignore her pouting that he wouldn‘t play her game any longer.

“Well, yes,” Asta beamed. “I never said that I wanted to eat them all myself. Though I do love them, it’s more fun to share.” She had the paper off, and the box open, next to the bed now, and she took one and ate it, all at once, humming as the chocolate spread across her palate.

“Are you going to share with me this time?” Cullen had finished his armor, stacking it efficiently, and unbuckled his sword, to lay it on the table next to the truly enormous fruit basket.

“Maybe,” Asta temporized, “if you’re nice…” She took off her boots and they flopped lazily over in Cullen’s path. He dodged them easily this time, however, and had almost reached her when she rolled over the bed and planted her feet firmly on the other side.

“One would think you don’t want to be caught this time, Lady Rutherford,” Cullen observed. Asta bit her lips at the title. “Oh, another title you like me to use,” Cullen teased, making his way to the foot of the bed. She backed slowly away to the wall behind her, only to run into a low bureau.

“It doesn’t sound strange when you say it,” Asta observed thoughtfully. “The difference in accents?” She pulled herself up to sit on the top of the chest of drawers, admitting her defeat in the silly game. “But technically, I’m still not a Lady,” she laughed. “Though if my brother has his way, that may change again. I saw him give you the papers - did you read them?”

Cullen’s face went blank, and then shook his head. “No. I’ll read them later.” He smirked again. “I don’t want to read anything right now, Mistress Rutherford.” Asta let out a little whine, and Cullen snickered. “I’ll add that one to the collection too,” he murmured. “Inquisitor,” he said, “My Lady, Your Worship,” Asta swallowed hard at that one, “and Mistress Rutherford.” He reached her at last and pulled her forward to hold her.

“Thank you for not including the Herald of Andraste in there,” Asta said softly. “I’m still going to have to deal with the aftermath of that mess.” She draped her arms across his shoulders, and idly played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Then we will deal with it together,” Cullen promised, and kissed her, softly, and then harder, with heat but no urgency for once, sliding his hands down behind her to cup her closer while she leaned into him in turn. The kiss was simple, and pure, both of them letting themselves relax into it for once, knowing that the next morning, and the morning after they were still going to be together.

Cullen started working the clasps and buckles of her vest first, pulling it loose while she lazily wrapped his hair around her fingers and his tongue around her own. She let him finish there and drop his hands to the laces at her waist, deftly untying them with no trouble, and sliding his fingers behind them to loosen them with a jerk.

“Impatient, my love,” Asta teased against his lips at last. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

“Just being efficient,” Cullen murmured back. “Thinking ahead. Strategy. I’m told those are all strengths of mine.” He caught her mouth in another kiss, all the clothing that could be loosened without pulling away from her loose. “May I have this dance, Mistress Rutherford?”

“You can have all my dances, Cullen.” He slid his hands up under her shirt, pulling at her breastband gently.

“And take you home afterward?”

“Always,” Asta confirmed, quietly. “I am yours. I even vowed before the Maker, whether he was listening or not.”  She dropped her hands to his laces, fumbling ever so slightly, but managing in the end.

Cullen pulled away to shove her vest away from her shoulders, leaving it to lay on the top of the dresser, and lift her shirt away and over her head, to remove the last obstacle keeping him from the sweet intoxication of her lips. Sweet in reality, as she tasted of chocolate and cake. “Maker, Asta, you taste like icing,” he laughed. “Too many cakes,” and then he dove back into her, voracious.

She hummed against him, and tightened her hold on his neck, wrapping her legs around his back and pressing her breasts against his chest, only his thin shirt separating them. She wound her fingers into the back of it, and pulled it up, slowly, gathering the fabric at the back of his neck until he stopped kissing her long enough to breathe, and then pulled it over his head quickly, letting him go with a laugh, and jumping off the dresser. She stripped out of her leggings with preternatural quickness while he struggled with the shirt blocking his vision, sputtering with indignation.

By the time he wrestled his way out of it, she was laying back on the bed, completely bare and biting her lower lip, eyebrows raised mockingly. He tossed the recalcitrant shirt at her, hitting her in the face, and then stripped out of his boots and trousers, deliberately leaving them on the floor rather than folding them neatly, a smirk playing over his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Asta said.

“Like what?” Cullen lifted a single eyebrow smugly. “How am I looking?”

“It makes me simultaneously want to punch you and drag you down here,” Asta replied, eyes narrowed in speculation. “You look like the cat that got the cream, or Dane when he’s successfully managed to wheedle scraps out of the cook.”

“No need for punching or dragging, Mistress Rutherford,” Cullen laughed, and climbed onto the bed with her, propping himself up sideways on one arm. “I’m coming willingly. Eagerly, even.”

“Hmm,” Asta looked at him speculatively. “I’m sure there’s a ‘That’s what she said’ joke in there somewhere. But I’m going to let it pass. This time.”

“Thanks,” Cullen laughed and took her hand. “I’ve already had enough ribald jokes at my expense today. Even Mother Gisele…” he shook his head in despair. “When the Revered Mother marrying you is cracking jokes with the ‘Vint mage that is standing up with you, you should realize that something in your life is either very wrong, or very right,” he declared.

“Very right,” Asta chose for him, and then lifted his hand and wrapped it around her breast. “And now, I believe, my dear man, I require something of you. Care to oblige?”

“Will I?” Cullen laughed lowly, but not without joy, “Always.” He kissed her again. “Always.” He rolled over to her, covering her slightly with his body, “Always.” He fenced her in, and braced himself above her, rolling her breast in his hand and watching her face tense and relax with the movements. He dipped his head down and took her nipple in his mouth gently, always gentle tonight, he reminded himself, overwhelmed with the desire to prove how much he had longed for this day.

He suckled her tenderly, and she arched under him, and he slid his arm under her back to keep her there. He kept to the one breast, patient to the end, unwilling to allow a single part of her body be treated callously. He’d get there in time, he promised himself. He felt the nipple pebble and raise against his tongue and only then did he switch places, back up to her mouth, and then again down to the other mound, already reacting to the treatment of the other.

She moved her hand up to his head, and slid her fingers against his scalp, moaning ever so slightly, and he couldn’t resist rolling his length against her gently to make her cry out louder. Her other hand tried to find his cock, but he pressed against her, preventing the contact. “None of that, Asta,” he laughed. “I’ve only just begun.” She shuddered with that knowledge, and he went back to his work, moving down her body, just as he had that day in the nest she had made for him.

“Cullen,” Asta complained at his absence, “I want you back up here.”

“Hush,” he said. “I have plans.” He kissed her stomach, and then beneath her navel, catching her eye and twinkling at her mischievously when he saw how impatient she looked. He parted her legs and put one over his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he confessed. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” Asta breathed, unable to resist. “But I want _you_ , Cullen. Inside. Promise me?”

Cullen chuckled against her, and bent back down, still looking her in the eyes. “Oh, Asta, I told you I was just getting started.” And he met her lower lips, dripping with desire, and tasted them, kissing her open-mouthed and just as passionately as he had her mouth. His thumbs parted her, and his tongue found her nub and he started to circle, moaning at the taste of her, at the throbbing the action created in him. She was already gasping and trying to ride his mouth. “Holy Maker, Asta, I won’t be able to last long if you make sounds like that.”

“Tough,” Asta managed, shaking violently. “Holy Andraste, Cullen.”

“You don’t believe in Andraste,” he defended, and penetrated her with his tongue, as deep as it could go. She was nearly singing for him now, a high pitched whine that was dropping to a lower pitch as he moved inside her. He swiped his overly clever appendage back up to her clit and started to circle again as she started to breathe easier, and then slid two fingers inside her, and circled them, pressing against her inner walls.

“Oh, oh, Cullen,” she groaned. “That’s… please… more.”

“Already losing your ability to speak? Tsk, tsk, Asta,” Cullen sucked against her and she flew apart, one hand twisting in the bedspread and the other clutching his hair. He stroked her firmly, and sucked again. She was breathing hard and clutching around his fingers, so he withdrew, suddenly.

She glared, and tried to pull him back up to her. “What are you…”

“This,” Cullen sat back on his heels lined himself up, and pushed inside, torturously slow. She moaned, and arched, and moved against him all the harder. “I want you to come for the first time with me inside you tonight, Asta.” He touched her center gently with his thumb. “Every time you come tonight, I want to be inside you. Again and again until we’ve finally had enough of each other for the first time, and fall asleep, with me still inside you. I… never want to leave. Not tonight.”

“Maker’s Breath, Cullen,” Asta gasped. “I want… I want that too. Please!” He started to move, gentle, always gentle, a glide, not a thrust. She fought with him, trying to make him move faster. “Harder,” she begged.

“No,” Cullen refused. “Tonight I will be gentle. I want you to see how much I care, that I will take my time, that I treasure you.”

“I fucking know that, Cullen!” Asta glare increased, and she grabbed him to pull him down against her, past the point of patience. She kissed him hard, tasting herself as he continued to move. She bent her knees around his back as he rolled to create the friction she needed. She lost the ability to form words, and her pants and moans echoed into his mouth, and then into his neck as she arched and curled against him.

He was aching now, his need nearly exceeding his ability to control it, so he pulled back to stroke her again, softly, watching her writhe against him, her body’s demands overtaking her entirely. He circled her with a feather-light touch and she finally broke against him while he moved deeply, nearly pulling out with every glide as she rode the waves he had created for her. He bent back over her body and worked himself harder inside, finally giving himself permission to reach his own release.

She was still moaning against him, and clutching him, her fingernails sinking into his ass - pinpricks of pain that weren’t bothering him in the least. He groaned, and finally thrust harder, making her gasp and arch again, and she fell apart a second time with a shout of what might have been his name. “Oh, Asta,” he moaned against her neck. “Maker, I just…” and he emptied into her with a series of long sounds that almost sounded painful to his own ears. He rode them out, almost weakly, fighting not to collapse, and failing as he finally curled into her side, completely spent between the demands of pleasing her and his own pleasure.

She was laughing, as she tended to do after sex, wrapping herself around him further as he caught his breath and collected his thoughts. “Not bad,” she mused.

“Not bad,” Cullen muttered against her. “’Not bad‘, she says. I think I almost died there, and she says, ‘not bad’.”

“Do you want me to tell you that you were a lion in the sheets?,” Asta teased, “Or that your sword speared the demon of my desire?”

“Merciful Maker, no,” Cullen’s color rose and spread down his back. “Maker, where do you get this stuff? You‘re definitely still holding back on your reading material.”

“Then you get ‘not bad’,” Asta replied, smugly. “It gives you something to aspire to. Makes you rise to the occasion,” she laughed and kissed him gently on the shoulder.

Cullen groaned at her pun and rolled off her onto his back. “Give me a chocolate, please,” he demanded. “I should have eaten more at the party. Dorian was right.”

Asta snickered, “Maybe that’s why he gave us the fruit basket.”

 


	117. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy American Thanksgiving! I decided to take advantage of my husband's IT skills and post at least one chapter during my extended trip.
> 
> Enjoy the continued departure from canon.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Cullen jerked himself awake to the sounds of insistent knocking and a querulous voice behind the door and Asta rolled over idly, groaning. “Cullen?” Her eyes cracked and she tried to focus, bleary and confused.

“I’ll get it, love,” Cullen pulled himself out of the bed, noting the afternoon light drifting in around the curtains. “It’s probably just Josie, telling us that we can’t stay in bed all day. ‘We have duties to perform‘,” he mocked with what was probably supposed to be an Antivan accent that fell far short of the high standard the Ambassador set for her speaking voice.

“Right,” Asta closed her eyes again. “Tell her thank you, and that I adore her, and that she should fuck off and visit the Void. That should cover it.”

Cullen stifled a laugh while he pulled on his pants. Despite the lack of sleep, he felt so… relaxed. It was an almost foreign feeling, but it was a good one. He didn’t bother with a shirt, and cracked the door open awkwardly to reveal the sight of a visibly panicking Ambassador. “Josie? What…” His contentment disappeared all at once. “What’s happened?” He asked, grim.

“You and Asta must get out of the city,” Josie stressed, wringing her hands around a short letter, twisting and untwisting them compulsively, unable to keep them still. “Lel… Most Holy is having her detained. We need to get Asta back to Skyhold, as soon as possible, where we can defend her if necessary.” The color drained from Cullen’s face and he dropped away from the door, lunging for his clothes, armor and weapon, slinging them on as fast as he could.

Asta was already pulling on her clothes from the day before with almost military quickness, careless of her modesty in the face of the impending disaster. “Well, Leliana wasn’t kidding, was she?” she muttered. “’Not long‘, Andraste's Ass. Go fuck the Maker, Your Holiness.”

Josie gasped at her casual blasphemy, “Inquisitor!”

Cullen narrowed his eyes, ignoring his wife’s foul mouth while belting on his sword. “What’s going on, Asta?”

“I was going to tell you both today,” Asta defended, braiding her hair over her shoulder, and trying to pin it up without looking and hardly succeeding. “She only told me yesterday, and didn‘t go into detail, but I can guess. There wasn’t a good time, if you remember, to go into Chantry treachery and the possible outcomes,” she bit off sarcastically, “Forgive me for putting it off in favor of enjoying my wedding day. And I understand her position. The Divine Victoria has to do this. She has to arrest me, put me on trial for crimes against the Chantry - as a representative of the Inquisition. This is a calculated move on her part to cement Chantry strength. We need to be thinking about preserving the Inquisition in a similar way. Only we can‘t just hold a trial. Maker‘s Balls, Leliana has it easy.”

Josie sighed, and relaxed a little, “So it’s a formality?”

“No,” Asta replied, bitterly. “She’s fucking putting me on trial for leading a heretical movement against the Chantry. There’s nothing ‘formal’ about it except for the robes they‘ll be wearing as they sentence me to death by fire or sword - or a firing line, if I‘m lucky and the arrows shoot straight. Leliana cannot be seen as anything less than the Divine Victoria in this. Impartial, informed, and above all, _divine_. Blessed by the Holy Andraste and the Maker himself,” Asta mocked to Josie‘s chagrin, and continued, “I will most assuredly lose this, my friends, unless we are very, very clever.”

Cullen brow creased with worry. “Asta… you intend to let her try you? Your election as Inquisitor was unanimous! Josie may have been the first to recommend you, but Leliana agreed just as quickly that you were the best choice!”

“And Josie will use that to defend me, assuming she‘s willing to take this on to her already massive workload. But the Divine Victoria is not Leliana, or even Sister Nightingale, any longer. Her previous life has been left behind with her name.” Asta argued, pulling on her dagger harness. “In the eyes of the Chantry, and the Divine is the human personification of the Chantry, I have to be tried. For the sake of the Inquisition’s future, I have to go willingly, not fighting off the Divine’s Right Hand, Commander. It will look better. We have the common people’s opinions of the Inquisition on my side, but we have to influence the Chancellors and Grand Clerics, encourage them to be merciful. The Inquisition _must survive_ ,” she stressed. “Thedas needs the balance. If that means I have to be executed, then…”

Cullen and Josie visibly recoiled, their words overlapping each other in the violence of their reactions. “If you think that for one minute I will allow you to be executed in favor of…”

“Inquisitor! I will represent you, of course, in the face of a better alternative, but execution is _not_ an option!”

Asta looked at them solemnly as she cut them off. “Then both of you had better listen to what I have to say. They will arrest me, and take me to the Spire. It’s the logical prison, and one of the few places that the Chantry still controls completely. Commander, I need you to get back to Skyhold and see to its defenses.” Cullen was shaking his head, “Cullen, you have to be the Commander in this. You know what is more important, if you stop to think. All we‘ve worked towards…”

“I will not.” Cullen refused flatly, and raised an eyebrow at Asta when she scowled at his insubordination. “I just vowed to Andraste yesterday that I would be with you in all things. I am not going to break that vow. If you go to the Spire, so do I.”

“Josie,” Asta turned to the diplomat, “Tell him…”

“No, Inquisitor,” Josie stood straighter. “As rare as the occurrence is, I agree with the Commander. It’s time to make your marriage public, and publish openly the Commander’s holy devotion to his marriage vows. It will work in your favor, to be married to such a devout man.”  She hesitated, "I hope."

Asta’s face had long since creased with worry, “And if they arrest him, too?”

“The orders are just for you,” Josie finally handed the letter to her, and Asta straightened it out and scanned the short lines. “Vivienne managed to warn me this morning. I got the news of the soldiers just a few minutes ago, and rushed here. I thought we’d have more time, but apparently Lel… Her Holiness didn’t travel here as alone as we assumed.”

“Thank the Maker for Vivienne,” Asta breathed. “They could have found me naked or worse. Vivienne would have been mortified on my behalf.  Wardrobe malfunctions are death at court.  Speaking of which, I’d better pack some things…”

“Already done,” Dorian came through the door. “Bull and I will follow you to Val Royeaux and make sure that you are cared for fairly.”

“I’ll make sure,” Cullen contradicted. “Because if Asta is going to be incarcerated, then I will be with her.” Asta opened her mouth again to argue. “Save it, love. I swore ‘Never again’ and I meant it. I’ll sleep on the floor outside your cell if I have to, but we’re not going to be parted. Especially if you are going to the Spire. I’ve heard horrible stories, and even without Templars…” he shuddered. “I won’t leave you alone in there.”

“I will come too,” Cole whispered, making himself known behind Dorian. “Cold and wet in the dark, died banging his head against the wall. Wished I wasn’t, Wished he weren’t. Guts gripping in the dank dark…”

“No, Cole!” Asta stopped his litany of the first Cole's memories. “The Spire is not a good place for you. Please, Cole, go back to Skyhold. Just this once, stay out of the dark.” She turned back to Dorian. “See Cole safe to Skyhold, Dorian. You and Bull, Blackwall and Sera. You can’t help me here. I have to let this happen, or it will all mean nothing. The Inquisition must be separate from and somehow still work alongside the Chantry. If we oppose it at any point, we are headed back into war, or will be absorbed into the Chantry like after Ameridan disappeared. Neither option is in my job description. ‘Let Chaos Be Undone,’” she quoted and then laughed, more than a little bitterly, “Listen to me quoting the Chant now, as I’m arrested by the very institution it is supposed to uphold.”

“Told you that you had balls going ‘gainst the Nightingale,” Sera poked her head through the door, and folded her arms tight to her chest, gripping her elbows even closer. Dane followed, barking madly and joyously at his reunion with his friends, oblivious for the moment to the emotional tension. “Couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, just once, couldja? Had to be all true and shiny. Those ideal thingies are gonna get you burned on a pyre, Lady Bits.” She took a deep breath, “And I’m not goin’. Gonna go back to Val Royeaux, use my Friends to keep you safe, keep people rooting for you. Try to balance things, like walking a rope. I can do that better than anyone else.”

Josie nodded thoughtfully. “She makes sense, for once, Inquisitor. The Chantry representatives standing against you will try to sway the people. Sera can remind them of what you did for the refugees from the civil war, for the Hinterlands, for the Emprise. And I will remind the nobles and dignitaries that you are more than just the Inquisitor.”

“Don’t use the title, Josie,” Asta asked humbly, with a deadened voice. “Please don’t say that I am the Herald of Andraste.” She was past begging, weary and worn with the weight of the words. “That will be the opposite of helpful, at this point.” Dane stopped trying to jump up on her and pressed against her instead, a large hairy lump of comfort.

“Of course not,” Josie scoffed elegantly. “I won’t use it even once.” And then she smiled cleverly. “But by the time I’m done, _they_ will be. It‘s all a matter of how it‘s presented, isn‘t it? Your humility, your inability to allow that your simple self could be chosen by the Maker or his Bride…” Cullen was nodding along firmly, gripping his sword’s hilt to stop the shaking, and Dane left Asta’s side to lean against him instead.

“You’re scary,” Sera observed and grinned. “I like that. You’re all right, Lady Prissypants.” Josie sighed in resignation and nodded a response.

Asta took a shuddering breath. “All right. I have no choice but to leave my life in your more than capable hands. May I… be alone with my husband for a moment? Please?” She stared at Dane’s feet, angled oddly against Cullen with the pressure of his body on his legs.

The Ambassador gently shooed everyone except the Mabari out of the door and shut it quietly as Cullen and Asta stepped together to embrace. In the distance, Asta could already hear the sound of marching armor. “She must have brought a lot of people,” she said, shaking so that he could feel it. Dane whined and tried to squeeze in between their legs.  "I guess things were even less secret than we thought they were.  Not that it matters now."

“You’re frightened,” he said into her hair. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, we could still run…”

“If I run, I’m guilty,” Asta stated, voice still dead, into his pauldrons. “Since I’m not guilty of anything except refusing to accept that Andraste was divine, I will not run. I kept a demon army from overrunning Thedas. I sent Corypheus into the Void to prevent him from recreating the Tevinter Imperium. I’ve solved historical mysteries and managed to make the ground itself stop shaking. I stopped it all using a magical mark that was a massive accident and coincidence, and held to that belief despite people around me claiming the whole time that I was blessed. I am being tried for the opinions of others that turned out to be wrong, not my own. That I am actually a heretic is secondary, in this trial. It‘s not about the truth, it‘s about perception.”

“Then why didn’t…” Cullen stopped. “It’s because of what I said, isn’t it? I told you not to ask Leliana to rescind your excommunication, that faith and love shouldn’t work that way. _I_ did this. Doomed you to this trial.” His voice dropped off. “Possibly to your death. Asta…” Dane growled at the words and tone of his voice and Asta stroked the dog's head to quiet him.

“It might have happened anyway,” Asta argued, shrugging, but still shaking underneath her bravado. “Leliana is a zealot. She might have called me on the bluff had I asked to be readmitted. She knows better than anyone the nature of my beliefs, with the exception of you, perhaps. She’s read everything I’ve written, looked at all my research. She did promise me that she would not annul our marriage, though, and I believe her,” Asta insisted. “If any one can make sure that this turns out alright, Cullen…”

“It will be Josie,” Cullen firmed his arms around her back. “She will save you.”

“I hope so,” Asta choked up. “I’m not ready to die.” She looked up at him at last. “I have something to live for, now.”

Cullen tenderly brushed the hair out of her face, already falling down from where she had haphazardly pinned it back. “We both do,” he said. “And I swear I will not let you die for the Inquisition or for the convenience of the Chantry. Not today, not ever. Not if I have to fight back the combined armies of Thedas,” he vowed recklessly.

“I hope that’s not necessary,“ but Asta clenched him tighter. “Let’s go to Val Royeaux,” Asta sighed and shuddered with the sounds outside the door. “They’re here. Ready?” She smiled, a little stronger in his arms, “Shall we dance, Commander?”

“Need you ask?” Cullen smirked weakly and took her hand to kiss it symbolically, even as it was covered with a gauntlet. “You did promise me all the dances, after all.”

“Wouldn’t have anyone else,” Asta assured him, and kissed him on the mouth, swiftly. “That’s for luck,” she breathed, and then let him go. “Answer the door, but don’t fight them,” she said softly. “No matter what - even if they hurt me. I suspect Leliana will have ordered them not to harm me. And if Vivienne is with them, I will be fine. We can trust Vivienne. She didn‘t have to warn us at all.”

Cullen crossed to the door, and opened it, hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to defend Asta despite her ridiculous suppositions. Vivienne was poised on the other side of the door in a dignified argument with Josie, backed by twenty or so soldiers dressed in the Chantry's Sunburst. “Madame de Fer,” Cullen greeted. “I think you will find the Inquisitor ready to attend the Divine.”

“I have no doubt,” Vivienne smiled regally. “Your Ambassador tells me that the Inquisitor has things to collect?”

“Already taken care of,” Asta stepped out of the room and held out her hands to be bound. “Are you going to shackle me, Madame?”

Vivienne made a moue of distaste. “I hardly think that’s necessary, do you?”

Asta nodded, more than a little relieved. “Madame is too kind,” she thanked her.

“Of course I am,” the Iron Lady purred. “Now then, the Ambassador, I believe, has letters to write. Would you like to delay so that you can help dictate, or shall we be off?”

“I trust the Inquisition’s Ambassador implicitly,” Asta assured the Right Hand. “I’m sure the Inquisition is in good hands.”

“Marvelous,” Vivienne sighed. “Then, shall we make our way? I believe that if we leave now we could make it to Val Royeaux within a few days.” She eyed Asta. “Perhaps you should make sure you have something better to wear when we enter the city, dear. The impression you leave will be critical.”

Asta firmed her lips, in thought, “No, I will wear my armor,” she stated, assuredly, “Let the people see who has fought for them. Do you plan to take my weapons?”

“Not at all,” Vivienne thrust up her chin, sighing with the necessity of her duties, but determined to perform them all the same. “Then I hereby arrest you on behalf of the Sunburst Throne, Inquisitor Asta Rutherford, sometime called the Herald of Andraste.” Dane barked dismissively.

“And my crimes?” Asta probed.

“Leading a heretical movement against the Chantry itself, of course, complicated by allowing and encouraging your worship as the Herald of Andraste,” Vivienne arched a brow. “Claiming the Chant has been changed from its original form, and other blasphemies. Oh, there’s more, involving claiming the blessing of Andraste falsely, reclaiming and reaffirming the mage rebellion, and even a bit in there,” she nodded at the many page list of charges that Josephine was flipping through furiously, “about seducing a Templar away from his vows. ‘Corrupting the moral character of a Templar’ is the official charge, if I remember clearly.” She smiled, “I admit, it’s a little refreshing to see that one floated around. It usually came after a scandalous affair came to light in the Circle. I‘m a bit nostalgic,” the mage professed. “Of course, in Montsimmard it was barely acknowledged as a crime. I remember my first Templar…” she drifted off in memory, a sweet smile on her face. “He was precious.”

“That is preposterous,” Cullen sputtered through her reminiscing. “I am no longer a Templar, wasn‘t for months before I met Asta. Leliana knows…”

Vivienne raised a single eyebrow in derision, “Divine Victoria, Her Holiness, or the Most Holy, Commander. You should watch your tongue more closely before you admit your guilt accidentally,” she sighed again and turned back to Asta. “But Inquisitor, my dear, all the charges are stuff and nonsense until they get you killed. I do hope I was able to buy you some time? Do you have a plan, darling?”

“As much of one as we could piece together, Madame,” Asta assured her, “And I thank you for the warning. Even I did not expect this so soon.”

“The least I could do,” smiled the mage imperiously. “You are still Thedas’ last great hope, my dear. However necessary this circus of manners is. And you dance so well - I’m sure that you will manage these steps just fine.”

“Madame is so kind,” Asta bowed her head. “Shall we?”

“Such manners,” purred the Iron Lady. “You will do, despite your lack of presence - a pity, that. Ambassador, assemble your witnesses, as many as you can find, I can assure you that the Most Holy is approaching hers even as we speak. I will try to provide you with a list, but you mustn‘t depend upon me. You can imagine the fine line I must walk. Commander, you are accompanying us?” The mage was visibly taken aback as he stood behind his wife, a bulwark holding her bags and his own. “Are you sure? The accommodations at the Spire…”

“Are hardly my concern,” growled Cullen. “The safety of my wife is my first consideration and my duty before Andraste.” He spoke loud enough for the soldiers accompanying the Right Hand to overhear.

“Not bad, Commander,” a grudging look of respect crossed the Right Hand’s face briefly. “Did the Ambassador tell you to say that?” He growled further and amusement replaced the approbation, “Save it for Val Royeaux, Commander. You‘ll need all of your chivalry when we arrive. Shall we?”

***

_Lady Cassandra,_

_I write to reluctantly ask you to return to your post with the Inquisition. I regret to inform you that Divine Victoria has arrested the Inquisitor, and we are in desperate need of your assistance in Val Royeaux. Inquisitor Rutherford has been charged with heresy, most notably, as well as lesser offenses._

_Please, Cassandra, we need your witness. We need a Seeker of Truth. We hope for a short trial, given the nature of the accusations. We all know Asta’s stance on these issues. But we need an outcome that only you can help us find._

_I am so sorry to interrupt your stay in Kirkwall. Give Viscount Tethras my personal regards, as well as those of the Inquisition. If he is willing to offer any assistance, it would be greatly appreciated, by Asta and the Commander, who remains at her side. I hope the rebuilding of Kirkwall and its fortification against certain threats are proceeding_ _well._

_On another personal note, you were missed at the wedding. It was understated and lovely, just as the Commander and Inquisitor desired. I am taking steps to make their marriage public as we speak. I have hopes that the Commander’s devotion and faith will reflect well on our… less devout Inquisitor's reputation._

_May the Maker and Andraste preserve us all._

_Lady Josephine Montilyet_

_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 7000 hits. You are all the absolute best. This Thanksgiving, though I risk being trite, I'm thankful for all of you. :D Thanks again for reading my silly story, with it's poor formatting and tangents and winding plotline.


	118. Stepping Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm actually going to try to get the whole thing posted by Christmas. That will be a challenge, but it would be nice to start the New Year with a new project.
> 
> Also, hopefully by the end of the week I'll have my little one off about Hawke in Starkhaven posted. If not this week, then next.

The trip to Val Royeaux was short, and as amicable as Asta and Vivienne could make it, despite the soldiers marching in full armor, guarding the public from Asta's dangerous influences.  By the end of the trip, most of them were relaxed, much to Cullen's dissatisfaction.  He kept having to remind himself that they were not under his command, as they were far too sloppy about their duties. Sera had conveniently made her own arrangements for travel, and Josephine delayed her trip until she could make initial contact with some of the people she hoped would testify in Asta’s favor, so it was Cullen, Asta and Vivienne, and a small company of armed escort.

The city gleamed just as beautifully and just as deceptively as the first time Asta had visited, but she tightened her hold upon her husband’s arm as they walked in after boarding their horses on the outside of town, openly clinging to him for the first time, much to the Right Hand’s amusement. Asta looked at Madame de Fer, fully aware of what she was doing, and just as amused as the mage. “There are benefits, Madame,” she laughed tightly, “Even in the mess of all of this, at least the Commander and I don’t have to hide any longer.”

“I understand completely,” Vivienne assured her. “That kind of freedom is hard won for women of power. Please, do not censor your behavior on my account.” Her mouth twisted. “In fact, if the Commander can unbend himself enough to return the embrace, it will speak well for you, once the news of your marriage gets out. I‘m sure the Ambassador searches for an appropriate channel for that information as we speak.”

Cullen grimaced, “I can do that,” and he immediately wrapped his arm around her - hauling her to his side a little too firmly. “Let me know if there are any other ways that I can assist,” he muttered, tense in response to Vivienne’s mocking laugh. “I wouldn’t want Asta to be executed for the lack of public displays of affection.” He glared around him at the people staring at their procession, making more than a few retreat in surprise. Dane barked a doggy laugh, tongue hanging out and making Cullen scowl.

“Well done,” Vivienne praised his behavior, if not his results. “It’s not far now, my dears. Heads up. Everyone‘s eyes are upon you.” Dane pranced at her words, his lighthearted steps drawing eyes away from the Inquisitor’s long walk through the city, and bringing reluctant smiles to Cullen, too uptight to allow more, even for the antics of his friend.

Their introduction to the Spire wasn’t positive, Vivienne departing to report to the Divine Victoria and their cell hardly commodious from where they viewed it from the doorway. While Asta, as a high-ranking prisoner and a non-mage, merited better than a deep, dank cell, where they were shown consisted of a single bed, a screen, a chamber pot, and a basic desk, all placed around a simple square of stone walls and floor, with a lonely, small, barred window that didn‘t open. Dane immediately started to explore, nose dropped and sniffing into the distant corners. “It’s better than what the original Cole was… given when he was here,“ she pointed out when Cullen frowned in extreme displeasure. “It’s even better than we give our prisoners at Skyhold. Positively luxurious, in comparison.” She smiled at her husband half-heartedly, “Still not exactly where I thought we’d be sleeping this week. Will you even fit on that bed? Perhaps we should just request a couple of bedrolls from Josephine and sleep on the floor?”

Cullen gripped her shoulder, and led her into the room, hearing the massive wooden door shut hard behind them, and the wooden bar on the exterior sliding into place with a finality that made him shudder. “That was hardly necessary,” he criticized. “We came willingly - she doesn’t need to lock us in.”

“It’s the Game, Cullen,” Asta sighed. “Anything to throw me off balance, and you as well.” She walked over to the desk, and opened a few of the drawers. “Apparently I’m not a suicide risk,” she observed with a macabre touch, as her daggers were still strapped to her back. “Look, a letter opener. They must be expecting me to get mail. That’s good. Most Holy would be within her rights to forbid contact with the outside world given my corrupting influence.” Her face lit up in the next minute as she pulled out the next drawer. “Paper! And ink! Cullen, I get to write letters!” Her face fell. “Of course, who would I write to? Any one I correspond with is in danger of being tried for heresy right alongside me. I can‘t even write to Cassandra. Josie will have to take care of most of my correspondence.” Her eyebrows creased further. “Cullen, will you be all right enclosed like this? Locked in, without even a window that opens? I will arrange for better accommodations for you - you can spend your days with me… Wait. You have to go, Dane needs access to the outdoors! You can‘t accommodate his needs locked up like this!” She was working herself into a state, and pulling out parchment and an inkwell while she spoke, slamming drawers while looking for a quill in her agitation.  "Damn it all, tons of ink and paper and nothing to write with?  Where is my satchel?"

Cullen went behind the screen, without answering, and smiled, relieved. “I will be fine. Divine Victoria has given me a present,” he waved Asta over. A small shrine was laid out, with fresh candles and a copy of the Chant. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Asta. “It’s going to be hard, but this is where my duty lies, what Andraste preserved me for. I’m sure of that, even if you aren’t. I will endure. I endured the Deep Roads, after all. This is nothing, compared to that.” He was solid and determined, and Asta wrapped her arms around him so that he could feel her vibrating with nervousness. “While others have abused that loyalty in the past, you never will. I believe that with every fiber of my soul. So quit worrying. I will,” he sighed, hating his weakness, “I will tell you, if I need assistance. We can arrange to have Dane stay elsewhere - perhaps Sera, if it will not hurt her cause. I will ask to step outside, every once in a while. The Divine is not cruel.” He reflected on the statement, “Usually. Perhaps Most Holy will even let you come with me, occasionally. And perhaps we won’t be here for long at all. We could be back at Skyhold preparing for the Exalted Council within the month! The charges against you are ridiculous.”

“Hold on to that optimism,” Asta grimaced. “I am not so confident. I can see various ways this could play out, but an early release isn’t one of them.” She opened her mouth to elaborate, only to be interrupted by a clamor outside the cell, and a shifting bar, and a creaking door. “The Most Holy, Divine Victoria,” a armored knight announced, and then stepped aside to admit the woman herself.

“This won’t do at all,” Leliana stepped in and frowned at what she found. “I thought I gave instructions that they would be made comfortable?” She addressed the soldier with her. “I know I included the Commander when I told you we were expecting guests, Captain.”

“Most Holy, we did not think that the Commander would accompany the heretic…” the man attempted to explain.

“I told you, they are married, and the Commander is devout,” the Most Holy reprimanded. “You should listen to the details, Captain. For now, find a better place. My own, if nothing else can be found. They will be comfortable.” She narrowed her eyes at the man. “The Inquisitor is not our enemy, even if she is a heretic. Which has not yet been determined. How will those outside the Chantry learn the love of Andraste if they are treated with contempt?” She took a large breath and faced the bemused pair, “I apologize to you both.”

Asta examined her former advisor closely. Was her displeasure a ploy? Leliana was too hard to read, and Asta couldn‘t tell. It was better to be safe. “It’s more than I expected, Most Holy,” Asta replied swiftly. “The Commander was touched by the shrine, in particular. As was I by the ability to write letters. It is most gracious of you.”

The Divine’s mask did not crack for a single moment. “Of course, I will make sure that the same luxury is afforded in your next, quarters, shall we say? Or perhaps access to the chapel would be preferred to a simple shrine.” Her words were ripped off at the end like a raven into a chunk of meat. “And perhaps windows that open? I hardly think the two of you need to be fenced in with bars. What’s next? Bread and water? And to put the Commander and his dog into a place where their movements are restricted… that’s just cruel.” She turned in a single effortless movement. “Walk with me, both of you. Bring your things. You will not be returning here.”

Asta met the Commander’s eyes, attempting to communicate something, but he just shook his head in confusion. “Most Holy, we do not merit…” Asta prompted at last.

Cullen’s eyes cleared and he interrupted the Inquisitor. “Yes, Most Holy, I am - we are - nobody. Fine treatment is unnecessary, the room here is adequate,” he protested with honest humility. “Perhaps just access to a courtyard for Dane’s needs…” Asta nodded at him, barely, and he curled the edge of his mouth in reply, feeling all his own inadequacy at these sort of courtly dances.

“Nonsense,” Divine Victoria turned to the guards. “Leave me. Shut the door.” They did so, and she visibly sagged under the weight of her hat at their departure. “Asta, Cullen, please. You don’t want to stay here. Stop playing, just for a moment. I never get a chance to stop _playing_ ,” Leliana stressed. She had aged obviously in the few months since they had seen her before the Deep Roads, apparent even in the poor light. Asta mourned her previous preoccupation, but realized it would have made no difference, given the stress of her position. “Let me do this for you, as I can do little else,” Leliana urged. “I can’t control the outcome - I’m trusting you and Josie for that, Asta - but please, I can give you a little freedom within the Spire and the Cathedral. I hate that I have to do this at all.”

“So don’t do it,” Cullen bit out. “Just let her go, and we will both leave. The Inquisition and the Chantry will remain allies…”

“I cannot,” Leliana insisted. “If I only could, but the Chantry is so weak, Cullen. No Templars to defend or protect anyone, more than half of the local Chantries destroyed to civil war or the mage rebellion, the starving and the homeless to shelter and feed - and we have nothing. Nothing left. Every report I receive gives a worse picture. So many of the Chantry‘s strongest donors support the Inquisition instead…”

“I suppose Josie has done her job too well,” Asta observed.

“Then ask the Inquisition for help,” Cullen argued. “You know that we would send troops and aid…”

“She can’t, Cullen,” Asta interrupted. “Because then she would be setting the precedent of the Chantry being at the mercy of the Inquisition, admitting the Inquisition is the stronger institution, insinuating that the Inquisition pulls the strings behind the Chantry. She has to break away. For both groups‘ sake.” She smiled. “I have the start of a solution, however. Leliana, have you by chance ever traveled to the Ostwick Chantry?”

“Ostwick?” Leliana’s face went blank. “No, I have been to many in the Free Marches, but never Ostwick. Don’t they have…” she caught a glimmer of Asta’s bright idea. “They’re known for their solid gold statues of the Maker‘s Bride, are they not?”

“Exactly,” Asta gleamed briefly as the other rogue picked up on her idea. “Property of the Chantry, and largely crafted with my parent’s generosity. Perhaps ‘reparations’ from Ostwick and the Trevelyans should be demanded?”

“But you aren’t a Trevelyan any longer…” Cullen tried desperately to follow the conversation.

“But I was when they gave me away,” Asta met and held his eyes. “They should have known better, than to let a heretic into the heart of the Chantry.”

“You were a child!” Cullen protested. Leliana closed her eyes, thoughts visibly flitting across her face with the speed of the torches’ flickering.

“That doesn’t have to matter,” Asta dismissed. “The Chantry’s needs are urgent, and Leliana doesn’t have the time to quibble over details when people are starving. Ostwick and my parents will comply, rather than risk censure from the new Divine. And it will weaken the power of their Chantry. I‘m sure that will only help my cause, if my old Revered Mother is trying anything.”

“It’s a start,” whispered Leliana, still overwhelmingly fatigued. “Even if it will take time. Now, will you let me help you both? Cullen, you don’t have to be here. You aren’t on trial.” She stopped the uprising of his protests, “I know you won’t leave her. It’s commendable, and I’m sure Josie will take full advantage of your devotion, but Cullen…”

“You arrested my wife,” Cullen erupted at last, his temper breaking through his miserable attempt at the Game, and the stress of the last week pushing him to the edge. “You declared her to be a heretical influence, and the cause we _all_ served to be nothing more than a cult worshipping her, even though you know the truth. You intend to sentence her to death for that, if she is found guilty, despite the fact that she has preserved you spiritually and physically multiple times, and rescued the fledging Inquisition from its own indecisiveness and the world from the Breach that threatened us all. She saved the world from shaking itself to pieces from the inside, caused by a power that the dwarves didn’t even remember existing - and you didn’t believe she’d ever come back. But she always comes back - again and again - from impossible situations and despite impossible odds. It’s not Asta that doesn’t have faith, Most Holy. It’s you. You claimed to have faith in Andraste, and then unilaterally decided that She can’t choose a Herald that doesn’t believe in Her divinity. Who are you to judge?“ Cullen wound up his diatribe, days, months, years in the making - all his myriad disagreements with his fellow advisor and worry about Asta's situation releasing all at once.

Asta stared at her husband as if he were a stranger. “Cullen?”

He waved her shock away irritably. “Don’t start, Asta. This is… this is a travesty,” he insisted. “You’ve saved us all, time and again. Rebuilt, restored…”

“Cullen,” Leliana interrupted. “I agree with you, one hundred percent, whatever you may think. But I have clerics from all over Thedas calling for someone to blame.”

“Put the blame where it lies,” Cullen pressed, “With Corypheus, with Warden Commander Clarel, with Gereon Alexius, with the Venatori!”

“All of whom are conveniently dead, imprisoned or believed to be so!” Leliana pointed out, desperately. “I have to try Asta, and since the evidence is so clearly in her favor, it should be…”

“Should isn’t good enough,” Cullen growled. “You are talking about the possible execution _of my wife_.” The two former advisors glared at each other impotently, Cullen‘s teeth bared.

Asta stood, with her eyes closed this time, weighing the cost of her freedom as long minutes passed, and the two advisors eventually stopped their staring match to watch her, one worriedly, the other implacable. “You should try me,” she opened her eyes slowly, while Cullen could see the consequences of a misstep in the Game casting a shadow across them. “It makes sense. Clear my name, if you can… it would be a winning situation for both of us. If I leave now, the Inquisition wins only temporarily, and you may have no choice but to start an Exalted March to weed out heretical influences. We must prevent that, at all costs.”

“And if that doesn’t happen?” Cullen gritted out, words caught in his teeth. “What happens when a Revered Mother with an axe to grind - and you know there is at least one, Asta - throws her weight around and…”

“Then I’m executed,” Asta said calmly. “At least… that’s what it will look like. Nothing is inevitable, right, Commander? And we all know the Chantry lies, and that it is possible to hide from it effectively. Who am I to circumvent Chantry tradition?”

Leliana’s mouth pulled up slightly, but she didn’t respond.

“Asta, are you suggesting…”

She shrugged, one shoulder in the air. “It’s just an idea. And at least at the end of things I… we… would both be free. If we play our roles right and step carefully.  And that's only if we lose.”

“Absolutely not,” Cullen spat. “The very thought of you… and I won’t be part of such a distortion of Chantry…” and then he stopped, realizing that Asta was laughing at him.

“Oh, Inquisitor,” Leliana almost giggled. “He’s too perfect.”

“You aren’t talking about me playing the part of Maferath in this mime,” Cullen concluded, belatedly.

“It wouldn’t be an exact parallel,” Asta spelled out for his benefit. “But Hessarian…“ she stopped, seeing the increasingly pained look on her husband’s face. “Well, we’ll worry about that if the time comes,” Asta grinned. “But rest assured, my love, I have no intention of being run through, even upon your exemplary sword. Trust me.” She turned back to Leliana. “Can we make the trial quick?”

“You should already know that the Chantry moves at a snail’s pace,” Leliana sighed. “So, no.”

“We have the Exalted Council in a matter of months, and Asta has to be around for that, whether as a prisoner or the Inquisitor. So it can‘t be too quick or too slow, in any case.  Especially if the trial looks like it is going badly,” Cullen started to pace, and then he stopped in sudden horror, “Maker‘s Breath, I sound like Josie.”

“It’s a good look for you,” Asta smiled at him, temporarily refreshed, and then turned back to the Divine. “The Inquisition has things to do,” Asta confirmed. “I can’t just sit here and wait for you to get around to finding me innocent. And it‘s worse yet if you end up demanding my immediate execution. I have some plans in place if I end up unexpectedly dead, but this situation is a little… different.”

“You still wouldn’t be around to lead the Inquisition,” Cullen pointed out. “And I would resign immediately in protest, naturally. That would leave Josie, alone, with both of our successors,” he fretted. “She’d never forgive us.”

“Her forgiveness is the least of our worries, especially since in name at least, I would be dead,” Asta drawled. “A million things would have to be in place for us to get away with this and still leave the Inquisition intact.” She stopped again to think. “I wonder if we could join again, under an assumed name? Someplace remote?” Cullen shook his head at her. “It was just a thought.”

“A very far-fetched one,” grumbled her husband. “You read too much.” Asta stuck her tongue out at him and continued to think.

“If I attempt to make everything move quicker, it will make me seem corrupt and biased - in either direction,” Leliana protested, caught up in her own problems. “Appearances are everything. You know that, Asta.”

“So how long?”

Leliana sighed, “Your arrest is the beginning. The newly appointed Grand Clerics are still gathered, mostly. Not all will attend, some will - remove themselves from the proceedings. In the end, I will have the final say, with the input of the Clerics. But I am not bound to their opinions.” Her face smoothed out, mask in place. “If Josie can call the Inquisition’s witnesses quickly, we can start with the Chantry’s charges, and then see the witnesses as they arrive. A few months?”

“And I’ll use the time as wisely as possible,” Asta spoke assuredly. “I’m sure Josie will work more efficiently close by. Can you… no, better to let Josie make her own arrangements. It will be hard on the both of you, to have to stand opposed to each other,” she worried. “I hope Josie will manage. She thinks she doesn‘t handle stress well.”

Cullen snorted at the blanket untruth of the statement. “Josie dances under pressure that would break the average person’s back. She‘ll be fine, whatever she thinks.”

“In the meantime, please let me relocate you,” Leliana begged again. “It will look better, as if we aren’t assuming your guilt, or that you will flee.”

Asta looked at Cullen. “I accept reluctantly, for the sake of my husband’s health.” Cullen lifted an eyebrow. “Well, that’s the official response,” Asta defended. “Besides, we’re newlyweds. You know we need a bigger bed than this short and skinny thing. This is a fine opportunity, actually. Who else gets a honeymoon at the Cathedral? I bet we‘re among the first. It wouldn‘t have been my first choice, but the exclusivity cannot be denied.” She thought quickly, “Andraste’s Mercy, Leliana, are all the beds here singles? Maybe we can shove a couple together?”

Leliana killed a laugh in the back of her throat and failed to answer, deliberately. “It is good to have you near, my friends.” She looked at Asta closely. “I may still call you that?”

“Always,” Asta assured her. “Well, as long as you don’t plan to actually execute either of us.”

Leliana stared at her, and didn’t blink. “I have no such plans at this time.” Asta grinned in response at the challenge with all her teeth.

“That is not comforting,” Cullen spat, still angry. “But it will do for going on with.” He grabbed Asta’s bag and his own. “Give us a better room, Divine Victoria,” he demanded. “One with a courtyard for Dane, unless you want to order your servants to clean up after him.” Dane whined in embarrassment.

Leliana’s lip curled slightly. “I will do whatever it takes. Even though Dane would never be so rude, I’m sure.” Dane barked in affirmation, and let his tongue loll out in approval. She pulled open the door to the cell herself and marched out, mask fully in place. Cullen held the door open for Asta, who smirked at him as she passed through, and then arranged her face as meekly as possible.

Cullen followed, still scowling, realizing that he had to learn this dance, and quickly. At least he had the promise of a good teacher.

 


	119. While the Music Plays

_Dearest Ruffles,_

_I’m sending Asta her own personal battalion of lawyers, courtesy of the Merchant’s Guild. They’ll do their best, or their worst, depending on how you look at it. Be careful with them, since I’m assuming you still want to end up with a Chantry at the end of the day. They could argue the lyrium out of a dead vein, I have no doubt that they can convince a horde of Grand Clerics that Inquisitor Rutherford_ (HA! You pulled it off! I knew you would!) _is as pure as Chantry beeswax._

_Perhaps that wasn’t the best choice of metaphor. Since, after all, you are trying to save her from going up in smoke. But they’ll take the witnesses you have and make them impeccable. The Chantry has nothing like these guys. And I’ll take care of their bills, so don’t stress about the fees._

_Well, shit, I guess I’m sending you Cassandra, too. At her own insistence. Now that’s difficult - a few lawyers no one will miss. But me sending Cassandra - that’s a sacrifice. The Viscount doesn’t work without her. Literally, he just sits around and writes sappy romances and poetry while drinking and staring at the fire. But it’s the least I can do for one of the few people that think Kirkwall is worth preserving. I owe Asta that much._

_The woman in question is reading over my shoulder and declaring that I am being entirely too maudlin about the lack of her presence, and insists I tell you that I will be fine. Oh sure, I’ll be just fine. No big deal, I’m just sending you my muse, and my very soul. You‘d better appreciate…_ (A large blotch and scratch of ink trails to the corner of the parchment, as if someone tried to wrestle a quill away from the author and nearly succeeded.)

_Having regained control of my own pen, expect the lady herself shortly after the arrival of this letter. Truly, I can do no less. She’s right about that, at least._

_Also consider this my RSVP for the Exalted Council. Loved the engraving on the invitation - the embossed letters on the outside, the interlocking Chantry and Inquisition symbols were just the right degree of over the top formality and obvious symbolism that I’ve come to expect from you and the entire country of Orlais. Well done. Bran was extremely impressed, and inquired about your availability. Don’t worry, I told him you were otherwise engaged. Besides, you are completely out of his league. Trust me. You can thank me when I get there with a game of Wicked Grace. Maybe we can get Curly to play under the ruse of keeping up Asta’s no doubt flagging spirits?_

_Take care, Ruffles,_

_Varric Tethras_

_Viscount of Kirkwall and Author of Swords and Shields_

_P.S. I’d rather be known for the latter. This job sucks. Cassandra won’t let me say that you owe me, but you owe me, Ruffles. Wicked Grace. V.T._

_P.P.S. If you get a chance, ask Asta if she has a preference for how I manage Samson. He’s been in the Gallows for months already, and I really ought to do something with him. I know, I approved of her sending him to Kirkwall, but that was_ before _I was the one in charge. Short-sighted, I know, but she is the reason that he’s Kirkwall’s problem now. V.T._

***

The room that Cullen and Asta were shown to was far more elaborate, and even Asta couldn’t complain about the size of the bed.  Huge windows with gauzy curtains, and a navy rug with the Sunburst in the center graced the marble floor.  Asta stopped upon entry, staring around her at the opulence.

But Cullen was still furious, slamming the door and throwing down their luggage, careless of anything breakable that the bags might contain. Dane looked at him and rolled his doggy eyes, electing to explore again, and then curl up on the ample bed to watch the fireworks, trusting that his people wouldn‘t take things too far.

“Talk to me,” Asta ordered, folding her arms.

“When are you going to stop being so willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the Inquisition?” Cullen was blunt and to the point.

“It’s not for the Inquisition.  And I would hardly call it willing.”

“Well, it’s certainly not for me!” Cullen braced himself against a small carved table, which luckily was stronger than it looked, fighting with his temper. “And I know it’s not for the sake of the Chantry!”

“It is for you,” Asta protested.

Cullen cursed contrarily. “No, it’s not. You can’t just…”

“I’m doing it for us,” Asta insisted. “Cullen, if we leave now, the Divine would be in her rights to hunt me down and try me forcibly. If we win, we never have to worry about the Chantry or anyone else coming between us or for us again!”

“I’d protect you,” he growled and Dane barked. “Do you think I can’t?”

“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder for Chantry assassins?” Cullen blinked. “You know they exist. Leliana was one of them, after all. For years and years as she served Justinia.”

“No,” Cullen stared at the vase at the table and resisted the urge to smash it, against the wall. “But I would. I promised…”

“Then keep your promise this way,” Asta stressed. “I don’t think, if they stick to the truth, that they will find much evidence against me. There have been precious few times that I drew upon my holy title to influence events. And as you said to Her Holiness, there is the argument that I don’t have to believe in Andraste for her to choose me as her Herald. Thank you for that,” Asta stopped. “I think.”

“It’s true.”

“And we must stick to the truth now,” Asta agreed. “Or be caught in a web of lies.” She crossed the room towards him. “Cullen, do you honestly think I would so happily sacrifice myself?”

“Yes,” he stared her down, desperation sunk into the lines of his forehead, and shadows under his eyes. “You are the most courageous person I know. If you thought that it would get the results you wanted, you would, without hesitation.”

Asta took a step back, her hand that was outstretched to touch him frozen. “You think that?” Horror echoed in her voice. “I’ve spent most of my time with the Inquisition complaining about the sacrifices it has demanded of me, and how the people I’ve made them for aren’t worth it.”

“You say things like that, and then ride off to meet Imshael, or charge through a jungle to confront Samson, or climb endless stairs to send Corypheus to the Void. Words are empty, Asta,” Cullen stared unblinking and unseeing at the erring vase. “Your actions tell a far different story.”

“Well, the stairs were the worst part,” Asta tried for humor, but he didn’t laugh. “Cullen, I…”

“I am scared you will do the same thing, only _I,_ and the life we’ve dreamed about and planned for, will be what you sacrifice,” Cullen finally faced her, his forehead pleated in tension.

Asta was stone cold. “Talk about promises! _I_ promised you we would find a way together to break our chains. Do you think I would make that promise lightly?”

It was Cullen’s turn to retreat, “No, I wouldn‘t…”

“Then have…” Asta winced, “Have faith in me.” She touched him at last, and then surged towards him, and he wrapped his arms around her, too tightly. “My duty as Inquisitor leads me here,” she said into his chest. “But it will not hold me forever. I won’t let it.”

“I won’t let it,” Cullen corrected. “If this goes badly… I will get you out of here, if I have to…”

“Shhh,” Asta hushed him. “We will cross that bridge if we come to it. For now, we dance, as long as the music plays.” She laughed without humor. “Mythal said that to me, in the Fade. I understand all too well.”

“I knew I hated dancing,” Cullen finally relaxed a little, involuntarily, stronger with her in his arms.

“I’m not fond of it right now either,” Asta replied, after a pause. Cullen bent down and kissed her head. “But at least I have a good partner.”

Cullen breathed a short laugh, “I’ll try not to step on your toes.”

“Don’t bother,” Asta smiled and looked up at him. “I can work with that.  I have years of practice.”

****

The Seeker marched up the Cathedral steps, driven by her sense of purpose and her desire to do what she could to save her... friend.  She shook her head, confused at the turn of events that had led to that declaration, and a little lost, despite her years of service. The Cathedral and the Spire should have been familiar, but instead she was struck with the awkwardness of her long absence coloring her recognition of the landmark. “Nearly twenty years and I’m having problems finding my way around,” she grumbled to herself, angry at the show of apparent weakness. “This is absurd.” She entered the Cathedral’s compound impatiently and demanded the attention of a minor chancellor, rushing by with an armful of scrolls. “I am Seeker Pentaghast,” she informed him, “And I require a meeting with Most Holy. Immediately,” she barked, as the man blanched and stammered at the impossibility of such a statement, and his inability to perform such a miracle, even for a Seeker of Truth.

“Cassandra!” Cullen swept down the hallway towards her, Dane at his side, as always. It made the woman smile, despite her impatience with the man before her. Apparently some things didn't change, even in the Cathedral.  “It’s so soon! How did you manage such a quick crossing?! Josie just informed Asta four days ago that you were on your way! The lawyers made it before the letter!” He smiled, “Asta collapsed in a laughter when they arrived. She was worth nothing for more than five minutes.”

“Good winds,” declared the Seeker. “And better weather. Luck was on my side, for once.” She peered around him curiously, as if expecting Asta momentarily. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“Closeted with the Divine, Josie and Varric’s lawyers,” beamed Cullen, “Who are doing their best to stop the trial entirely. I believe their current argument is that since Asta is not a member of the Chantry, the Chantry has no authority over her. That‘s what they were arguing when I left the room with Dane, in any case.”

“You are obviously hoping they succeed,” Cassandra eyed him closely. “You look well. Marriage suits you,” she complimented. His color was good, and the circles under his eyes mostly gone, but the lines in his face were deeper, probably from the stress of the situation. She could not detect any tremors in his hands, and she resisted the temptation to weigh the lyrium in his blood without his knowledge.  It wouldn't be ethical.

Cullen blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been… nice,” he admitted. “Despite the arrest, despite everything. I’m still getting used to calling Asta my… wife.” He stumbled over the word and even Cassandra melted slightly at the tell. “But other than a few assassins sent by certain Orlesian nobles after Josie declared my unavailability on the marriage market, no one has been overly shocked. And Lel… Divine Victoria is very good at detecting assassins within the walls of the Cathedral,” he assured the Seeker. “So Asta is in no danger, at least at the moment.” His forehead tensed, and then released again. “I’ll show you to them,” he decided, and turned back. “Dane can take care of himself, now that he knows how the Cathedral is laid out.” The dog barked, and Cassandra nodded her dismissal of the bewildered and upset clerk, much to the said clerk’s relief. “How is Varric?”

It was Cassandra’s turn to redden unevenly. “He is fine,” she stated firmly. “If overwhelmed by his task. He lacks focus, and manages to distract himself with the barest trifles,” she criticized. “I have no doubt that he is barely managing to keep the city running in my absence.”

Cullen turned her down a hallway of graceful arches that she remembered leading to the Divine’s Sanctum.  The lighting was better than she remembered.  “It’s just a little farther,” he assured her.

“I recall,” drawled the Seeker, “I did spend nearly twenty years in service to two Divines,” she reminded him and Cullen blushed again.

“I forgot,” he admitted. “It’s… a different place, I imagine, with the Divine Victoria in charge. I barely knew Justinia, but I know that she was not so…”

“Liberal?” Two elves in Chantry robes strolled past, chatting amiably with a third human Sister. “They are good changes,” Cassandra said softly. “I wouldn’t have thought I would live to see these days.”

“She’s even had a few dwarves from Orzamaar contact her about restarting the branch of the Chantry there,” Cullen admitted. “They want to become initiates, but she isn’t sure about how to have them take vows without sending a representative - who would be largely unwelcome in Orzamaar, if the assassination of the last one is any indication. Obviously they can't come here.  She‘s bent our ears a bit with some of her problems, much to my surprise. She‘s under a lot of stress.” That they all were went unspoken, but not unseen.  The Seeker had been a student of human nature for too long to be fooled by his apparently easy demeanor.

“Thank the Maker such minutiae are not my problem,” shuddered the Seeker. “The Maker truly knew how ill-suited I would be to such a task. She isn‘t still trying to recruit the two of you, is she?”

Cullen grinned, “I seriously doubt it, given that the only position she has open is for the Left Hand, and I would be terrible at it. Also, the obvious candidate for the job is on trial for heresy.  How quickly things change?"  He sighed, and continued, "We’re both where we needed to be,” he admitted, and changed the subject, apparently uncomfortable with the former one. “How did Varric like the crossbow?” He nodded at the guards, and they stepped aside to admit him and the Seeker.

Cassandra blushed again in memory. “His accuracy is improving.” She paused, and then decided it wasn’t bragging if it was a fact. “He has named it 'Seeker'.”

“I wondered if the comparative light weight and lack of recoil would be a problem for his accuracy,” Cullen barked a laugh at her confession, knocking lightly at the final door, and receiving an invitation to enter. “That’s quite a compliment,” he looked her over, and froze at the sight of the ring on her hand. “Cassandra, is that…”

Cassandra pushed a door open and marched in, assured and confident, as if she still belonged in the room, assuring herself internally that she wasn‘t dodging the question, that there were just more important matters to attend to. She marched to the feet of the Divine, and knelt immediately and correctly, head bowed.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Leliana nodded for Cullen to shut the door. “We know of your devotion.  That isn’t necessary…”

“Nonsense, Your Holiness,” the Seeker lifted her head but did not rise. “You are Most Holy, now. It doesn‘t matter how close I was to the Sunburst Throne at one time. I owe you my allegiance.”

Leliana sighed, and said, “Rise.” Cassandra complied, and noted her shadowed eyes. “I’m glad you found her, Commander.”

“I had only just arrived,” and Cassandra stood and looked for a place to sit. Cullen leaned against the wall behind Asta’s chair. Asta looked pale, and bored. The lawyers were arguing gently amongst themselves and including Josie in the debate. “How goes the trial?”

“It’s not a trial yet. That will be semi-public. This is the lawyers trying to get me off without being tried at all.  The first thing we should all do,” Asta paraphrased dryly and somewhat inaccurately, from something that Cassandra barely recognized, “is kill all the lawyers.”

Cullen frowned. “That’s ridiculous. They’re trying to save your life,” he started, apparently not recognizing the reference either.

“Today, I think I’d rather die,” Asta exchanged an exasperated look with the man. “You may get to escape because of Dane, but I have to sit through all this tedium. And they won‘t let me carry my weapons. They say, in far more words than are necessary, that they make me seem inapproachable and scary.” She laughed shortly. “I never thought I’d feel naked being unarmed.” Cassandra nodded in complete understanding.

“I have my sword,” Cullen offered, apparently wanting to cheer her up, and then caught Josie’s outraged eye. “But I have a feeling that it will not be of use.”

“Seeker Pentaghast,” Josie tied up her quiet discussion and rose at last to greet Cassandra. “It is delightful to see you. I believe my colleagues would like to ask you some questions.” Her smile belied her formal tone, and Cassandra greeted her amicably.

“I would be happy to answer,” and she folded herself into an extremely overstuffed and yet vastly uncomfortable chair, ready to serve her purpose.  "Just tell me how I may serve."


	120. Needing a Boost

Two hours later Cassandra was furious, even more impatient than Asta, and inclined to agree that the lawyers deserved to die, preferably by her hand. She regretted that it wasn‘t her idea in the first place. What had that… dwarf… been thinking? “My relationship with the Viscount is none of your business,” she declared. “It has no bearing on the Inquisitor’s trial.”

“On the contrary,” one contradicted, “if you are not an impartial witness…”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Of course I am partial. We all are, including the Divine. We all served beside…”

“Or underneath,” snickered another of the lawyers under her breath, eyeing the Commander, but cut it off quickly at the Seeker’s glare at her unprofessional demeanor.

“Served beside the Inquisitor for years,” continued Cassandra, glaring fiercely. “None of us are without bias in the matter of her innocence. Most Holy, perhaps, is the least partial, but I am probably a close second, given my training and position.”

“Well, Vivienne…” Asta murmured. “Our views are hardly parallel… and if Solas could be found…”

Cassandra waved her interruption aside. “The argument is not whether I am an unbiased witness in any case. I will tell the truth, as a Seeker, by definition, should not be able to be corrupted, despite recent events that seem to indicate the opposite. And I would say that the former Lord Seeker, despite his mistakes, told the truth as he saw it. However… misguided. I will tell the truth, as that is what a Seeker of Truth does. Whether or not the truth endangers my friend, or my…” she paused, and then finished, chin in the air, incapable of telling an untruth about the matter, “my fiancé.”

Asta sat bolt upright from her slumped position, suddenly energized and beyond interested. “Cassandra! Are you? Did Varric?” she squealed in delight and lunged for the ring that had just registered. “It’s lovely,” she breathed, and hugged Cassandra, who was stiff and awkward before she finally thawed and returned the embrace, meeting Cullen’s sheepish grin of congratulations over Asta’s shoulder with a grimace that could have been a smile in better circumstances.

“This is hardly professional,” Cassandra declared, and pulled away, wiping a small drop from her eye that she couldn‘t convince to stay put. “I am here as a Seeker, not as a friend,” she reminded Asta who merely squealed and held her again. Cassandra met Cullen’s eyes again, limp in her friend’s embrace and more than a little desperate. He smirked at her and did nothing. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed in irritation at his abandonment. The man could at least rescue her from his wife.

“Congratulations,” the Divine offered. “I wish you both well. Perhaps I can manage to perform that ceremony, since the most recent one was beyond me.” She made a small note on a pad on her desk.

“It will not take place until the Kirkwall Chantry is rebuilt enough to accommodate the ceremony, at my own insistence,” Cassandra waved the offer aside. “I imagine the travel would be difficult for you, Most Holy.”

“Difficult, but not impossible, Seeker,” Leliana confirmed. “It would be nice to do something positive for Kirkwall. Does the rebuilding proceed well?”

“It will not be what it was,” Cassandra said, shaking her head, “but it shouldn’t be. The last Chantry was far too formal, and ostentatious. Kirkwall does not need another target for thieves and terrorists. And with the Gallows nothing more than a prison, at the moment, and unlikely to be used for anything further…” her voice trailed off, not willing to discuss her plans for the Gallows in mixed company.

Leliana nodded thoughtfully, “I agree. We will discuss it later. For now, let’s adjourn for the day.” She turned to the lawyers. “We will meet tomorrow - say at nine of the clock. You are dismissed.” The lawyers bowed and departed, still arguing minor issues of Chantry doctrine amongst themselves. The door shut, and Leliana drooped, and then drank deeply from a glass at her desk. “This is impossible,” she muttered. “We’re getting nowhere.”

“So glad it’s not just me,” Asta agreed, sighing.

“On the contrary,” Josie argued, “We made much progress today. We determined that you can be tried by the Chantry, for one. That would have set a dangerous precedent, if non-members of the Chantry cannot be tried by a religious order that they fail to recognize. That would put tremendous pressure on rulers - and if we had another situation like Corypheus…”

Asta grumbled, “Just another reason that the Inquisition must remain independent. Someone has to be around to try those that do not fall under the jurisdiction of the Chantry or individual countries.” She paused. “Is it still too late to just let Thedas die in flames?” She asked, only half facetiously. “That option is looking better and better.” The entire room frowned at her. “Nevermind,” she grumbled, when no one laughed. “I’ll die of boredom long before I can be executed in any case.”

“Boredom is a small price to pay for your life,” Cullen reminded her gently.

“I know, I know,” Asta pulled his hand over her shoulder. “I just…” They exchanged a soft look that made Cassandra sigh, and miss Varric a little too intensely. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Let’s have something to eat sent up,” Leliana proposed, reaching behind her for a bell on the wall. “And then perhaps, we can catch up. I want the whole story, Cassandra. How did he propose?”

“I will not tell it well,” Cassandra folded her arms stubbornly, even as her face blotched with red. “But it was lovely, and romantic. Varric is a true professional in such matters, after all.”

Asta snickered, “I’ll bet,” and Cullen frowned at her again.

“Asta, if she doesn’t want to say…”

“Oh, she wants to,” Asta weighed her friend’s blush closely, “but she’s afraid it will sound ridiculous and make her look silly. Oh, Cassandra, we are all fools, in love.”

“That is perhaps true,” admitted the Seeker. “It is a sweet story, in my opinion.”

“Cullen proposed on my bear rug - the one I had made of the first bear you and I killed together,” Asta offered in exchange. “I was naked.”

Josie and Leliana started laughing at Cassandra’s surprised expression and Cullen blushed burgundy. “Asta, that’s…” he stopped, realizing that he had just admitted the truth of the situation.

“Well, that sounds… undignified,” Cassandra blinked and closed her mouth. “My story is far more fit for general audiences. Yours sounds… more amusing, however.” She wrestled with her desire to hear the details and her need for propriety. “I imagine there is a story behind it?”

“Perhaps,” Asta leaned forward in encouragement, but held her cards close to her chest. “Tell us yours!”

“I’ll let you women catch up,” Cullen obviously wanted to escape one of Josie‘s ‘interludes‘, and Cassandra sympathized. They had rarely gone well for him in the past, devolving into the teasing and bullying of the only man in the room. “You can gossip better without my presence holding you back… and I should go make sure Dane isn‘t digging up another one of the Cathedral‘s flower beds… he needs more exercise than he‘s getting…”

“Oh no, Commander,” Asta held onto his hand. “You have to stay. I’m going to drink too much wine,” she announced, “celebrating my friend’s engagement to a Viscount, and my absent friend’s engagement to a Seeker. You will have to see me back to our room.” She smirked, “Otherwise assassins might find me, to remove me from the equation and free you from the ever so limiting shackles of our marriage.”

“Room?” Cassandra looked surprised. “You are not incarcerated at the Spire?” Her relief was palpable. “That is excellent news, and more than I hoped for.”

“Should I be?” Asta grinned and nodded at the Divine. “Her Holiness has determined I am not a flight risk, nor am I dangerous to the general public - at least at the moment. I’m not free to leave the Cathedral, lest I spread my heresy, but when I am not closeted with Josie, the lawyers, or the Most Holy, I’m free to wander.” She paused, “Which lately, is never,” she complained. “I’d get more exercise in a prison cell. At least there I could pace without disturbing Josie’s train of thought. And I could read. Josie won‘t let me distract myself, lest I am needed to answer a question.” The Ambassador frowned disapprovingly at her, and Asta made a face back.

“That’s funny,” Leliana snickered, “because the guards I have posted at your door indicate that you and the Commander are getting plenty of exercise.” She and Asta exchanged a laugh while Cullen blushed further.

“Oh, we’re embarrassing the Commander,” Josie observed kindly. “Perhaps we should stop?”

“If we must,” allowed Asta reluctantly, “Though he does look lovely in red,” she grinned at her husband all too cheerfully.

“Maker’s Breath,” grumbled Cullen. “Please?” His mouth twisted and lifted lightly while he looked at her, however. Cassandra watched the two, and wondered how much he had seen her smile lately. His demeanor had relaxed with her better humor. They were too recently wed to have these stresses tearing at them, she decided unilaterally. Not that it mattered, in the end.

“For you,” smiled Asta, more softly. “Sorry, love.” And then she turned determinedly to Cassandra. “Now, spill it, Seeker, or I’ll have to interrogate you. How did Varric propose?”

***

The lawyers and the Divine stared at each other over the Divine’s desk. “That’s that, then,” Leliana seemed disappointed, consulting her notes. “There’s nothing more?”

“Yes, Most Holy,” the spokesman for the group said. “We can find no other reason for the trial to be delayed or dismissed.” The admission of failure didn’t seem to deter them, instead they were positively energized with the challenge to come, Cullen noted, and tried not to judge them for their eagerness. They were just doing their job, and doing it well.

“Very well,” Divine Victoria straightened. “I will assemble the clerics and clerks tomorrow, and we will commence the hearing.” Asta slumped in her chair, whether relieved or scared, he couldn‘t tell. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, worried. “Ambassador, do you have your witnesses prepared?”

“Yes, Most Holy,” Josie answered meekly, equally disappointed.

“We will start with them first thing in the morning,” she decreed, and stood. “For now, we should all adjourn and get some rest. It’s going to be a very long day.”

Cullen led Asta from the room gently, parting from Cassandra at a junction of two hallways. As soon as she was around the corner, Asta sagged against him with the burden of stress. “Maker, I thought this day would never end,” she sighed. “I want to go home.”

“Home…” Cullen mused, leading her onward. “I have something to show you,” he stammered nervously, as he opened the door to their rooms. “I hope it won’t upset you…”

“What is it?” Asta looked worried. “Has something happened at Skyhold? Is it the Qun?!”

Cullen frowned, “I remain unconvinced that the Qun are doing anything. It’s been years, Asta. Surely not even the Qun can hold a grudge for that long.”

“Ferelden has held one against Orlais for ages,” Asta pointed out, folding her arms. “Trust me. There is something going on there. I‘m sure of it, and so is Bull. But you’re scaring me, Cullen. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing bad,” Cullen protested, and Asta visibly relaxed, the stress of the daily debates taking their toll. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just… I’ve had a lot of free time, and I started… this.” He pulled out a roll of parchment, and stretched it out, pinning the corners with paperweights and a convenient inkwell.

Asta studied it blankly, and then traced the simple lines. “Cullen… it’s… a house?” She looked up at him.

“For us, if you want it,” Cullen offered. “I needed a project, with all this idleness. I remembered you saying you liked the simplicity of Master Dennett’s house, but it’s all on one level,” he started to explain.

“Because I hate stairs,” Asta laughed briefly, catching on, and he watched her, eager for her approval. “It’s sweet,” Asta swallowed the lump in her throat.

“It’s small,” Cullen admitted. “I didn’t want to take on more than I could handle. In certain ways, it’s harder than building a bridge. And I have to have the plans checked by the Master Builder, but with my savings, we should have enough to find a small plot of land somewhere that isn‘t Orlais…” he stopped babbling and shrugged, when she didn’t respond. “It’s just a thought. When you were in the Deep Roads, having something to plan helped,” he admitted. “And it looked like you needed a boost today. I didn’t plan to show you for some time. I’m still… tweaking it. And I could stop, if it‘s not what you want… Adventures first, but you mentioned that day, having a home to come back to…” his voice trailed off. “It's foolish.”

“Don’t stop,” Asta lifted her eyes up to him, her voice making it an order. “Even if it looks like an impossibility, Cullen. Don’t stop planning like this. Knowing you still dream of a future, it…” she caught her breath. “It does help. You have no idea how much.” She traced the slope of the roof. “You based it off Master Dennett’s home?”

“Well, very generally,” Cullen admitted. “The pitch of the roof. The location of the hearths and the kitchen. It’s very Fereldan, I know. Wood construction, not stone, except for the chimneys...”

“We don’t have to worry about the land,” Asta broke in. “Did you ever read that paperwork that my brother gave us?”

Cullen shook his head. “I didn’t want to invade your privacy,” he admitted.

“Ass,” Asta shoved him. “What’s mine is yours. It’s legal and blessed by the Maker.  And while he let me read it, he gave it to you. Where is it?”

Cullen shrugged, “In a bag?” Asta rolled her eyes and went to look for it, fishing it out of their nearly emptied luggage and handing it to him.

“Read it.”

Cullen started and dropped them almost immediately, scrambling to pick up the pages from the floor. “Asta… he…”

“It’s an option.”

“Asta, this is a lot of land,” Cullen was overwhelmed. “I was thinking of a few acres at most, this…”

Asta smiled at him. “I was wondering why you hadn’t mentioned it. It’s small enough that we won’t be too visible or subject to invasion by pushy neighbors, at least according to Josie, but Max says it’s arable. Says we could just about do anything we liked with it. We could also sell it off, if we don’t want it,” she started, and Cullen shook his head in disbelief. “Or we could just leave it and find something else. It is near Ostwick,” she pointed out, with more than a little distaste. “I’m not even sure that I want to visit. Not like I have a ton of happy memories there, and the Free Marches were fucking miserable for you. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to go back.” She watched him closely.

“I’ve never been to Ostwick, or really anywhere in the Free Marches except the Wounded Coast and Kirkwall,” Cullen staggered to a chair and fell into it. “He’s made us landed gentry,” he clarified.

Asta made a face, “Hardly. I got the impression that the gentry part wasn‘t included. More like freeholders, or something like it.”

“You have an warped perspective, love,” Cullen shook his head again, “This amount of land… no one I knew had a farm that big. Even the wealthy farmers outside Honnleath.” His eyes were wide and his hands shook with the shock. “Without a ton of help you wouldn’t have been able to bring in the harvest alone. Honnleath wasn‘t big enough to supply the workforce.”

“Well, we don’t have to decide now,” and Asta went to pull the papers from his hands, but he moved quickly and caught hers in his instead, scattering the papers again but this time he let them fall.

“Asta, do you think we should…” he started, and Asta shrugged and smiled.

“It’s not about what we should do,” she stated gently and squeezed his hands. “It’s about what we want. Remember? What do you want, Cullen?”

He stared at her, hardly seeing her. “I hardly know,” he finally managed. “What about Minrathous? What about adventures? I made all these plans while you were in the Deep Roads…” he trailed off.

“Plans have a way of changing,” Asta slid across his lap. “I still want both of those things. But afterward, we could have this, too. If we decide we want that.” She paused, hesitating. “It’s hardly close to your family. I thought perhaps we might want to settle close to them. Let you get to know your youngest sister, and your nephews?”

“UnCull,” Cullen quoted from his brother’s son’s last letter. “That’s just so unfortunate,” but he twisted his lips in humor. “I’m sure that those two are just the beginning,” he started. “Peasants like us tend to have a lot of kids,” he laughed. “Sure you could handle being ‘Auntie Asta’ to a whole brood? Having them drop in and out of the house at unholy hours like they live there?”

Asta made a face. “No, I’m not. But if we eventually had one of our own…” she stopped. “It might be nice for them to have cousins. It‘s hard to be alone.” She stopped, and rose an eyebrow. “You still haven’t realized that you aren’t a peasant.”

“Once a peasant…” teased Cullen. “Only hopefully without a ton of kids.” He groaned in memory, “The noise! It was barely something I could handle as a child! And now I have headaches…” his voice drifted off and he looked worried. “I’m not sure we could provide a good life for a child at all. It‘s not fair to expect a child to accommodate my… physical limitations.”

“They could be quiet,” Asta pointed out, and Cullen snorted. “I was quiet! You were quiet!”

“Your children are never what you expect them to be,” Cullen laughed. “Trust me. My parents ended up with one quiet child out of four. Rosalie was a whiner, Branson was a walking tornado and packrat, and Mia…” He shook his head. “She walked into the room and it was like lightening had struck and the room had flooded. So bossy. And from your own account you spent a good deal of your time beating up the other children. When you weren‘t reading. Your brother is even worse. I suspect that might be hereditary.”

“I still spend a good deal of time beating up the other children, just usually with better reasons,” Asta laughed at him. “You can tell from Mia’s letters that she hasn‘t changed either. So you are saying we’re likely to get an extremely boisterous, physical, bully of a child that only has one voice setting - loud?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” grumbled Cullen. “But we… don’t have to decide now,” he searched her eyes, “right?”

“We don’t have to decide anything,” Asta assured him. “But you should keep planning, and thinking about what you want. It’s important.” He reached his arms around her and pulled her in towards his chest, and she sighed, content, if only for the moment. “Perhaps we should visit first, and see if that helps us make up our minds,” she finished thoughtfully.

“Visit…” Cullen swallowed. “I’ve been gone a long time.”

“All the more reason to go,” Asta answered gently, and twined her arms around his neck. “Now, take me to bed, Commander,” she ordered, and sighed, “It’ll be an even longer day tomorrow.”

 


	121. Divided Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In order to try to get this out by Christmas, I will be occasionally posting more than one chapter a day. Just a heads up!
> 
> Triggers for terror attacks - or building up to one, anyway. This will be an ongoing trigger for a bit - almost to the end of the fic. I'll tag appropriately, and make sure I note the trigger on applicable chapters.
> 
> And thanks again to everyone still reading. I'm so glad there are people still enjoying this! If anyone sees a plotline hanging out there that they are worried I won't tie up... let me know.
> 
> Also, once it's done I have sort of a 'what happened after' epilogue going. It'll probably be posted shortly after Christmas or maybe the New Year. I don't want this fic to last forever (could have fooled me...), but there is definitely stuff after the finish that I want to share. It's more fractured, but isn't quite a collection of vignettes either. Assuming people are interested. If not, I assume you won't read it! :)

The two were awoken by a loud pounding on their door, and arguing voices from without.

“Is that… Bull?” Asta sat up, bleary and confused. “Cullen?”

“What?” He grumbled from his pillow. “If the Divine isn’t starting an Exalted March, I want to sleep for another half hour.”

Asta sighed in resignation, and pulled herself out of the bed, “You might want to cover up, love,“ she advised, wrapping a robe around herself as she marched to the door, and yanking it open. Cullen cursed from the bed, and flopped over, pulling the blankets with him to cover his lower body. “It is Bull!” She smiled at the man warily, but with pleasure, despite the early hour. “Bull! What are you doing here?”

“It’s the Qun,” Bull grunted. “Boss, they aren’t coming for the Inquisition.” Asta scanned his face, looking for the catch.

“Then what’s the problem?” Asta asked finally, unable to read him.

Bull pushed his way inside their room insistently. “We’ve got to talk, privately. Is the Nightingale available?”

“Summon the Divine immediately,” Asta ordered her guards, catching on to what he wasn‘t saying. They hesitated. “Immediately, I said! This is a matter of Chantry security!  And put the sentries on full alert!” She spun back inside the room and shut the door as soon as one of them started to move.

Bull was observing Cullen’s supposedly sleeping form with no sign of humor. “I see the Commander’s started to sleep in past dawn. Wearing him out every night?” He grunted, “I can see the attraction.”

“Fuck you, Bull,” Asta pulled up a chair and waved him to sit. “He’s awake. Just in denial and hoping this is a bad dream. We‘ve had a few too many rude awakenings.”

“It’s not a nightmare?” Cullen voice drifted out from the bed, resigned. “Damn.” His tousled hair peeked above the pillow. “So Bull is in our bedroom,” he observed. “Forgive me for not being enthused.” His mouth twitched. “One rude awakening is too many, Asta.”

“Nice to see you, too, Cullen,” Bull wasn’t insulted. “Late night?” The Qunari nodded approvingly. “I can see it was. Nice lovebite.” Cullen blushed and slapped his hand over his neck, glaring. “Figures the Boss would be a biter.”

“How’s Dorian?” Asta stood up and dragged a screen over so that Cullen could rise without being ogled, and draped his clothes over the top where he could reach them. “Has his memory improved?”

“Thanks,” Cullen gritted out, grateful to have been saved the embarrassment. Asta kissed him lightly as he pulled himself out of the bed and wrapped the sheet around his middle.

“He can cast a barrier again,” Bull confirmed. “And he’s well enough to start making arrangements to go back to Tevinter. Says he can help you more there. If he’s here, he’s afraid he’ll get you executed just by hanging around. Those rumors we started at the Winter Palace are going around again, despite your marriage.” The Qunari stopped, and scratched around his right horn. “That’s actually why I heard about this. It’s not the Qun, exactly. It’s some sort of a splinter group - but they don‘t claim to be Tal’Vashoth. They wanted me to join up, I guess. Anyway, they contacted me, said they knew all about Dorian going back to the ‘Vints…”

“Bull,” Asta sympathized, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” grunted the man. “It’s not like we weren’t expecting this. And now that he’s mostly well, there’s no reason to delay, except...” He caught her eyes with his own. “Like I said, they knew our plans, Boss. We got another leak somewhere. More than one. Harding knows.”

Asta nodded, determined. “And then?”

“They told me I didn’t have a reason to stay with Dorian leaving, and that they could give me my purpose back again. But…” Bull sighed. “I’m more than just Hissrad, now, I guess. I’m a liar, sure, but I’m also the Iron Bull. I’m more than a weapon. Or so Dorian keeps trying to tell me. I’m starting to believe that. Maybe.” His face was more turbulent than Asta ever remembered seeing. “But they aren’t the Qun, so I told them to fuck off,” he finished. “Not interested in whatever they are scheming in order to take over Southern Thedas.”

“And if they were the Qun?” Cullen came out from behind the screen, shirt and pants in place, and strapping on his armor, but his hair still wild.

“Damn, you have great hair,” Bull blinked. “Why do you brush it back and straighten it? It looks so much better curly.”

“Don’t start,” Cullen snarled. “If Asta can’t convince me, you never will.”

Bull shrugged, “Can’t blame me for trying. Pay up, Boss.” Asta sighed, and went to fetch her money bag.

“Five sovereigns, wasn’t it?” She pulled the money out and clinked it into the man’s open palm.

“Yeah, well, they aren’t the Qun, whatever they call themselves, and I don’t think the Arishok wants to invade,” Bull replied to Cullen, getting a little pissed off now. He continued sarcastically, “So you don’t have anything to worry about, do you? Besides, Josie’s still paying me. That’s why I’m here, if you need a reason beyond the fact that I fucking care what happens to all of you _and_ the Inquisition. Asta needs her bodyguard and the Chargers always finish the job. Don‘t worry, I‘ve made sure Harding knows what to look for. She‘s probably better prepared for Qun infiltrators than any spymaster in Thedas.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it thoughtfully, nodding. “Sorry.”

“They think the Chantry is weak,” Bull continued, facing the Commander, still subtly challenging him. “They think it’s the perfect time, while they are ‘trying’ the Inquisitor, to slide in and knock out the main supports, let the whole thing shake out and fall to pieces. The Nightingale and the Grand Clerics are targets, so is Asta, so are you and Josie. They seem to know better than to try to assassinate anyone else at Skyhold. So far.”

“The Chantry is weak,” Leliana stepped through the door and shut it softly, in the face of the guards accompanying her. “Thank you for having them fetch me, Inquisitor. Is it as bad as it sounds?”

“Some splinter group of the Qun wants to take out the Chantry while it‘s vulnerable,” Cullen summed up. “They came to recruit Bull, Bull said no and…”

“And I rode like fuck to get here to warn you,” Bull finished. “Got anything to eat?” He stretched. “Did the trip in three days, Asta. In full armor. Told you it was possible. And I can still sit down. Saber is an amazing horse-thing, possessed or not.”

Asta snarled at him wordlessly and shoved a bowl of fruit at him. “What do you want, a medal?” She paused, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. You’ve possibly already saved the Chantry. If not a medal, than at least a ballad. I‘ll talk to Maryden.”

“So I need to protect the Grand Clerics,” Leliana folded her arms, her face shadowed by her hat. “I don’t have enough people. If we still had the Templars…” her voice trailed off. “My forces here are untried and inadequate.”

“Perhaps the mages?” Asta was very quiet as well, faced with the consequences of the decision made so long ago.

“Not enough time, they‘re still at Skyhold trying to sort out the College.” Cullen shook his head and Bull grunted his agreement. “Bull, where are the Chargers now?”

“On their way to Emprise du Lion,” Bull answered, and Asta cussed in disappointment.

“Fuck, I’m missing all the fun. They’re hunting the dragons there? I wanted to be in on that!”

“Yeah, Boss,” Bull shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “It’s still too cold. Helisma thinks it’s the dragons affecting the weather. And then they ate some idiot who thought it would be fun to go draw pictures of them…” He sighed, sadly. “I want to be there, too. But this was more important.”

“Recall them,” Cullen straightened.

“Commander, the dragons are eating people,” Asta chastised, “Even if they are stupid people…”

“This is more important,” Cullen brow was creased. “We’ll send a different team after the dragons. Sutherland, perhaps. Lel… Most Holy, you should hire the Chargers,” he declared.

Bull blinked. “Boss, you hearing this?” He laughed, “Either your husband is firing me or…”

Leliana tilted her head slightly. “Are you releasing them from their contract with the Inquisition?”

“Subcontracting,” Bull laughed. “He’s not lending us or firing me. He’s letting us take a small side job.” He laughed again, delighted at the idea of the challenge. “Small.”

Asta nodded, happily, “The Inquisition doesn’t get involved with protecting the Chantry, and the Chargers will be paid by you, not us, for this work. And I would recommend that you should have him train your forces as part of the deal. That will help greatly with the untried and inadequate.”

Bull mulled it over, far more cheerful already. “Why not?” he shrugged and ate an apple, core and all. “Works for me. I‘ll get to hit something, I‘ll bet. Been too long.”

“And maybe we’ll get to take out the dragons together yet,” Asta smiled hugely, “Something to look forward to when all this is over.”

“Sounds like a plan, Boss,” Bull stood up. “I’ll go write to Krem. Got a place for me to stay, Nightingale?”

***

The Divine, Cullen, Josie, Cassandra and Asta assembled considerably later in the day in the Divine’s Sanctum, the lawyers noticeably not included. Leliana began, as was her right as Divine. “I’m postponing your trial. I notified the parties affected after I spoke to you and Bull this morning.”

Asta sat down in her chair, hard. “You are?”

The Divine breathed deeply, and continued. “I am formally requesting that the Inquisition hunt down this threat to Thedas, find out who is behind it, and eliminate it. As an independent entity. The Chantry does not have the people to do more than protect ourselves, if that.” She focused intently on the Inquisitor. “Do you accept?”

Asta exchanged a look with Josie and Cullen, who both nodded, briefly. “I do. The Inquisition will assist the Chantry with this matter.”

Leliana breathed easier. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Asta finally had her Inquisitor mask on, better late than never. “If we had refused, it would have terrible consequences.” She stood, “If you will excuse me, Most Holy, I need to adjourn and consult with my advisors.” She smiled softly, “Would you like to be in on our plans?”

Leliana shook her head. “I have my own arrangements to make. But, please, make yourselves at home. You are no longer a prisoner at the Cathedral, Inquisitor.”

“We will remain, for the time being,” Asta assured her. “But I thank you for my freedom, Your Holiness.” She spun on her heel, finally the Inquisitor again for the first time in what felt like forever. “Reconvene in my rooms,” she ordered Josie and Cullen as she strode from the room, doors shut behind her by the Divine‘s guards. “Josie, I need my people. Formally request the use of the Right Hand from the Divine, and Cassandra, use your wiles to get Varric back on this side of the Waking Sea, if he isn’t already on his way. Bring Rainier and Cole from Skyhold, and if we can, find Sera!” She paused, thinking. “Bull is going to be stuck here, protecting the Divine, unless he lets Krem take charge. I want Dorian…” she hesitated and they reached her rooms, and she swung the doors in with a push, and immediately started clearing the larger table for use as a War Table, Cullen lunging for his maps. Josie closed the door gently. “Advise me. Should I let Dorian leave for Tevinter or call him back?”

“You need him,” Cullen rested his shaking hands on his sword. “The additional mage would be invaluable, especially since the Divine may not want to part with her Right Hand.”

Josie thought quickly, “Let him go. If he could draw Tevinter to our cause against the Qun...”

Bull slammed through the door without permission. “It’s not the Qun. How many times do I have to say it?” He took his place where Leliana would have stood. “And I’m acting as your intelligence advisor. I’m all you’ve got in this place. Krem‘ll guard the Divine, when he gets here.” Asta nodded quickly in acceptance. “I’d tell him to get his ass over here, personal considerations aside. Not going to hurt anyone in Val Royeaux to find out that there’s a nice ‘Vint in the bunch. It‘ll help the rumors, when the Divine puts you back on trial. Especially when it‘s obvious who he spends his free time with.”

“Then that’s what we do.” Asta stared at Bull. “I’m putting him in danger, Bull.”

“He can handle himself,” Bull met her eyes squarely. “And you’re gonna need him, Boss. They‘ll fight like the Qun, even if they aren‘t, exactly.  You need a 'Vint mage.”

Asta stared at the map of Thedas that Cullen had spread over the table, weighted down with random knickknacks from around the room. “Where did Loranil last say Solas was reputed to be?” All three advisors blinked blankly and stared at each other, not understanding her train of thought. “Answer my question,” she barked.

“Here, Inquisitor,” Cullen pointed at a spot in the Dales. “May I ask…”

Asta closed her eyes, thinking. “The Inquisition is infiltrated. You all know that. With Solas’ spies, and with this splinter group, if not the Qun proper.”

Bull grunted, “The Qun is there, too. Just not actively doing anything. They’re just… observing.” Cullen sighed impatiently. “If you know who the spies are, it’s best just to let them do their work and keep ‘em from knowing more,” he explained. “No point fixing something that isn’t broken. Harding knows all of this. It‘s harder to figure out the new spies than limit the information the known spies get already.  Unless they start snooping around.  Then you take them out, and fast.”

“The point is,” Asta spat out, irritated, “that we need Solas’ assistance. We need him! He probably knows more about this situation than we do. I want to send Loranil as an… ambassador, of sorts.”

Josie raised her eyebrows. “An ambassador? That would imply you recognize the rights of the elves as an independent…”

Asta firmed her mouth, not looking at her. “I do. I always have. What the elves did during the Blight after Ameridan disappeared, what Orlais did to the elves in return…” she shook her head. “That is immaterial. For now, we need allies. And Solas is the obvious one. Even if he turns down our proposal…” she sighed, “At least he will be aware that we don’t see him as an immediate threat. And we don‘t know what he is planning. That he is attempting to reestablish the Dales as an elven homeland is still only a guess.”

Josie shook her head, “Inquisitor, it would take weeks to assemble a true emissary…”

“This isn’t that,” Asta finally met her eyes. “This is Loranil openly approaching their base of operations, under a flag of truce, and asking to speak with Fen’Harel as an agent of the Inquisition.” She used the name for the first time, and Josie recoiled. “It’s the name he is using now, and we need to get used to saying it,” Asta stated. “Loranil was quite clear that he was taking the name of the Dread Wolf. We should just be praying to whatever deity we believe in that he’s not the real thing. If we’re dealing with a true elven god, immortal and all powerful, we’re all dead, trickster or no.” She sighed, “I always thought ‘Solas’ was probably a pseudonym. ‘Pride’? Really?”

Bull snorted in laughter. “Certainly fitting, Boss.”

“As that may be,” Asta stared at the map suspiciously again, as if it could answer all her questions about the world if she could just know which ones to ask. “Loranil will go, with his wife and child. If Solas is there, I doubt that he would harm…”

“You’re going to bet someone’s family with only your own opinion as collateral?!” Josie was rarely so upset.

Asta raised an eyebrow, “Have you ever seen a mother defend their child, Ambassador? I guarantee that Mireille is perfectly capable. She’s the most dangerous person I could send with Loranil. And they are the best representatives, given the situation, of what the Inquisition stands for - a united Thedas, and yet another sign that we are no threat! A family with their infant?  Completely unthreatening.  I’d send Sera as well if she were around.”

“Why?” Cullen was confused. “She hates elfy elves.”

Bull answered, snickering slightly, “Because Solas needs reminding that not all elves wanna be elfy. And Sera does that the best. She grates on his nerves. You never traveled with both of them?”

“We do not know that is his goal,” Asta reminded them all. “Loranil couldn’t tell. Yes, he’s recruiting elves and only elves. But there could be another purpose. Don’t make assumptions. We can’t afford to be wrong.” She lifted her eyes to Bull. “How soon will this group make their move?”

“Any time,” Bull confirmed. “Kind of surprised that they haven’t already. Though the servants were talking a bit about assassins after you, ‘cause of the Commander‘s unavailability. You sure that‘s why?”

Asta shrugged. “People want to kill me all the time. I’ve long since reached the point where I don’t stop to ask them why. Cullen is worth an assassination attempt or two.” Asta instructed, “You know how their assassins are likely to work, where they are likely to strike. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by telling you where to go and what to do.”

“You need my eyes,” Bull contradicted.

“Then use them to save Leliana,” Asta instructed. “And report to us. I’ll send the Commander…”

“I’m not leaving your side,” Cullen prepared for an argument, stiffening. “Most Holy is not the only person at risk here.”

“Fine,” Asta gritted out, unable to deny her vulnerability. “Then Cassandra will be our go-between - if she consents - best to keep it small for now…” the Seeker nodded. “Thank you.” She straightened. “Josie, you have correspondence to write. Address the Arishok directly, just to make sure that Bull’s take is right. There is a small chance that they are an advance force, I suppose, though from what I know about the Kirkwall invasion that was… not the way they usually worked. There are parallels here, however, that we can't ignore. Cullen, you send out Loranil and Mireille. In the meantime, constant vigilance. Report anyone and anything that could be suspicious. The Qun tends to use elves and humans outside of Par Vollen, correct, Bull?”

“Yeah,” and Bull’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Might make it difficult to tell who’s involved. Lots of shady stuff going on behind the scenes here. Worse than the Winter Palace.” He paused. “I’d recommend against profiling, boss. Elves could be Briala’s, or Solas’, or the real threat.”

Asta pursed her lips. “I see what you mean. And humans could be anyone, just about. The assassins they sent after you were certainly human enough.” She sighed. “All right. Anything that looks suspicious. Be extremely cautious. Poison is a real threat here.”

“Nightingale has antidotes,” Bull grimaced helpfully. “Taste nasty, but I know which ones are likely. I’ll get you a supply, Boss.”

Asta nodded. “I have some of my own, but only for the most common. Get enough for Cullen and I, if you can manage it.” She sighed. “I think that’s it for now. Shame I can’t use my newfound freedom to get out of the Cathedral for a while.”

“Soon enough, Boss,” Bull assured her. “They’re not from around here. Trust me.”

“With my life, Bull,” Asta replied, eyes closed in exhaustion. “With my life.”

 


	122. Recalled into Service

_Hey Kadan,_

_Boss needs your fine ass back in Val Royeaux. I know that Josie’s writing you, too. But I wanted you to know that I missed you, and those squeaky noises you make when I do the thing. You know which one._

_She’s gonna need you around. It’s happening, just like I told you. So don’t do anything stupid like head back to Tevinter. This is your chance to change some opinions outside Skyhold. Ambassadors work both ways, Kadan._

_Love you. Can’t wait to see you. Been too long._

_Amatus_

***

_Dear Loranil,_

_The Inquisitor is formally appointing you to the position of Inquisition Ambassador to Fen’Harel. Congratulations, for what it’s worth. Pack up your family, and prepare to travel back to the Dales. You will be under a flag of truce, and accompanied by our most trusted scouts, I assure you. A bit different from your last trip, at least._

_I’m afraid I can’t tell you how long you will have to stay. At least the trip will be shorter this time, since you can travel publicly and comfortably. The Ambassador will spare no expense. You are representatives of the Inquisition, after all._

_I wish you luck. Your mission is to establish contact with the man calling himself Fen’Harel and attempt to establish a formal alliance. That’s it, as if it weren’t enough. The Inquisitor wishes me to express her regret at putting you and your family into this precarious situation, but as you know, you are one of the few elves we can trust.  And your wife is crucial to the party, since the Inquisitor is determined to showcase the Inquisition's diversity and is counting on her unique skills._

_Give my regards and apologies to Mireille.  I imagine traveling with an infant is a difficult task._

_Commander Rutherford_

***

“Heard you were looking for me,” Sera smirked as Asta stood up out of her bath that evening. “Nice tits.”

“Sera,” sighed Asta, reaching for the towel. “You are efficient. Not far, I take it?”  She wrapped the cloth around her and stepped out of the tub reluctantly.

“Told ya I was going to ground in the city,” Sera shrugged. “Friends are everywhere. Even in the Cathedral. They said some upstart gits were taking up arms ‘gainst everybody making a difference. Thought I should check in.”

“Your information is excellent, as always,” Asta grinned at her friend. “It’s good to see you. Got bees? And can you stay a while?”

“Can stay as long as you or the Nightingale need me,” Sera shot back. “I always have bees. Also, arrows.”

“That’s exactly what we need.” Cullen walked in to the bathing chamber, somehow not surprised to see Sera and his partially undressed wife chatting in such an informal location. “Sera. Good to see you. How would you feel about keeping your eyes on a couple of Grand Clerics? Unofficially, of course.”

“They ain’t nobles, are they?” Sera looked suspicious. “Not interested in keeping some noble arses alive.”

“You lose your titles when you join the Chantry,” Asta assured her.

“Knew there was a reason you were different,” sniffed Sera. “Fancy last name or not. I’ll do it then. But if they do anything noblish…” she warned.

“Arrows,” Asta smiled wickedly. “Fine with me.”

***

_My dear Varric,_

_The Inquisitor needs your presence in Val Royeaux. So put away the whiskey, and quit sulking that I left you alone in Kirkwall to do your job, and book your passage. Preferably an entire ship. That would be safer.  I doubt your aim with Seeker has improved enough to make you effective against assassins._

_The Inquisition is investigating a splinter group of the Qun that is apparently attempting to prey upon the relatively weak Chantry as the first step to invading Southern Thedas. So if you ever want to marry me, dwarf, you will listen and get over here, post haste._

_Don’t travel alone.  Bring Bran. I wrote to him separately, so don’t try to sneak out of Kirkwall without him. I know he is less essential to the integrity of Kirkwall than Aveline, or I would have you bring her instead. Express my gratitude to her for keeping you safe in my absence. Hopefully the guards I hired are actually protecting you, and not just standing around chatting with you amiably, preventing you from completing your real work._

_I am being as careful as I know how, I assure you. But I will feel far more secure if you get on the next vessel bound for Val Royeaux._

_Stay safe, Varric._

_Love,_

_Cassandra_

***

Loranil stood with his wife before the tower he had left months before. A scout stood next to him, white flag in hand, and they waited to be acknowledged at a safe distance - far enough not to be hit by arrows, and out of spell range, but close enough for their banners to be identified.

“Maybe they aren’t here any longer. They might have moved on after you left,” Mireille whispered, and adjusted the sling holding their daughter, who fidgeted, but didn’t fuss. “How long do we wait?”

“Until we get a response,” Loranil answered firmly. “They’re here. There’s movement in the windows. They just aren’t sure what is going on, and they want to be prepared for all eventualities.” He looked at his wife, worriedly. “I don’t think they’ll break the truce, but… be prepared to run with Sunniva, Mireille. Just in case.”

“As if I would do such a thing,” Mireille shifted the sling again so that it laid better across her dagger harness, improving her access to the daggers, if it proved necessary. “She’s going to get hungry, eventually, Loranil. Do you think it would be an insult if I sat down and fed her, if this is going to be a while? Or I could just excuse myself, if it goes on too long. Otherwise, I’ll start to leak, and a crying baby isn't going to help our mission in any way.”

Loranil swallowed his amusement. “You are here at the request of the Inquisitor, for a reason beyond your motherhood.  I doubt that anyone would be insulted,” he started and then the tower doors started to open. “They’re coming.” The troops around them stiffened immediately, and he took a deep breath. “Remember,” he instructed their companions, “they are not our enemies.”

“Yet,” the scout holding the flag muttered, and Loranil cast a critical eye at him. “Sorry, Ambassador, Ser.”

"Watch your tongue," Loranil instructed him, and then refocused on the small armed group moving to meet them.

His former Captain approached him. “Loranil. Fen’Harel wasn’t surprised to see it was you. Have you deserted again? Making a bit of a habit of it, aren‘t you?” She sneered, “Though you should have realized that your mongrel child would not be welcome here, much less your shem whore.” Loranil stiffened at the insult.

Mireille reached out her hand to still him. “Not our enemy, vhenan,” she whispered. “Let it go. We know the truth.” Loranil nodded, sparing her the briefest glance, to center himself.

“I am not here to defect, no,” he started. “I am here as an agent of the Inquisition, to request an audience with Fen’Harel, with the intention of negotiating an alliance between him and the Inquisitor. May I see him?”

The Captain was visibly disturbed. “Really?” She glanced up at the tower, and Loranil followed her gaze. There was a form at the top, shifting slightly, but he couldn’t see it clearly. “I’m not sure…”

“The Inquisitor recognizes that the man called Fen’Harel is her former companion Solas,” Loranil continued. “She hopes that their past association will make him more willing to work with her again, for the good of all Thedas, against a common threat, as he did against Corypheus.”

“Fen’Harel’s plans _are_ for the good of all Thedas,” the Captain claimed, amused. “And what is this threat?”

“I can only discuss that with Fen’Harel,” Loranil stared at his former Captain. “I’m sure you understand the nature of sensitive materials, given your assignment.”

“It must be that group that fractured from the Qun,” smirked the Captain. Loranil remembered her being kinder. Her prejudices must root deeply, he decided, and let the supposition go with no response. “Now, why would you think Fen’Harel would want the Chantry preserved?”

“Because he is not in favor of chaos,” Mireille broke in. “He worked with the Inquisitor to…” but Loranil stopped her.

“My wife is correct,” he stated, emphasizing the title politely. “Solas never was a proponent of chaos, and without the Chantry, it is the elves who will suffer the most. They will be the ones pushed to the side, left to starve and wither away while humans, with their greater numbers clamor for aid. Alienages will burn, elves will be blamed for all sorts of sins. And with the Chantry gone, he will be fighting the Qun without the help of humans.  The Inquisitor is sure that he can see past the the immediate victory.  The new Divine has done much for the cause of the elven people, and the Inquisitor even more so.”

“Oh, by allowing them to join?” The woman was amused again, “And how is making them abandon their traditional values to worship a shem woman helpful to our ‘cause‘?”

“Our people once believed in Andraste as well. The Inquisitor has proof. Andraste and Shartan were allies against the Imperium, and the first Inquisitor, an elf, built a shrine to Her in the Frostbacks,” Loranil argued confidently. “Along with Ghilan’nain. We do not need to be enemies! The Inquisitor has always encouraged diversity!”

“It’s not a matter of diversity, of being accepted as equals,” the Captain spat on the ground. “It’s a matter of what is _ours_ , and who is right. I doubt the Inquisitor would march her armies against the Empress of Orlais to take back the Dales.”

“The Inquisitor wants to avoid war, it is true,” Loranil lifted his chin. “So should you. There are fewer Dalish clans every year. Didn’t you hear what happened in Wycome? How the entire Lavellan clan was slaughtered because of a suspicion that they were spreading plague when it was red lyrium in the public well?”

“Exactly why we are going to take what is ours before the shems can kill any more of us,” hissed the Captain, and then one of her subordinates touched her elbow, and indicated the tower. Loranil followed her eyes again, and saw a signal. “I will return,” she said immediately. “Stay here,” she ordered her lieutenants. “If they make a move for their weapons, kill them.”

The baby started to fuss, feeling her mother’s tension, and Loranil reached over to take her, to have a go at soothing her, Fen’Harel’s troops watching him warily. “It’s just a baby,” he assured them. “She’s not going to explode.”

Mireille snorted back a laugh. “You haven’t changed enough nappies.” He exchanged a grin with her, feeling slightly better for her presence, and put the child up to his shoulder, where she could look behind her.

“She just needed a different point of view,” he muttered to his wife, who raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Besides, if Fen’Harel can see us, I’d like him to see the three of us, still together.”

The Captain returned, looking even more stubborn. “Fen’Harel is going to give you a chance,” she announced at last, after looking them all over derisively. “You are to give the Inquisitor this letter. Have her follow the instructions.”

“Can we not see him?” Loranil handed his daughter back to his wife, who settled her back in the sling, fussing at the unwanted change, and took the letter, cautiously. “My orders are to meet with him directly.”

“No,” the Captain stated positively. “He will meet with the Inquisitor, or not at all. And that’s only if she can follow instructions. Tell her to talk to Briala.” She turned away. “You are done here. I suggest you remove yourself and the Inquisition from the Dales as soon as possible, shem-lover. Or we will take appropriate action.”

“The Dales were once my home, too,” Mireille said softly. “I would hate to see them even more torn up than they already are after the Civil War. Please…” her voice trailed off.

“Whether or not there is war is not up to us,” the Captain marched away, back towards the tower. “Now, leave. Your mission is over.”


	123. Pride Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure anyone still reading was waiting for this, but it's getting angsty again. Inevitably, I'm afraid. It's pretty bad, right up until the end, in my opinion. Still less dark than the miserable version.

Solas watched the group depart, observed by his high ranking officers, waiting for their orders. Long minutes drifted by in undisturbed observation, his patience long lasting after ages of practice, even as his people shifted awkwardly behind him, unwilling to interrupt his thoughts and despising the delay.

“We shall have to move up the timeline,” he spoke finally, and turned from the window. “Make the preparations, Captain. We will begin at Halamshiral, as planned. But allow…” he paused, “allow the Inquisitor to discover what she can. Do not hide our plans from her.”

“Yes, Ser,” the Captain smirked and turned to descend the stairs, followed by the others, a sense of anticipation running through the group. Solas turned back to the window and watched the Inquisition banners disappear beyond the next rise, his face implacable, his thoughts turbulent.

He didn’t want to do this. There would be pain, and the Inquisitor... He stopped his thoughts there. “What is the price of the past, Inquisitor?” He asked the silence in the room. “Are the answers you seek worth any cost?” His lips stretched thin. “Because of me, you will find out.” He pulled away, and stepped towards his desk and work tables, and a lone Fade device standing there, still dead and dull. “I am sorry, my friend,” he apologized, the barest hint of trouble in his eyes. “The People need me.” His eyes glowed the faintest blue for just a moment, and then faded, and he shut his eyes in determination and activated the device so that it glowed with captured Fade light, green in the fading light of the setting sun.

He waved his hand, eyes still closed, around the room and Veilfire torches sparked to sudden life, and the runes they hid emerged blue and eerie amongst the paintings of wolves, halla and owls. “I am sorry,” he repeated again, as insistent as if the Inquisitor could hear him, and then he began to cast, undeterred by his professed regret.  "I would not cause you pain if I had a choice."

The time for regret had long passed. It was time to redeem himself, and repair his mistakes.

***

Asta was alone for the moment, reading what little the Cathedral library held on the Tal’Vashoth and other groups that broke away from the Qun, when the pain and green Fade light sparked and flared, ripping her hand apart from the inside out.

Doubling over, she gasped painfully, trying to remember to breathe until it passed. She stood shakily and frightened, crossed over to the window and pulled aside the curtain to look at the sky. It was unmarked, and she shook even more with that knowledge, staring at her hand in confusion. Why was it doing this? If the Breach wasn’t reopening… And had it… spread?

She cursed, suddenly, understanding. “Solas…” she breathed. “What are you doing?” She wrapped her arms around her waist, shaking uncontrollably, and the pain hit again, a wave of torture and magic that made her scream involuntarily and fall, despite her desire to hide her reactions.

The door to her room crashed open, and a guard came in, stopping and staring in horror at the sight of the Inquisitor crumpled on the floor of her room, green light from her mark rippling and warping around her uncontrollably. He crossed to the Inquisitor, frightened by the magic, but knowing his duty. “Inquisitor! Inquisitor! Are you all right?”  He knelt on the floor next to her, helpless in the face of her pain.

“No, I’m not fucking all right,” snarled Asta. “Get the Commander. Now!” She doubled over again, wrapping herself around her arm, the mark spreading fast enough to watch. “Get him,” she begged, even as the pain faded again. “Get Cullen.” The guard stood and rushed out of the room, his companion entering to guard her. She closed her eyes, and tried to breathe. Perhaps it was just a nightmare - it was so like what she had dreamed before Adamant. “Let this be a nightmare,” she said out loud to no one in particular. “Wake up, Asta," she ordered herself, and then opened her eyes, haunted with despair.  "It's not a dream, is it?"  Her face searched the guard, who was unable to respond.  "Help me up,” she ordered at last, and the guard knelt to obey, pulling her up with ease. “Thank you, Ser,” she expressed, and made her way to a chair, pale and still shaking, wondering if there would be yet another wave and knowing there was no way to stop, or even brace against it.

Cullen pushed past the guard into the room, his face creased with worry, and Dane at his heels. “Asta? Are you…” Asta held up the mark, larger even to his less familiar eye and he blanched. He swept his eyes to her scared face, white with terror. “What happened?” Dane tried to crawl into her lap, whining.

“Leave us,” Asta told the guard, “And don’t tell anyone what you saw.” The guard bowed, and left, closing the door. “Cullen…”

Cullen wrapped her in his arms, displacing their worried dog. “It’s growing, isn‘t it?” He asked her hair, rhetorically, tightening his arms to prevent her from squirming away. He needed to hold her to be strong.

And Asta closed her eyes and let herself cry. “I don’t know how much time I have,” she started. “It’s spreading… fast,” she sobbed. Dane stopped whining and pressed against their legs.

“We’ll find him,” Cullen swore. “He’ll fix this. He fixed it before, in Haven. He has to,” he gritted his teeth in despair.  "Damn it, Solas!"

***

Dorian swept into the Cathedral like he owned the place, followed by Cole, eyes wide and worried, and muttering under his breath. Thom followed, a little more wary, stopping when Dorian stopped. “Hmmm, where to go?” Dorian asked, and then pointed a finger randomly. “That way. We just need to get directions to the Inquisitor’s room, after all.”

“She doesn’t want to be disturbed!” Cole announced, eyes blurry under his hair and hat. “But her room is that way,” the man pointed, fingers shaking.

“Doesn’t want to be disturbed,” huffed the mage. “When I am here?”

“She is very… unhappy right now,” Cole blinked in vague understanding. “Her and the Commander. Dorian, I don’t think…”  He looked confused and opened his mouth to continue.  "Who is he?"

Thom frowned. “Cole, do you think that you could find us someone else then? Someone has to be around that isn’t… so unhappy.”

Cole shook his head, trying to concentrate. “Cassandra. Has he left? Is he safe? Faith all twisted up with desire, want and need and duty rocking and crashing together like the Waking Sea. What happens if I have to choose? I can‘t give him up…” he stopped. "She's with Bull. That way," he indicated.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “That will do. Take us to the Seeker, Cole.”

Cassandra was scowling at Bull in the training courtyard and trying to pay attention despite her personal distractions. “So, nothing,” she said flatly. “That’s what you have to report.”

“That’s right,” Bull folded his arms, definitely pissed off. “You should be glad. News means bad things are happening, Cass.”

“News means we are not sitting around the Cathedral waiting for a lead!” Cassandra hissed at him, completely impatient. “I would think you of all people would be longing for some action right now.”

Bull shrugged. “I’m being paid to keep the Divine safe. She’s safe as I can make her. So, no, I’m good.” He caught a sight of Dorian and immediately broke out of his shell. “Kadan!”

“Amatus!” The mage looked around him at the training guards and Chantry personnel, briefly nervous, and came to a decision. He walked across the courtyard and embraced the man enthusiastically, arms around his neck.

“Kadan?” Bull froze, surprised. “I’m working here, Dorian,” he muttered. “And since when do you like public displays of affection?”

“Since I missed you, Amatus,” Dorian muttered. “And since we need to put some of Asta’s personal rumors to rest.” He pulled back, awkwardly, and overly self-conscious. “You don’t mind?”

“Fuck, no!” Bull pulled him back in, and kissed him. “Keep ‘em coming. Just… maybe when I’m not working? Chargers are guarding the Divine, for now. I’m training these idiots,” he admitted. “Now that you’re here, though… let me find Krem. He owes me. He can take over and we…”

Dorian slapped his lover’s suddenly wandering hands away. “No, Amatus. We haven’t seen the Inquisitor yet.” He shifted a bit. “Later. When you aren’t working,” he promised.

“Now you are talking.” Bull’s eye glinted. “Don’t let anyone find you another room. You’re with me, right?”

“Right,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Would I be anywhere else?”

“Don’t know,” Bull shrugged, “It’s been a while. You could have found somebody else…” he grinned. “I could have, too. Lots of fine possibilities in the Cathedral.”

Dorian humphed confidently, “As if that would happen. You adore me.”

“You know it,” Bull grunted happily. “I’ll prove it later.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, more jealous than she would ever admit. “As you were saying?”

“No news is good news,” Bull summed up. “Anything from Loranil?”

“Just arrived,” Josie came in from a side door waving a letter. “It’s not what we hoped."  The Ambassador sighed, in resignation.  "Where is the Inquisitor? Isn’t she supposed to be working on her unarmed combat this afternoon?  I was sure she would be here...”

Bull snickered, “I bet she is. The wrestling part. Cullen decided to take charge of it, and Asta went back to their room to wait for him.” Dorian rolled his eyes in disgust.  "Some things don't change, Kadan."

"I begin to regret that I ever assisted them," the mage declared.  "Obviously I unleashed a monster."

“Solas has refused then?” Cassandra’s face fell as they all ignored Dorian. “Asta will be devastated. That is terrible news.”

“Not refused, exactly, but…” Josie sighed again, “The Inquisitor needs to see this. And we all need to be there.”

“She and the Commander are very… troubled,” Cole warned again. Cassandra‘s brow creased, and Josie hummed worriedly. “But she will want to know. What should we do?” The young man’s confusion was evident.

“It can wait a few minutes, perhaps?” Josie suggested, trying to maintain her composure. “After all…”

“No!” Cole strode determinedly to the edge of the courtyard. “She’s hurting. She needs to know, NOW.” The group stared at each other and followed him, in confusion and trepidation. “Lonely in his tower, determined to bring back the lost, mend the mistakes he never made, tear it down, let the shreds drift into the beyond. Don’t do it!” He screamed, and fell to his knees. “Go to her!” he urged. “Please! I’ll follow you!  Who is he?  I know him!  But he made me forget!”  The spirit-man protested and explained in confusion.

Cassandra and Dorian started to run, and Bull pulled the man to his feet, and then into his arms. “Come on, Cole,” he grunted gently. “I’ve got you. Let’s go see the Inquisitor. She’ll have some answers.”

“Answers aren’t her field,” Cole searched the Qunari’s face, “Only questions.  More questions than ever.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got more answers than the rest of us,” Bull disagreed. “So we’ll start with her.” He strode through the archways, a few steps behind Cassandra and Dorian, no need to run with his longer legs pumping to keep up with them.

Cassandra and Dorian didn’t bother to knock, and the door crashed into its frame. “What is going on?” The mage demanded, “Cole…”

“It’s the mark,” Cullen held his wife even tighter. “It’s spreading.” Cassandra crossed in a few steps to the window to look at the sky. “It’s not there,” he told her. “I just came from outside.” Cassandra let her hand fall from the curtain, shaking with fear of the unknown.

“It’s fine for now,” Asta tried to reassure them all. “But it felt… wrong. And it’s definitely bigger. Perhaps this time the Breach is opening in my hand," she swallowed and changed the subject.  "Josie… tell me you have some news?” She let go of Cullen, very reluctantly, and he took her unmarked hand gently, his own shakes making her hand vibrate.  She increased the pressure so that the shaking stopped.

Josie handed her the letter, and her empty hands immediately started to wind around each other in worry. “It’s from Loranil. He failed to see Fen’Harel, much less make an alliance, and he and Mireille are on their way back to Skyhold.”

Asta closed her eyes, defeated, and let her marked hand fall to her side, the letter fluttering to the floor. “That’s it, then. We’ll have to do without his information.  And I'm...”  She choked off the sentence.  "That's it.  This is it." She couldn't even look at Cullen.

Josie hesitated. “Not quite, Inquisitor. Fen’Harel… has left you a hint. At Halamshiral.” The Ambassador swallowed. “He wants you to talk to Briala.”

“Is Briala…” Asta looked at the Ambassador, and realized she didn’t know either. “Very well. I will… talk to Briala then. That doesn’t sound like a definitive ‘no‘.”

“He seems to be very good at hedging,” the Ambassador agreed. “Assuming that Loranil is quoting him directly.”

“Time to take advantage of my freedom,” Asta braced herself and stood, still holding on to Cullen's hand. “Dorian, Cole, Thom - it’s good to see you. Prepare to ride for Halamshiral. Sorry about the lack of rest. We leave in the morning. Someone find Sera and...”

“It will take longer than that to get organized, Inquisitor,” Josephine started to protest.

“I don’t have time for it to take longer,” Asta spat at her, and Josie recoiled. “I‘m sorry, Josie… but… I'm out of time. I need to find Solas. Or everything…” she swallowed, and clenched Cullen‘s hand harder. “It‘s killing me, Josie.” She explained more gently. “There‘s nothing that anyone can do except Solas.”

Cullen snarled, and Dane growled, “We will find him and he will fix this.”

“And I and the inner circle will leave in the morning,” Asta confirmed. “It’s my only chance. And considering...” she swallowed again, her mouth dry, "it's not much of one." She stared down at her feet, eyes dry.

Cassandra nodded. “I will leave Varric a message to meet us at Halamshiral. You will need me.”

“You’ll need all of us,” Vivienne walked in. “I have received permission to accompany you, Inquisitor.”

“That is most gracious of the Most Holy,” Asta thanked her. “I appreciate your assistance, Madame.  I assume the guards have told Divine Victoria what is occurring?”

“It’s the least I can do,” Vivienne waved her thanks aside. “And yes.  She is making preparations to follow you.  Now, let me see the mark. I wasn’t at Haven, when you first received it. Perhaps I can help.”

Asta closed her eyes and offered her palm.  "You are welcome to try, Vivienne."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my many headcanons is that Solas talks to himself a lot, as if other people were in the room, because he is alone so often.
> 
> And Cole was made to forget Solas' plans for sure, but I decided that the impact of him forgetting Solas entirely was more effective for my story. Viva la angst?


	124. The Hubris of a Trickster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day! At least one more will probably be ready before the weekend. I hope. Editing is going well at the moment, so here's hoping. I have to keep on track to get this out by Christmas.
> 
> If I slow down it will be New Year's. More than six months already of this fic.
> 
> Thanks again, everyone still reading. Enjoy!

The night was long, broken with the Inquisitor’s screams and whimpers as the mark crept its way across her palm by millimeters. Vivienne could do nothing, and pain tonics were not helping. Even a sleeping draught - while it sent her to sleep - could not stop her from crying out.

Cullen held her all night, without resting himself, alternately Chanting and singing to her randomly, in an attempt to comfort her, even when he knew she could not hear. It was so unfair, so unkind, so… he gritted his teeth and argued with the Maker in his head. Why would He have sent her to him, gave him this gift only to have her devoured by magic she was never meant to have?

By dawn, the waves of pain and growth had tapered off, and while her entire palm glowed with an unholy light streaking across and through it, it seemed to cease, and she had managed to truly rest for a few hours, with the help of the potion. Cullen pulled himself away from her reluctantly to dress and finish their preparations to travel.

“Cullen?” Asta woke as soon as she felt him shift. “Don’t go?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” and he climbed back into the bed with her, and stroked her stringy hair out of her face. “I was just going to pack. We‘ve got to leave…”

She clung to him desperately. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so scared…”

“So am I,” Cullen choked out. “But you said it yourself, Solas is the only one…”

“I know,” and Asta released him. “Go ahead. I… can’t sleep. I’m afraid it will… end while I’m unconscious. Don’t make me sleep again?” She searched his face.

“We’ll have more time,” Cullen protested. “We will. We’ll find Solas, and he’ll stabilize the mark… he probably didn‘t realize that whatever he did at Haven wasn‘t permanent. We were all working with unknowns, but now…”

“Solas is the one doing this, Cullen,” Asta closed her shadowed eyes. “I’m sure of it. Only he had the knowledge and connection to the mark to make it react. Besides me.”

“That bastard is going to die if he‘s hurting you,” Cullen started, and Asta shook her head.

“Oh, love,” she sighed. “I doubt it would be that easy. He’s Fen’Harel. You’ve heard the stories. If he’s the real thing, he’s responsible for locking up the entire Elvhen pantheon. Whatever he’s doing to me, he has his reasons, I’m sure. And we can‘t stop that kind of power. We can only appeal to his better side.”

“His reasons can…” Cullen bent his head into her neck. “It should be me trying to make you feel better. Not the other way around.”

“I’m hardly making you feel better,” Asta tried a broken, tired laugh. “I’m just warning you that this is one problem that won’t be solved at the end of a sword. We have to negotiate.” She stroked his curls away from his forehead, the valleys there deeper than ever. “I’m so glad we had the time we had. It‘s been…”

“Quit talking like that,” Cullen pulled away from her. “I’m packing, and we’re riding for Halamshiral.”

“I can’t ride like this,” Asta told him bluntly. “I’ll fall off the horse. It‘ll take a wagon, and we don‘t have the time…”

“Then you’ll ride with me,” Cullen threw back. “I’ll keep you safe. I promised.”

“Cullen,” Asta paused. “Fine. I will not give in. But you should prepare yourself. I… can’t face the Qun like this. I can’t fight anyone like this. It’s too much pain, and we don’t have enough time.”

“That is why I am your knight,” Cullen turned away. “I’ll fight for you.”

Asta looked away from him and let it go. “Bring me Solas’ letter,” she instructed. “I’m going to read it and see what the fuck he wants me to do.”

_My friend,_

Asta’s mouth twisted after the first two words. “He has a lot of nerve,” she observed. “But no doubt he knows something we do not. Thus the need for the alliance.”

_I regret causing you pain, but as I flatter myself that I know you well, I have no doubt that pain will urge you ever onward. I congratulate you on your successful infiltration of my group. I thought it would take you longer to put someone in place. I was fairly sure that I was thorough in my recruitment inside the Inquisition. I knew Loranil was here, but as your spymasters have probably assured you, a known spy isn’t nearly as much danger as an unknown. It amused me, in any case. You would choose to infiltrate a group of pure elves with a Dalish man married to a human. Touché, my friend._

“Fuck, he is such a prig,” Asta snorted disdainfully. “But you have to respect him. He knows it, in any case. ‘Pride‘ indeed.”

_I regret as well my subterfuge while I was with you. It was necessary… and as Solas was my name before, I claimed it, with a certain amount of hubris, I admit. As you have no doubt guessed, giving yourself credit for deciphering one of my greatest secrets, I am Fen’Harel, as well. If you can, stifle your gasps and mutters of ’I knew it’ and let us move on to the meat of the matter: a possible alliance._

_I admit, I find your offer of an alliance… intriguing. In this case at least, you don’t know what you ask - of me or of yourself. You readily assure anyone that asks - and a few that don’t - that Andraste was not divine, but, my friend, those that hold a different opinion hold far more of the power than you. Are you willing to risk them? That is a bet that you may want to think twice before placing.  I do believe that amongst your companions I remain undefeated at both Wicked Grace and Diamondback._

_I suspect you have many questions to ask of me. You always have questions.  If you can find me, you can ask them all. Whether you will receive your answers… well, I am a trickster, god or not. Speak with Briala, and she will show you how to find me. You aren’t the only one who has unraveled a few Elvhen secrets. She will be waiting for you at Halamshiral. There, as has happened for ages past, we will see about forging an alliance for the ages._

_Sincerely,_

_Fen’Harel_

Asta started to laugh hysterically, and Cullen stared at her, worried and bewildered, as she folded the letter precisely and replaced it in the envelope. “’Pride’”, she laughed again, “And damn it to the Void, he does know me well. I’m hardly going to roll over and die, and I cannot resist the puzzle he’s laid before me. Curse you, Solas. You _are_ a bastard, a trickster, and an all around arsehole, whatever your lofty goals are.”

Cullen pursed his lips. “I don’t like it. It’s a trap. He’s causing you this pain. You can‘t trust him.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I walk knowingly into a trap then,” Asta met his eyes earnestly. “And if you are determined to follow me into it…” she sighed. “You may not be able to keep me safe. Like Alexius so long ago, he’s so complimentary… I’m sure he wants something.”  She stared blankly at the envelope.  "I bet he's remembering that right now, too."

“If I’m not there I can’t even try,” Cullen paced impatiently to the wardrobe and started tossing items onto the bed, hardly noticing what they were.

“Cullen, we won’t need all that,” Asta said after a few moments of watching him. “I guarantee you won’t need your dress uniform, or me my wedding dress.” She stood. “I’ll pack. You are too distracted.”

“Where do you get your focus?” Cullen snarled. “Your life is resting on the edge of a knife and you…” he drooped. “Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care,” Asta replied, calmly replacing things in the wardrobe. “We’ll have some of this sent on for the Exalted Council. We‘ll both need our dress uniforms for that.”

“So you intend to make it that long?!” Cullen pounced on her casual use of the future tense with energy. “You intend to live?”

“I’m going to try,” Asta bit her tongue to keep from yelling at him. “I have no wish to die, Cullen. You aren’t the only one who wants more. I’ve always wanted more. I’m fucking greedy. Just ask anyone. I’m just… we are playing with things we don’t understand. My greatest nightmare is coming true around me. And I wish… I wish you would prepare yourself. Perhaps it would hurt less, if the worst happens. Perhaps…”

“It will never hurt less,” Cullen cursed, and grabbed her arms. “And I won’t let you accept anything! I refuse.” Asta shut her eyes and let him yell. She wouldn’t argue with him, he realized, and he released her slightly. “Why won’t you argue with me?”

“Because you are right,” Asta breathed out. “You always are. About every trap, and every danger.” She opened her eyes and stared at his throat, watching his Maker‘s apple bob up and down with emotion and choked off words. “You keep telling me I’m right. You’ve been right about everything since Redcliffe. And you keep telling me to stop being so willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of the Inquisition. So I need to ask you… don‘t you think our cause is worth one life?” Cullen let her go, and backed up, horrified. Asta pressed the issue, “The known rifts are closed, Cullen. If we could receive an assurance from Fen’Harel that any further rifts would be closed by him, and I‘m sure with his control over my mark that he could do it… is one life worth this alliance?”

Cullen stared in disbelief and shock. “Not yours,” Cullen answered at last, quietly, and backed out the door. “I’m going to go find Dane.”

Asta watched him go, and sat back down on the bed hard, unable to find the strength to go on.

***

The ride to Halamshiral was too quiet, punctuated with a few painful breaks, during which Asta tried very hard not to scream and mostly failed, Cullen holding her through them, impotent to help in any other way. They barely spoke, even though they rode together, the Bog Unicorn the only mount to not react to Asta’s strangled pain and the strange tendency of her hand to glow and crackle randomly.

The Winter Palace was still mostly empty, though a few outbuildings were being assembled in preparation for the Exalted Council looming at the end of the summer. “It looks different,” Asta sighed. “Less dangerous, somehow.”

“It’s all an illusion, Boss,” Bull assured her. “It’s never empty, not really. And Briala’s meeting us here. So…”

“So be careful,” Cullen stressed. “She still works with the Empress. You know that. Don’t trust her…”

“I have no choice,” Asta met his eyes, worried, but determined. “You know I have to accept what she says as truth, Commander. Otherwise, we will lose whatever help Fen’Harel is willing to offer us.”

Cullen nodded, just as determined, if even more worried, and stepped forward to the gates, pushing them open in the lack of anyone obviously there to greet them.

“Inquisitor,” Briala’s voice came out of the shadows by the wall, and Cullen snapped up his shield, making her laugh. “I have been expecting you. Follow me, please. I have something you need to see.”

The Eluvian, under heavy guard, sat in a side room, glowing faintly. “So this is what Fen’Harel wanted me to see?” Asta leaned up against the wall. “Never thought I’d see another one. Aren’t they rare? We smashed the one in the Arbor Wilds. Unintentionally, of course.” She sighed, “Such a loss.”

Briala’s eyes flashed. “Quite, Inquisitor.” She paused. “I’ve had control of part of the Eluvian network. It helped me when… before I was parted from Her Radiance. But, Inquisitor…” she stopped. “I realize that Fen’Harel has hardly been forthcoming.”

“Are you working with him?” Asta was overly blunt, and Josie sucked in her breath at her failure to play the Game well. “Josie, Briala has been incredibly forthcoming with me from our first meeting at the Winter Palace. I will offer her the same grace, if she cares to ask me questions.”

“You’ve been through an Eluvian before,” Briala clarified, and failed to answer.

“I have. Several times. Once to what Morrigan called ‘The Crossroads’, again at the Arbor Wilds, when we crossed back to Skyhold after defeating Samson. And again, when it linked us directly to the Fade. I… met Mythal there.” Asta clamped her mouth shut as Briala gasped, alarmed.

“I had no idea,” the spy shook slightly. “We still understand them so little. The Fade… physically? The rumors were true? I thought perhaps exaggeration…”

“I’ve been in the Fade three times that I know of,” Asta raised her chin. “But only once was through an Eluvian. And that was under special circumstances. I have reason to believe that does not happen easily.”

Briala nodded in thought. “My best guess is that Fen’Harel wishes you to travel through the mirrors, Inquisitor. Whether to find him at the end, or to discover how this group is plotting… or perhaps both.”

Bull grunted, “It isn’t through any of the usual ways, I can tell you that. I hate these things, Boss. But it would explain a lot if they’ve got their hands on one.”

“So we have to go through…” Asta turned to Cullen. “Commander? Any thoughts?”

“If the Qun group is using these, traveling through them…” Cullen took a deep breath. “There will be no other way to stop them. You’ll have to go through, catch them in this ‘Crossroads’, or on the other side to wherever it leads.”

Briala simmered with laughter. “They lead nearly everywhere, Commander. From ruins to merchant houses. Wherever there is an active Eluvian to travel to. I suspect that Fen’Harel will leave you some kind of trail, if he truly intends to help. He is the trickster god of my people, after all. And activating a closed Eluvian is not an easy task.”

“I don’t like it,” Cullen was blunt. “Anything could happen in there. The Crossroads isn’t truly in Thedas, it’s somewhere… between. You’ll be at increased risk. Morrigan told you that the Veil was thinner there. There may be demons, and the actual threat…”

Briala watched him with amusement. “You are a cautious man, Commander.” She turned to Asta, “So, Inquisitor, is braving the Crossroads again something that you are willing to do to save the Chantry? My sources say you bear it no love, despite your past service.”

Asta hesitated, “It serves a purpose. At least… I hope it will, where Divine Victoria claims to want to take it. And as the Chantry falls, so falls Orlais, and then the rest of Southern Thedas.  I will try,” she stated more firmly. “Is there room for my team to stay at the Winter Palace? Are any of the preparations for the Exalted Council in place so that we can stay near your Eluvian?”

“The Winter Palace is always prepared for guests, Inquisitor.” Briala’s mouth turned up on one side. “I would have thought with your wedding you would have realized that.”

Sera cackled, and cut it off quickly when the woman‘s eyes landed upon her, with a muttered, "Scary."

“’Friends’ are everywhere, yes? And congratulations, from both Her Radiance and myself. It was pleasant to hear of someone taking what they wanted, instead of doing what was prudent.” She turned away from the Eluvian, leaving it faintly glowing. “I will find the Chatelaine and see you settled.” She turned back, slower. “You will be on your own in there, Inquisitor,” she said, deliberately. “I will not be your guide. I cannot be seen to be partial to the Inquisition. My allegiance is to Orlais, to Celene, and to my people.”

“And to Fen’Harel?” Asta asked, an eyebrow raised. “And what happens when your allegiances contradict themselves, Briala? Whom or what takes precedence then?”

“That remains to be seen,” Briala smiled whimsically. “I cannot answer all of your questions, after all. When we met before, I had less to lose. Things have changed, now, thanks to you, Inquisitor.” She glided away, still smiling, “I hope you do not live to regret it.”

 


	125. Wanting More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments lately! I was definitely getting nervous that I was blowing this big time. I'm so far off canon in the Eluvians that I can't even wave as I walk by. Hopefully it's reading well and amusing you.
> 
> Probably only one chapter today. The Crossroads is coming up and I need to check some Eluvian lore for the millionth time and maybe even try to play through Trespasser again this weekend. (Poor me...) Watching the youtube videos people post only takes me so far, since Asta usually picks far different conversation options. ;) I've got to get this right. It's the big ending, complete with fireworks, and I'm not going to sacrifice any of that for expedience.

The Inquisition reassembled later, in a secure room, a little too dark, with a long table, that Briala had graciously granted them when they explained what they needed.  The door even locked, not that Asta really thought Briala didn't have spare keys and lockpicking tools if she deemed snooping was necessary. Cullen had already stretched out a map of Thedas and weighted it down, the markers arranged across the map with military precision, a little army of figures all marching towards Halamshiral. Josie, Bull and Cullen were waiting when Asta, marked with the stress of pain, entered and closed the small door behind her. “Okay, let’s begin,” she braced herself against the table. “What do we know?”

“First things first,” Cullen took a deep breath. “I’m resigning as Commander of the Inquisition. My loyalties are divided, and I can no longer serve effectively in my current role.”

“You can’t do that, Commander! Rylen‘s too far away to get here in time!” Asta struggled to keep her temper.  How dare he pull this right now. And that smug look on his face... she was going to punch him yet. 

Josie interrupted, “We need you, Commander, now more than ever!”

“ _You_ need me,” he corrected, addressing Asta and ignoring the Ambassador. “You are more important to me than the Inquisition.”

“ _I am_ the Inquisition,” Asta argued. “You can’t separate us, not now.” Josie watched their shouting match across the table, reluctant to get involved any further.

Bull grunted with a bit of suppressed humor, “Guess the honeymoon’s over then.” Twin stares were leveled at him. “Sorry, Boss.” He backed off a bit, exchanging a look with Josie that spoke volumes.

“You are not a symbol. Not to me. Not ever to me. You are my wife, and I can’t…” he swallowed his words. “We haven’t had enough time,” he repeated instead. “I want _more. I will fight for more._ You cannot trust me not to make a call that will save you over the best thing for the cause.” He placed his hands on his sword. “I am determined, Inquisitor.”

Bull waved Asta’s mouth, already opening for a retort, shut. “Hear him out, Boss. I don’t think he’s done.”

“I will fight for the Inquisition at your side,” Cullen finished. “I will serve our cause that way, as I have before. _Never again._ ” He reminded her. Asta viewed him, stubbornly unamused.

“This isn’t a war, Boss,” Bull chimed in. “Not yet anyway. You should take him. I’ll stay here, and Cullen can do my job. Any strategy will be in the field, since we have no idea what you‘re going to be encountering, where you‘ll be fighting. We don‘t even know if you‘ll end up outside of Orlais.”

“Bull,” Asta stopped, wanting to tell him to stay out of it, but by some miracle, she didn’t give into the urge. “Very well. You will have to assist us in training, so that we know what to expect from the Qun.”

“I can do that,” Bull agreed.

Cullen blinked. “That was too easy.”

“Have no fear,” Asta tossed at him, angrily, “I’m going to fence in your ‘service’ as you call it, with so many caveats that you won’t be able to move without my permission.”

“So what else is new,” Bull muttered under his breath, and Asta glared at him. “Sorry, Boss. Just remembering a certain dragon fight.”

“As in?” Cullen raised an eyebrow in direct challenge.

“We’ll discuss it privately later. In the meantime, I reject your resignation. You will travel with me, as you requested, but…” Asta took a deep breath, “You will remain the Commander. You’ve done similar things with me before. With luck, this will turn out as well as those. But you will report for training with my team after this meeting, so that we know how to incorporate you. We‘ve been lucky up until now. I have to quit trusting on dumb luck when it comes to fighting with you.” She deliberately turned to face the other advisors. “What else do we have?”

“Briala has a basic map of the Crossroads that exists just beyond her Eluvian,” Bull stretched out an additional map on the table. “But she says it changes, as you travel. She can’t guarantee that it will be the same every time you enter.  It sounds... spooky.”  The Qunari shuddered slightly.

“So, we need to move quickly, lest it change around us,” Asta sighed. “That sounds like the Fade. Morrigan did say that the Veil was thin in the Crossroads.” The color drained from Cullen’s face. “Care to change your mind, Commander?” Asta’s mask was firmly in place, and only a little hint of fear in her eyes indicated how scared she really was to have him along.

“Absolutely not, Inquisitor,” Cullen stared her down. “More determined than ever.” Asta shook her head and moved on, trying to ignore him and the whispers in her head that told her this was a terrible idea.

“Josie, have you heard anything further from the Arishok?”

“I have,” she replied, “We received a letter disavowing this group entirely. However, some of his wording suggests that if they succeed they would be welcomed warmly back into the fold.” She handed a letter to Asta, who scanned it quickly.

“Understood,” Asta said after a minute. “Bull? Thoughts?”

“It’s a little different from how they usually work,” the Qunari admitted, “But it’s possible. The Qun exists to control chaos, Boss. If this group manages to do well enough…” he grunted. “Yeah, it could happen. Especially if they crack Southern Thedas open for Qun invasions. That would be… huge.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” Asta said at last, after a while. “We have to stop them, all the same. But knowing that they may not be acting alone after all - well, that will scare the shit out of everyone if they know. So we keep it quiet.” She looked at Cullen, still a little sullen. “Commander? Something similar occurred at Kirkwall, yes?”

“Yes,” Cullen answered, drawn out of his brooding. “The Arishok there failed, and so after his death, his surviving forces were… abandoned, for lack of a better word. There were Qunari and known members of the Qun for years afterward in Kirkwall. Some managed to return, but it was a matter of retrieving their swords, or something to that effect. Hawke assisted them, I am led to understand. Varric would probably know more, when he arrives.”

Bull grunted. “Knew I liked that woman.”

Asta blinked, “That was after I left Kirkwall‘s Chantry. I had no idea. So we should warn the Empress that there may be non-violent members of the Qun remaining in Orlais after we succeed.” She stared at the map, wide-eyed. “That is, if…” her hand flared up, lighting up the dark room with green light that left red marks on their retinas, and she sunk to her knees, whining through her nose. Cullen ran around the table to support her.

“Sweet Andraste,” he stole her hand and stared at her palm. The mark was twining around her fingers now, and creeping towards her wrist. “Asta, how many episodes have you had since…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Asta bit out, and used the table to pull herself up again. “I’m adjourning the meeting. We leave through the Eluvian at first light. Commander, you are responsible for the map of the Crossroads, since I apparently am incapable of even standing up without assistance. Josie, if you can find out anything else that is helpful, please…” she started to crumple again, crying out from the pain wordlessly.

“We know what to do, Inquisitor,” Josie said, wiping away tears and trying desperately to stay professional. “You should… try to rest.”

Cullen assisted her out of the room, and up the stairs to their rooms, scared and still angry. “Asta,” he started, depositing her on the bed to allow her to curl around her arm. “Merciful Maker,” he prayed, “Asta, how many?”

“At least three,” she answered at length. “It’s hard to tell. It doesn’t always end quickly, and it doesn’t always last the same length of time. Sometimes they blend into each other. The last is over now.” She swung her feet to the floor. “And I’m fine. We’ve got to get you practicing with the others. Also, they have to learn to accommodate my… new inadequacies.” She buried her head in her hands. “Fuck, this is too much to ask of them. They’ve spent all this time guarding and sheltering me from my own weaknesses, and now… I’m asking them to do it even more. All in the interest of saving my own life. I‘m so selfish.”

Cullen went down on his knees in front of her and rested his hands on her legs. “Asta, I…” he stopped. “They won’t mind. You’re more than the Inquisitor to all of them.  And you are saving Thedas, as well as yourself.”

“Am I?  That remains to be seen.” Asta glared at him slightly before softening. “Oh, Cullen, if that’s true, then I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. Everyone is going to suffer because I…” she bit her lip, and a drop of blood appeared before she fell forward into him in pain, breathing frantically, and grasping at the fur at his shoulders.

“We’ve got to get you to Solas,” Cullen decided. “Come with me, Inquisitor,” and he lifted her up. “We’re going to practice with you like this, so that everyone knows what to expect, and so that I don’t have to leave you. We don‘t have any time to waste.”

“I love you,” Asta bit out. “Thank you.” She went limp in his arms. “I wish I could just pass out from the pain,” she observed. “That would be easier.”

After the first time Asta collapsed in battle, the inner circle banded together and figured out how to shield her until she could rise again, taking turns at being the attacker - with the exception of Bull, who was always the 'enemy' - and the defenders in a complicated drill, adapting it as they went.

“My dear,” Vivienne started regally, when they paused for breath, “Do you think it would help if you… used it? Perhaps if you discharged some of its power before it grew painful, it would not grow at such a quick rate?”

Asta stared at the palm on her hand. “I’ve always resisted using it,” she replied at last. “Because it hurts when I do. It was the last resort. You know that.”

“But if it’s going to hurt anyway,” Vivienne prompted, “Perhaps?”

Asta nodded. “I will give it a try. But only in battle. Because I will not risk harming any of you otherwise.  It's hard to aim.” Her eyes strayed to her husband, who had managed to guard her against all of her ‘enemies’ that afternoon. “Let’s try to get some rest,” she continued. “Meet outside the Eluvian’s room at first light, everyone.”

She headed for the stairs, at least on her own two feet, for now, and started walking up slowly, more tired after the short practice, especially since she had barely assisted, than she had any right to be. “I should have trained harder at the Cathedral.” She grumbled, and Cullen, running to catch her, heard her.

“You did fine,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Asta continued to climb. “Maker’s Breath, I hate stairs. The Winter Palace has way too many of them.”

“For putting you on the spot like that in Council. You obviously weren‘t prepared, even though I thought I was being clear about my intentions,” he took the stairs two at a time to catch up and pass her. “Asta, I just…”

“You just want to protect me. You don’t want to hurt me. I’ve heard it all before, Cullen.” Asta pushed her way past him. “It means nothing, since you can’t protect me all the time. You have to stop trying.”

“I can’t do that,” he replied quietly. “I can’t protect you from that infernal mark, but I can…”

Asta spun on him. “Drop it.”

Cullen blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We both know that it’s killing me. We agree that you can’t protect me from it, that there isn’t anything to do but hunt Solas and beg him to fix it again. So, let’s quit talking. I don’t care if it’s not healthy, I don’t care if I break down screaming every other minute from the pain. The mark has hurt before, and I’ve survived. With luck, I’ll survive this too.” She stared at him and stood there, arms crossed across her middle, the two of them blocking the entire stairwell. “So I dare you, Cullen Rutherford, to stop talking about it. If you mean what you say, prove it. Get me to Solas before I die. What happens after that depends upon him.” She turned to finish the flight of stairs.

Cullen took a shuddery breath. “Wait a damned minute, Asta…”

“What?” Asta narrowed her eyes at him, flipping back to face him.

“You’ve been telling me for fucking years that I don’t know when to start talking,” he shot back at her. “And now that I’m talking, you’re saying you don’t want to talk? Make up your fucking mind!” He was yelling now, and Asta watched him disdainfully. “Suddenly words are nothing, and all the promises we made to each other might as well be… Dane passing gas!”

Asta took a step back, unused to him yelling, and his semi-crude language. “Cullen…”

“I have been trying to reassure you,” Cullen continued. “I have been trying to be someone you can lean on, and almost all I’ve gotten from you is how much I need to be ready to give you up. Well, I’ll be _fucked_ ,” and Asta’s eyebrows raised, “if I’m going to let you go easily. I mean what I say, and maybe I haven’t been so talkative as you in the past. Maybe I should have said more. But what words I have used, I intend to keep.”

“Learning to cuss, Commander?” Asta sassed insolently as soon as he paused.  "Are those the kinds of words you want to be using to the Inquisitor?"

“Fuck off, Inquisitor,” he threw at her. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to my wife. Who is dying.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat irritably. “Damn it, will that ever stop happening?”

Asta’s face had softened a bit. “Okay, Cullen.  Truce.” She leaned forward and rested her head, and only her head on his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m scared, and talking makes it real. Also, I‘m not used to being…weak, any longer. I didn‘t realize how much I was taking for granted.”

“Not talking doesn’t make it less real,” Cullen almost pleaded. “I can’t take another few days like the last. If I do lose you, I want everything I can get before it happens. I mean, if… assuming you want…” His voice drifted off. “Like we’ve both said, I want more than what we‘ve had.  I... want everything.”

Asta lifted her head from his chest and started to climb again. In silence they reached their room, and went inside and took off their armor, still quietly. Asta sat down on the side of the bed. “Let's talk. Tell me… tell me about…” she paused. “I can’t think of anything.” She looked down at her lap.

“No questions?” Cullen sat next to her, daring himself to get as close as possible. The mental distance of the last few days had been painful in a way he never wanted to experience again.

“I guess not,” Asta laughed, truly laughed for the first time in days. “So pick something to ask me. Something you’ve always wanted to know.”

“Okay…” Cullen took a breath, “What made you start researching cults?”

“Really? You want to know that?” Asta laughed again. “It was something I ran across in the Chant. I don’t even remember what now. While I was looking up an earlier, supposedly unabridged version, I ran across a reference to the Daughters of Song.” She blushed and looked at the ceiling. “They were… very comfortable with sexuality. Celebrated it, really. I was curious, and as I was already working under Sister Dorcas, she encouraged me to…” she snickered, “follow my interests. She knew I didn’t really want to take vows, and wanted to make my fate easier for me. She is very kind, you'd love her, and she would adore you, once she finished lecturing me about making promises to the Maker that I didn't intend to keep. Next thing you know I was writing to Genetivi, and Sister Dorcas was teaching me to read and translate Alamarri and Tevene - well, what there was of it in Southern Thedas.” She stopped, a little embarrassed. “I was only sixteen. Cut me some slack on being fascinated by the Daughters of Song.”

Cullen blinked, thinking. “Are they the ones that had the festival celebrating the Maker’s…”

“Oh yes,” Asta giggled. “I’m sure you can imagine the appeal to a sixteen year old girl studying reluctantly to be an initiate.”

“Not really,” Cullen answered dryly, shaking his head. But he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against him, so that they were laying down. “Okay, next subject…” he thought for a minute.

“Wait, I have one now,” Asta shifted to face him. “Did you ever really think that mages weren’t people?”

“People like you and me, I said,” Cullen’s face fell. “I knew you’d talk to Varric eventually.”

“It’s in the book,” Asta explained gently. “I didn’t ask him directly. I wanted to ask you. You haven‘t read the Tale of the Champion?”

“I will never read that book.  I relive my nightmares often enough, I don't need to read about them.” Cullen shifted uneasily. “I know it’s not worth much. But try… try not to hate me. That’s not precisely what I meant,” Cullen tried to explain. “You know I have the worst time with words anyway… what I meant was that all people are dangerous, and that mages are uniquely equipped. The follow up comment was that people like us can’t light a city on fire in a fit of pique.” He drew his right hand over his face in shame. “Yes, I said it. I regretted it as soon as I did. There I was, facing Hawke on the Wounded Coast, after killing a Templar recruit that was possessed, of all the unlikely things to happen to people I knew more than once in my life, allied with a mage who obviously wasn’t going to set anything on fire while having a tantrum…”

Asta stifled a laugh.

“What?” Cullen took his hand away. “What’s so funny?”

“I heard Cassandra chanting last night. I couldn’t sleep. She was praying that Hawke wouldn’t start fires in Starkhaven, that she would find another way to solve her problems with Brother… Prince Vael.” Asta giggled. “I think that would classify as ’pique’. Your terrible mage stereotype is perhaps proving itself true while we speak.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen was aghast. “She isn’t… she hasn’t?” He made himself try to relax. “I’m not a Templar any longer,” he muttered to himself. “But for the Maker’s sake…”

“Out of our hands,” Asta flipped to her back again. “Okay, shoot.” She lifted her mark and looked at it carefully. It hadn’t drifted up her fingers any further that she could tell.

“Is it quiet now?” Cullen spoke softly, as if his voice would set it off again.

“Even Solas has to sleep,” Asta observed, “Loves to sleep, actually. I imagine he’s resting. Even Vivienne can‘t go for days without stopping to recharge. Though she got close, we think, a couple of times in the Deep Roads. It was hard to tell the passage of time there, you may have noticed.”

“Then you should sleep,” Cullen said gently. “While you can.”

“I don’t want to.” Asta was firm, and matter of fact. “I don’t want to risk… Let’s talk some more. It’s your turn.”

“All right,” Cullen thought, “Tell me what you want in a house, if we were to build the one I‘ve been working on. I know you don’t cook, so I imagine the size of the kitchen wouldn‘t matter to you… whereas an entire room, at least, for your books would be a must… with built in bookshelves… and room for more.”

Asta hummed irritably. “I can follow a recipe. I do it all the time with potions and poisons.”

“Is this like pitching a tent? How you can only do it in the daylight?” Cullen teased, turning his head, and pulling her closer against his shoulder.

“Not exactly,” she temporized. “It’s true, I haven’t had _many_ successes with food. And they kept me out of the Chantry’s kitchens after I poisoned a visiting Revered Mother…”

Cullen choked, “What?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Asta muttered. “Nobody told me she had allergies. It was an accident, whatever she claimed later.  And she didn't die...”

“Asta…”

They passed from topic to topic for a few hours, bantering and teasing and discussing all sorts of things, and eventually fell asleep where they were, still clothed, curled around each other contentedly at the end of the Orlesian monstrosity of a bed.

Their dreams were pleasant, and if those dreams were haunted by howling wolves, neither remembered in the morning.

 


	126. When I Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW towards the end. Brief, however, so easy to skip. And hardly explicit.
> 
> Chapter title from Smile Empty Soul's 'I Want My Life'. Really sad song, but it fits really well. So much angst.

Solas slumped against a table, and let his eyes drift to the window, checking the position of the stars in the night sky. How much time had actually passed while he had cast his preliminary spells? It had been… a very long time since he had lost himself in his work like this. Had it been days since he had started? The stars outside were visibly shifted from their previous position. That was… disconcerting.

He made his way, shakily, to the couch that he had set up in his workroom, and laid down. He needed to sleep. Even the amount of magic that he could draw from the mark wasn’t limitless, and he had thought that he would have more time…

“I should have waited a little longer,” he said out loud. “But you would force my hand, Inquisitor,” he sighed, and closed his eyes. “We should both rest. You must be exhausted.” And with that, he schooled his mind for sleep and dropped into the Fade effortlessly.

He found himself in a confusing Chantry, its bones older than the over the top tarnished golden statues of Andraste and elaborately carved empty bookshelves that filled it, candelabras and pews tipped over, and frowned. He must have been more tired than he thought, to lose control and cross over into someone else‘s dream. There was a degree of clarity here that he had only ever seen in his own dreams and in…

He turned a corner and met Asta, huddled against a wall with her arms around her legs. “Hello,” he started, suddenly understanding that it was not his lack of control, but a previously unexplored connection, and broke off when he recognized that she was just a child.  Would she recognize him?  “What are you doing here?”

“Do I know you?” The girl looked at him in confusion. “I live here. Sort of.” She looked around her, “but there’s no one else here right now to help with anything Chantry related, so I‘m sorry. Believe me, I’ve been everywhere, and things are wrong, and _all_ the people are gone. If I could find the Revered Mother she could give you a blessing…” she snorted absurdly, and Solas fought back a laugh, “not that finding her would help much since I don’t _know_ where all the books went, or how the pews got tipped over.  They insist on staying that way, too.  I can't fix them.  And trust me, she would blame me for it anyhow.” She tilted her head at him. “Who are you? I’ve never seen an elf by themselves in a Chantry before, though sometimes they come in with the people they serve. And since you’re wearing a wolf pelt, I’m guessing you aren’t a servant, or even from the alienage.” She hesitated, and then plowed on, “But as that’s the case, can I ask you some questions about the Elvhen pantheon?” Her face had lit up a little at the unexpected opportunity and Solas found himself wanting to smile at her thirst for knowledge.

“If you like,” Solas stifled his chuckle and arranged himself cross-legged on the ground across from her. “I may not answer, however.”

“Have you ever met Fen’Harel?” The younger Asta had already managed to take him aback, and he frowned, even as she echoed the expression on her own face. “That’s strange…” she drew a shaky breath, trying to laugh, “Why would I ask that? He‘s gone, if he ever existed in the first place. All the stories about him are ages old.”

“Actually, I have met him, da‘len,” Solas replied, trying to regain his composure. He could always make her forget, he reasoned, arguing with himself. It was vaguely refreshing to be honest with the Inquisitor, if only in the guise of a child who would not remember.

“Da’len. That means... child. I know that much, though Sister Dorcas hasn‘t had me study much ancient Elvhen. Perhaps I should call you… heh… hah‘ren! That‘s teacher or elder, or something like that, I think,” Asta smiled with her approximate successes and continued without receiving his approval, “Is he dangerous?” The girl’s face had brightened further with intelligence and interest. “I’ve been reading some of the stories about him, and he seems… complex. I want to know more!” She continued eagerly, “I know they call him the Dread Wolf, and that he’s a trickster figure, and that he imprisoned the Elvhen gods. But there are stories about him saving elven villages as well, and helping people that need it, even if he helps in… unorthodox ways. And his help always seems to have a price… though that could just be a fairy tale trope.” She wrinkled her nose. “I want the truth, not an educational warning. Everyone knows demons are dangerous, and there are entirely too many stories about girls being eaten or possessed by them because they trusted where they shouldn‘t, or let their desires get out of control. I want to know if Fen‘Harel is just another cautionary tale.” She looked stubborn and wary, even while she demanded her answers. “And why is it always girls in the tales? I bet it happens to boys, too.”

“Unorthodox is a good word for Fen’Harel,” Solas agreed dryly, amused despite himself, and approving her critical mind. “As for if he is dangerous, I would have to say yes. Otherwise, the People would call on him more often. As it is, they curse by him, and make signs and shrines to ward against drawing his gaze.” He managed not to let bitterness leach into his tone, barely. “But like all people, elves rarely realize how much he does to keep them safe. Those that do the most are rarely thanked by those they seek to preserve.”

The younger Asta blurted out her next question, eagerly, “Is he really a god, then? Were any of the Elvhen gods?”

“That is a very unusual question from a child being raised in a Chantry,” Solas thought quickly. He would not lie to her, this child seeking something to believe in. He didn’t want her to think anything of the sort. Perhaps it would be best to trust in her logical mind. “What makes you think they were not gods or that they were, for that matter?”

Asta blew her hair out of her face irritably and fiddled with her ponytail. “I may be a Chantry kid, but I’m not as stupid as some of them are, swallowing what the Chant says about the Old Gods like the porridge they feed us for breakfast. I can see the inconsistencies and parallels, and I don’t think…” she stopped and bit her lip. “Can you keep a secret?”

“I keep all sorts of secrets.” Solas shifted, a little uncomfortable, as her dream clarity extended to the stone floor being hard and cold. It was uncanny. Her dreams were nearly as real as his, if of a narrower focus. She had not traveled and dreamt as he had. She was not a mage, he reminded himself. She was no Dreamer. She did not have that option. If she was… she might have been remarkable.  He winced mentally with guilt.

“I don’t think Andraste was real, either,” Asta whispered, though they were still alone in the massive sanctuary. “The Chant doesn’t make sense. I’m not sure about the Maker, though we all had to come from somewhere, so maybe… but Andraste? I mean, there was probably somebody named that, and she might have done all those things they say she did without the Maker‘s help. But the Chant doesn’t make sense, not like it should for something we‘re supposed to spend our whole lives singing endlessly.” She lifted her chin bravely. “I can’t sing at all. So instead, someday I’m going to prove it‘s a lie.”

“That is an… interesting goal,” Solas’ mind whirled. Had the Inquisitor been so determined, even from such a young age? “You realize that you are putting yourself in danger? Your Chantry will hardly thank you.”

“I’m not doing it to be thanked. The truth is more important than my own safety,” the girl shot back. She looked older all at once. “And I know all about martyrs. We get martyrs with breakfast, lunch and dinner here. At least then my life would be worth something, instead of so… pointless.  I would die for the truth.” She shifted her gaze to her feet. Her pre-initiate robes had shifted to the robes of a Sister now, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was maturing before him. _Extraordinary._

“You…” Alarmed, Solas slipped. “Martyrdom is not necessary, Asta.”

The young woman snapped back, alarmed. “How did you know to call me that?” She whispered, scared. “No one calls me that but my brother. When he actually calls me by a name. Lately, it’s nothing but Little Sister, the ass. My given name is Evelyn,” and she didn’t quite manage to stifle the grimace. She was nearly the age when he had met her for the first time now, and he marveled at her control, to change her form in the Fade, without magic. _Such focus._ She frowned briefly at him, and then her eyes widened in recognition and a little fear. “Solas? Solas… how? Why are you here?” The Chantry robes she had been wearing disappeared and were replaced with her Inquisition uniform. “Solas, we need to find you,” she begged. “I don’t want to be a martyr, not really, and my mark…”

Solas stood in a swift movement and backed away. Aware, she was a danger to him, and as much as he had been enjoying the conversation and the insight into her mind, it was a breach of etiquette. Surely he wouldn‘t let his guilt drive him to fleeing, after all. “I am sorry for the intrusion, Inquisitor,” he said. “But find me, and I will do what I can. I promise it. But for now, sleep and rest. And when you wake up…” he stopped, after enunciating the last words clearly and planting the suggestion, wondering if it was wisdom or fear driving the urge, “Forget.” His words were overly crisp and dismissing.

“No!” Asta pushed herself off the floor towards him as he backed away, even more alarmed. “I don’t want to forget! You can’t make me.” She stumbled before him, reaching out with a plain left hand while the other stayed out to catch her if she fell. He glided away, just out of her reach.

“But I can,” Solas replied, determined on his course with this demonstration of her strength. “Forget, Asta. It’s better that way.”  She should already have forgotten, and his mind marveled, even as he reinforced the suggestion.

“You are Fen’Harel,” she confronted him with his name, hand still outstretched, now shining with the green of the mark. “You are, Solas. You told me. I was right. I wasn’t crazy. You can’t make me forget that. I have it in writing.” The wonder and bluntness in her voice were a strange juxtaposition that he couldn't help but appreciate.

Solas chuckled. “No, but I can make you forget that you met me here.” He transformed himself into a wolf, wanting to give her a bit of a shock to jolt her out of the pride in her knowledge. Asta stepped back, frightened, and drew her daggers from the nothingness of her dream. “Good instincts, Inquisitor,” he complimented. “But you have no need to fight me. I will not touch you.”

“It’s dangerous to trust a trickster god,” Asta had morphed slightly into her younger self, but a shadow of her current age stood behind her. It was… disturbing, to see her echoed that way, the innocent and soft shadowed by the mature and hardened. “All the stories say so.”

“Never trust anyone calling themselves a god,” Solas replied. “Remember that, as you will remember nothing else. Until we meet again, Inquisitor.” He let himself leave her dream and drop into a deeper, dreamless sleep that would last for a while longer. For her sake, if not for his own. After all, she would not rest at all if he continued to disrupt her slumber - however accidentally. He should endeavor not to dream until he saw her in person.

She would be on her way with waking, and he needed her to reach him. She must be rested, must be strong enough to travel, and to fight what she would find.

There were more dangers than the Qun, in the Crossroads. Would she be wise enough to recognize them?

***

For the first time in days, Asta woke up without pain, reaching for her husband’s warmth happily before dawn, her mind filled with pleasant dreams that she couldn’t quite remember.

“Morning,” she muttered in his ear as he wrapped his arm around her further. “Well, almost. Still dark.”

“Did we…” Cullen blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “We fell asleep.”

“Mmhmm,” Asta nuzzled into his shoulder. “Slept well.”

“That’s good,” Cullen smiled sleepily.

“Is it a good morning?” Asta threw a leg across him and Cullen stiffened. “No?”

“Asta…” he warned, alarmed.

“Well, if you don’t want to…” she started to pull her leg back, trying not to feel hurt. Perhaps he had had nightmares, and needed to shake himself free of them before she could touch him freely. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“It’s not that,” Cullen muttered in her hair. “It’s just… Are you going to be all right? What about the mark?”

“I may be dying by inches,” and Cullen winced with the admission, wounded by her words and matter of fact tone, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want sex. Quite the contrary,” Asta assured him. “It’s not like the mark has stretched that far… yet.” She laughed and he rolled his eyes. “It didn’t grow at all in the night. And I don‘t know about you, but talking isn‘t the only way I want to spend time with you, love.”

Cullen relaxed a little against the bed, and then sat up slightly and kissed her. “Good. So it’s only when it flares and hurts? Probably when Solas is casting?” He shifted to his side to see her face more clearly, and saw no pain in the lines of her face.

“Looks that way,” Asta agreed. “Soooo…” she raised an eyebrow beguilingly.

“Soooo…” mocked Cullen, and then flipped her over so that she was on her back again and he was positioned over her. “We probably have a little time before dawn. Good thing we went to bed so early…” he bent down and kissed her again, gently. “Been a few days. Not sure I’ll be able to…” Asta arched up against him, crossing her legs around his back and he couldn’t finish his sentence. “Holy Andraste, Asta.”

“It is a good morning,” Asta chirped happily when confronted with the incontrovertible evidence.

“Let’s make it a better one,” Cullen murmured, and pulled his shirt off, perhaps a little too eagerly, and Asta giggled and traced her hands along his chest. “I suppose that the Eluvian isn’t going anywhere if we run a little late?”

“Oh, so you go from ‘I’m not going to last long’ to ‘We’re going to be late’ that quickly?” Asta laughed in delight.

“Is that a problem?” Cullen raised an eyebrow playfully. “I’d rather… reconnect a little slowly.” Asta’s hands made their way to his neck to pull him down closer to her, and then dropped one hand to his waist.

“Only if you don’t take responsibility when Cassandra complains about tardiness,” Asta jerked his laces loose. “Cassandra doesn’t want punctuality, she wants everyone to be as early as she is. And if they were, she‘d be earlier yet the next time. It‘s a matter of pride, not discipline.”

“I’m very good at responsibility,” Cullen slid his hand up inside her shirt and under her breastband, cupping what he found gently, and tracing it with a thumb.

Asta hummed in anticipation. “I know,” she smiled. “You think you’ll follow through with that promise when Cassandra makes disgusted noises and the rest of them start pitching in with ribald comments?”

“I’ll show you follow through,” Cullen teased and bent down to kiss her thoroughly, done with the little pecks and teasing words.

The stress of the last few days and the lack of closeness pushed everything fast, as they tumbled and struggled with removing clothes in order to fall back against the bed all the quicker, fighting to have as much time as possible before they had to leave their room and face the mirror.  They didn’t have _time_ , and they both knew it, even while they tried to lie to each other with their bodies.

It was rushed, and not enough, but it was what they had, staring into each other’s eyes, rocking together with urgency, each trying to drive the other over the brink first, making the heavy bed creak and leaving marks of furniture polish where it rubbed against the wall. Their mouths were ravenous, barely parting to draw breath as they battled, not for dominance, but to submit and surrender.

“You first,” Cullen managed to pant against her lips.

“No,” Asta said, even as she arched back and thrust against him in determination. “I want…” she cried out, shakily, as he bit her neck, a little harshly. “Damn it, Cullen, I won’t…”

“Please?” He pushed the point a little more insistently and she shook against him. “Please?” He was begging her now, but whether for his own release or hers, or for something else, she couldn’t tell. “Maker’s Breath, Asta, please!” And he let go, fighting it the whole time, even as she shook beneath him. He immediately grew more gentle, and that pulled her over to join him on the other side of their lovemaking, his own violence being met with easy waves around him and little moans.

They could not afford the luxury of cuddling, and so rose, and cleaned themselves briskly, interspersed with brief kisses and scattered embraces and wistful sighs as they donned fresh clothes and armor to face the day.  They grabbed fruit and bread off the table to break their fast as they left the room. There was no time for leisure, and they had stolen what should have been given elsewhere.

Asta shook her head free of longing and tried to focus.  She couldn't afford to be anything more than the Inquisitor today.  In the end, it would be better that way.

 


	127. Through the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully will get two chapters out today. This is the longer one, though.

In the end, they made it to the Eluvian by first light, but it was a close thing. Naturally, the rest were already waiting, impatient and irritable with lack of sleep and worry.

“We’re not late,” Asta fended off Cassandra’s complaints, hoping that they wouldn’t start at all.

“You said at first light, Inquisitor,” Cassandra had been the first to arrive, as always. “I’ve been here for a half hour.”

“And it’s just barely that,” Asta pointed out. “You should have had another cup of tea, Cassandra. You know you need it when we leave this early.” Cassandra made a disgusted noise at the old argument. “How Varric deals with you in the mornings, I don’t know. I’ll have to remember to ask when he gets here. I could use some tips.”

“Cut her some slack,” Rainier opined to the Seeker.  "She's been through a lot lately, and probably needed the sleep."

“Thank you, Thom,” Asta nodded at him gracefully and took a bite of orange.

“After all, she wasn’t getting any for days…” Sera nudged the Warden recruit, “Right, Thom?” The two friends chuckled and sniggered in turn and Cullen rolled his eyes.

“Can’t we be mature about this?” He asked the dawning sky, and willed himself not to turn red. It was already too late.

“Why would we need to be mature?” Vivienne lifted her chin. “Unless you two were almost late for exactly the reason expressed?” Her mask didn’t allow her ripple of amusement to show anywhere but in her voice. “I assume that you are eating on the run for a reason? You‘ll notice the rest of us managed to wake and eat before we were due to meet? We also…” and she reached out and straightened Asta’s scarf meticulously over a lovebite that was still darkening, “managed to attend to our personal appearances.”

Cullen turned a deeper red and muttered under his breath.

“Responsibility, Commander,” Asta grinned at him. “They know me very well. Years of experience. And since they didn’t hear any screaming last night…”

“I hope you slept, Inquisitor,” Cassandra looked older than her years, drawn with worry. “Surely your rest is more important than…”

“I did, Cass,” Asta said gently. “I slept very well. I suspect Solas…” she paled slightly and continued, “I suspect Solas did as well.” She caught her breath and looked confused.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen looked at her hand, but it wasn’t active. “Are you all right?”

Asta put her hand on his shoulder, “I’m fine. It’s not pain, or the mark. It’s just… I had a dream, I think…” she struggled to keep it with her. “I think he… Solas… made me…” she concentrated as hard as she could.

“He made you forget, too! I _know_ him,” Cole squatted to the ground and pulled his hat's brim over his ears. “He wore a wolf, and was the Wolf. Stalking in the dark, slipping in by a forgotten door. Lost in the Chantry that was home and prison, but it’s unfamiliar. Stories on the walls and on the floor, all missing, false and true. He told you his name, said he would do what he could.” Cole stared at Asta unseeing, “Never trust anyone that calls themselves a god,” he whispered in Solas’ voice and Asta jerked back, remembering all of it in a rush. “How do you still remember?” Cole begged her, “Can you make me remember too? The place is there, but they’re gone! Empty shelves in the library!”

“I…” Asta couldn’t answer. “I wish I could, Cole.”

“That will always be unnerving,” Vivienne announced definitively, and walked to the Eluvian. “Shall we be on our way, Inquisitor? I have a vested interest in making it back to my other duties, whether the Divine is on her way here or not.”

Cullen frowned at his overly pale wife. “Are you going to be okay, Asta?”

“Fen’Harel. I asked him about Fen’Harel. I told him I couldn’t forget, that I had it in writing. And he chuckled.” Asta stared at her husband, more than disconcerted in her own right. “I’ve dreamt with him before, Cullen, but this… was different. He was more… he turned into a wolf. That could talk.” Somehow that seemed more bizarre than the shape shifting in her muddled mind.

Sera took a step back, “Creepy… demon thing. You shouldn‘t talk to strange things in your dreams, Lady Bits. Mage or not.”

“Chuckled…” Cole breathed. “Yes. Varric called him Chuckles, like he calls me Kid. He wanted me to stay true to my purpose…”

“Yes, well, that’s just dandy,” Sera interrupted far too loudly, “But if we’re going to go find the egghead so that we can save the Lady Bits’ ladybits for Cully Wully, then we really ought to get going, aye? Time later to talk about dream wolves that were probably demons, right?” Her eyes were large and begging.

Asta shook her head free of the cobwebs Solas had laid there. “You’re right, Sera. You too, Vivienne. I only have until Solas decides to start casting again in any case. Before the pain comes back, that is, not precisely how long I have to live. We should make as much progress as possible.” She lifted her face to the Eluvian, still pale from shock. The blue of the mirror’s surface rippled across it, echoes of the undulating light from her palm in what should have been a calming color and instead turned her stomach. “Here’s to not being a martyr,” she said at last, and stepped through.

“A martyr?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows at the Commander, but he was already close behind Asta, his sword drawn and his shield at the ready. “Do any of you know what she’s talking about?”

Sera blew a raspberry. “Does anyone ever understand what the Inquisitor is babbling about?”

“I do,” Cole whispered, “I will help,” and jumped through the mirror. Dorian stepped through, uncharacteristically silent, whether with the early morning or Asta‘s revelations, no one could say.

“Very well,” Cassandra said at last. “I will ask her myself.” And she drew her sword, scowling, and followed at once, determined to get an explanation.

The other side of the mirror wasn’t what Asta was expecting. “The Crossroads changes,” Asta mused, walking around and looking without touching at the angry looking gnarled trees scattered here and there. “This doesn’t look like it did through Morrigan’s Eluvian.”

“I expected a room,” Cullen was breathing a little easier. “Not… this.” The paths and rocky islands with other Eluvians floated and dodged each other with otherworldly grace above them. “Your descriptions before… I expected more order. This is chaos, or nearly so.”

“It didn’t look like this before,” Asta shook her head. “That was more like a city square, or a very large ball room, with tree sculptures and many, many mirrors placed all around. It was misty, and strange. The air was thicker, like a room shut up for a long time, and the furniture covered with sheets. This is more distinct, crisper…” she touched a barren tree at last, unaccountably saddened, “if just as dead.”

Sera snorted, “It’s not dead. What are you talking about? The trees are bloomin’. You just knocked off a ton of petals.” The other companions looked at her blankly. “Don’t look like that, you see them, too.”

“Sera, what do you see?” Asta asked at last.

“Same thing as all of you,” Sera snorted offensively. “Whatever games you’re trying to play. Bloomin’ trees and floating rocks, and all these little misty breezes blowing them all around. Probably supposed to be pretty or something. But I hate the outdoors, so it‘s all bullshite. Give me a city anytime.” She looked at their stunned faces. “What, really?”

“We can’t see any of that, Sera,” Asta explained slowly.

“Oh, great,” Sera scowled and crossed her arms. “So the elf is special. I get to see leaves and flowers and spooky winds. How elfy for me. I bet the egg did this on purpose, just to annoy me.  Well, whoop-dee-doo, Quizzy. Can we figure out where we are going now?”

Asta refocused, “Spread out. This path - if you can call it that - seems like more of a dead end. Briala wouldn’t have called it a network if there wasn’t a way to find what we needed. Look for…” Asta frowned, “Clues? Something that Solas might have left, to tell us what direction to go in?”

They all fanned out slightly. “There’s nothing here,” Dorian spoke flatly, the first time he had said anything that morning. “Not even a Veilfire torch to light.”

Sera touched a pedestal and rocks started to assemble before her. “Fuck!” She screamed, and leapt backwards. “I don’t like it. Make it stop. Rocks that size don‘t move on their own.”

“The Crossroads was created for elves…” Asta observed. “It’s not too surprising that your heritage is the catalyst…”

“Heritage or not, it can stop adjusting itself for _me_ ,” Sera was still backing away slowly from the path arranging itself. “That’s just… wrong.”

“It’s all right, Sera,” Cole attempted, “It recognizes you, that’s all.”

“And that’s even more wrong!” Sera yelled at him. “I don’t want some _road_ thinking that it knows what I want! And stay out of my head, thing.”

“I wasn’t in your head,” Cole mourned. “I was keeping to myself, like you asked last time.”

Sera was slightly disarmed. “Good. Stay there.”

Asta sighed, “Sera, we need you. You’re on point.”

Sera snarled. “I’m an archer. I don’t stand in front. Bad place for me.”

Cullen glared at his friend, “Honestly, Sera, do you want the Inquisitor to die? No? Then get your ass out in front. It doesn’t matter to us that you’re an elf, but it matters to the Crossroads. So do your job. Pretend you’re scouting, if it helps.”

“Not much,” Sera grumbled. “But all right. We’re here to help her. For that, maybe I can even fiddle with this… heritage shite.”

“Thank you,” Cullen sighed. “I’ll do my best to guard you from any threats.”

“Oh?” Sera smirked, “Are you gonna be my shield now, Cully-Wully? Won’t Asta be jealous?”

“Inquisitor, can you…” Cullen tried to appeal to her and she shook her head.

“I can’t stop her, Commander. Work it out, now. Sera, if you’d rather have Cassandra or Blackwall…”

“Rather not be out in front at all. Didn‘t pick up a bow and try to shoot it to be in front,” Sera spat on the ground, and a rock rolled away. “Wait… that’s awesome!” She spat again and a whole group of pebbles rolled away from her. “Didja see that? It’s like magic, or something! Thom! That work for you?

“I seriously doubt it,” Thom’s beard twitched. “I could try, I suppose.” He spat viciously on the ground and nothing happened except a patch of wet rock.

“Well, shite,” Sera grinned, “I guess I am special.  My spit moves rocks.”

“Charming,” Vivienne curled her upper lip. “Shall we proceed?”

Cole started to mutter, but it wasn’t Sera’s thoughts. “He hasn’t been this far. Trust me, he says, laying a snare, pulling you deeper.” He shook his hair out of his eyes, “I think you have to go through another mirror?”

“Only one?” Asta smiled wryly. “Pick a mirror, people. If there’s no trail, we might as well do it randomly.” She waved Cullen over. “Hand off the map, Commander. Let someone else keep it while you keep an eye out for threats to Sera.”

“I will,” Dorian grumbled, and practically snatched it out of Cullen’s hands.

“Dorian, what has crawled up your ass?!” Asta faced him at last. “Are you just tired?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dorian narrowed his eyes. “I’m just so worried about my friend, the Inquisitor, and the glowing mark on her hand that is slowly killing her that I can‘t sleep. So I shouldn’t mind that she left Bull behind, when he’s the only blighted one that knows even the slightest fraction of what we’re supposed to be facing in this fucked up carnival funhouse. All in favor of having her husband along instead. Am I supposed to think that‘s cute?”

“Shit, Dorian, tell us what you really feel,” Blackwall muttered under his beard. “Wouldn’t want it to fester.”

“And you can just…” Dorian threw his arms up into the air and turned back to the original Eluvian. “Nevermind. Inquisitor, I will be waiting for you at the Palace. If you care to find me there…”

Cullen spun him back around by the shoulder. “Dorian, it was Bull’s idea to stay behind. And I have fought the Qun before, in Kirkwall.”

“Why should that matter?” Dorian spat back. “He’s still there, and we need him here. More than we need a distracted ex-Templar…” He cut himself off, rubbing his forehead. “I… I won’t go back. If I did, Bull would just tell me I’m being selfish and spoiled.”

“The Inquisitor,” Cullen stressed, “does not have time for this sort of… debate, right now.”

“I know that, Commander,” Dorian met Cullen’s eyes seriously. “I just think it’s a tactical error. It already seems like a wild goose chase…”

“More like a wolf hunt,” Sera muttered, and under the critical eye of Vivienne, protested, “What? You all were thinking it!”

“…and we’ve barely started. So why should we limit ourselves like this?” Dorian asked, plaintively. “To only our own eyes? If Sera had been left behind, we might not even have realized that it looked different to elves, or that the Crossroads only reacts to their presence! For that matter, how are the Qunari getting around?”

“Because we need a spymaster back at the Palace,” Cullen answered, crossing his arms. “Bull is filling that void, as you know. And the Qun uses elves, quite often, outside of Par Vollen, for spies and scouts. That was in Bull‘s report.”

“I never read his reports. He summarizes them for me.” Dorian waved aside that counterargument with ease. “In any case, he can’t reach us with any information here,” Dorian pointed out. “So what good is he back at the Palace?”

Cullen looked at Asta. “He has a point, Inquisitor. Thoughts?”

“I’ll think about it,” Asta replied irritably. “But for now, we need to try to map a little of the Crossroads. A full day of scouting would be good, so that we know what to expect. So we aren’t going to go back and fetch him right away.” She looked Dorian full in the face. “Thank you for being honest with me, Dorian.”

Dorian preened a little less than he might have normally. “Yes, well, I can hardly allow you to be killed by your own hand, or the Qun, for that matter,” he muttered, still slightly angrily. “However determined you are.”

“I’m not intending to die,” but Asta‘s face drained of color.

“A recent decision, Inquisitor?” He asked, forehead wrinkled in the way he despised most of all.

“Not exactly,” Asta muttered. “I just knew…” she sighed, exasperated. “How many of you think that I’m willing to let myself die?”

Cullen refused to raise his hand, clenching it into a fist instead, but Dorian tossed his hand into the air, as if defying authority. Sera rolled her eyes and Cole started murmuring in a disturbed tone. “She’s thought about it for so long, a long winding path to prove her point, to be remembered, to be seen. But there are other ways, paths that revealed themselves.” He stopped suddenly and announced, “No.”

“Anyone else?” Asta raised an eyebrow. Everyone was silent and still, and the mists of the Crossroads drifted between them, obscuring her vision. “Good. Dorian, it’s true that in my younger days… I saw that as an alternative. My upbringing was irrational about such things. You more than anyone should understand that I was - am - a product of that upbringing. Also, with my life being restricted by the Chantry, there was always a good possibility that I would end up… disposed with, as an inconvenient liability. The Chantry is not kind to Sisters that do not conform.” She took a deep breath. “In the best cases, they are excommunicated. But that has already happened to me, and they still keep reeling me back in. So…”

“So this is the logical next step?” Dorian hissed at her. “Forgive me for being rude, Inquisitor, but I would carry you over the Hissing Wastes myself all the way to Tevinter rather than let that happen.”

Asta smiled suddenly, her heart lighter. “Really?”

“Well, I’d have Cullen or Bull do it. Not like they would be left behind, after all,” Dorian stared at his fingernails without seeing them. “You weigh a lot. Hardly the best use for my mostly decorative muscles. And surely you could walk at least part of the way yourself.”

Asta lunged forward and hugged the mage desperately. “Thank you.”

“Stop,” Dorian met Cullen’s eyes, frantically, but Cullen smirked and shook his head, refusing to rescue him. “Not… not in public, at least, Inquisitor. People will talk. They’ve only just stopped talking, thanks to Bull.” He rambled on, and slowly reached up and embraced her in return. “I won’t let you die, Asta. You should have realized that,” he chastised.

“This isn’t public, Dorian. I doubt there’s another person for miles. I adore you.” Asta hugged him tighter.

“You should have realized that of all of us, Inquisitor,” Cassandra criticized.

“You may not have a choice,” Asta backed off from Dorian, still holding his shoulders, but meeting Cassandra’s eyes over them. “But I tell you this, Cassandra. I’m not going gently, if I go. So you can fight and kill whatever the fuck is trying to take me. Solas, or the fucking Qun, or whatever. Is that clear?”

Cassandra nodded and Asta smiled, triumphantly. “All right then, any one else have any troubles they need to get off their fucking chest before we explore this Maker-forsaken place?”

Blackwall scratched the side of his nose. “Can’t think of anything myself.”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Cassandra answered firmly. “Lead on… Sera,” she said awkwardly.

Cole giggled randomly and everyone turned to face him warily. “It’s a secret,” he said. “Sorry.”

Cullen shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “For the Maker’s sake, Solas could start casting any minute,” he stressed. “Can we get a move on? We‘ve gone all of 200 yards.”

Asta rubbed his back, feeling the tension. “Cullen, I don’t think distances work the same way here. But mark our path carefully, Dorian. Vivienne, if we run into trouble…”

“I’m on shields,” sneered the mage. “Of course. What other use would I be?”

“Viv,” Asta argued, “It’s just temporary.”

“I could do the map!” Cole volunteered. “I’ve been practicing reading. I like the symbols. They say things,” he informed her seriously, “things they don’t always look like. Did you know?!”

“Okay,” Asta sighed. “Dorian, hand Cole the map. Dorian, shields, unless we manage to actually find some Qun back here. Then you can necromance until your shriveled little heart is content.”

“Thanks,” Dorian smiled. “I do so love bringing dead things back to life. It’s so… rejuvenating.”

Cullen groaned. “Can we please move out?”

Cassandra and Blackwall flanked both sides of Asta, and Cullen faced forward, in front of Sera, suddenly the second most valuable person in the group. “Are we prepared?” Asta asked rhetorically.

“Are we ever?” Cassandra drawled.

“We were for Corypheus,” Asta pointed out.

“Then let’s go through… that one,” Sera pointed randomly at the mirror that was the second closest to them. “It looks like a good one,” she shrugged, and started walking.

 


	128. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter of the day!

The area on the other side of the second mirror was completely different, and they were all taken back. “And… that’s Val Royeaux,” Sera pointed at a distant city, its towers nearly obscured by rolling hills and plains. They were surrounded by a massive lake, and the mirror was on a little pier, isolated from the others by a broken bridge. “From the land, I’d say we were northeast of Val Royeaux,” she announced.  "Spent a night hung over in a barn, after I played a nasty trick on a blighter up this way."

“But this isn’t the Crossroads,” Cullen said, confused.

“No, this is one destination you can reach through the Crossroads,” Asta informed him. “We’re back in Orlais, Cullen.”  They all stared around.  "Though why anyone would want to reach this place, of all the possible destinations... it's not even remote."

“Assuming we ever left,” Dorian added thoughtfully. “The implications of where the Crossroads are actually located is up for some debate. Someone should study it thoroughly.”

“We’re going to have to get a building team in here,” Cullen observed the broken bridge critically.

“Somehow I doubt it,” Asta smirked. “Sera… do the honors?”

The girl snarled, but obediently brushed the pedestal off to the left, and stone rose to meet them.

“You were saying?” Asta smiled at her husband.

Cullen shrugged, “That’s a relief? Stone bridges can take years, depending on the length. The Judicael Crossing took over a year and more than…”

“Spare us the details,” Cassandra butted in. “Inquisitor?”

Asta stepped gingerly onto the narrow bridge. “One of these days, I really need to learn to swim,” she muttered, overly pale at the drop to the water. “Sera, can you swim?”

“As if,” the elf muttered, still bitter at her continued usefulness. “Where would I have learned?”

“I can swim,” Cullen grinned at her cheerfully. “I learned in Honnleath, and swam at the Tower, on occasion.”

“There you go, Asta,” Dorian laughed lightly. “Problem solved. He’s your sword, your shield and your lifeguard.”

“Is it the heights?” Cullen was concerned. “You’ve never seemed scared of heights before - even the hole in the dungeon at Skyhold…”

“No,” Cassandra brutally pointed out. “She is scared of falling into water. And only that.” The Seeker’s glare burned Asta and she winced. “It is ridiculous. She will walk right up to the edge of a cliff and peer off the edge…”

“Only water?” Cullen peered over the edge. “Asta - it’s only a five foot drop. That wouldn’t kill you.”

“Until I drowned,” Asta muttered. “Seriously, Cullen, just… drop it?”

“I’m going to teach you to swim,” he announced generously. “As soon as you have some time.”

“So… never then,” snickered Sera. “Lady Bits is always busy.”

“It’s an important life skill!” Cullen insisted. “How do you travel in small boats without knowing how to swim?”

“I don’t, much,” Asta paled further, and finally reached the far edge. “Andraste’s Ass, Cullen, please…”

“What about crossing deep creeks?”

“She goes around,” Cassandra criticized. “Miles around, if necessary, to find a place that is only knee deep.”

Cullen frowned, “Asta, is this true? How much time have you wasted in the field because you can’t…”

Asta was bright red and embarrassed. “Remember the Druffalo pond?”

“On Master Dennet’s farm?” Cullen raised his eyebrows. “Oh. So this fear dates from…”

“Maybe,” Asta muttered. “Can we drop it now? Sera? Anyone see any signs of where we should go next?”

“’Nother one of those pedestal thingies,” Sera mentioned and swiped her palm over it again.

“Ah!” Cassandra jumped for the center as the bridge she was standing on started to fall away. “Sera! Watch before you do that?”

Sera cackled. “Didn’t know you could still move that fast, Seeker! Thought your reflexes were slowing down.” Cassandra glared at her.

“Would you all quit bickering?” Asta ordered hopelessly. “Now, someone tell me - besides making our last bridge disappear - what did that do?”

“Bet it will reappear when we want it,” Sera touched the pedestal lightly. “Yep…” and she watched the rocks reform, fascinated. “That’s kind of amazing, too,” she announced. “Not as brilliant as the spit trick, and still creepy, but… you want to keep watching. Little winds pushing up the rocks.” She paled. “Bet those are demons,” she muttered. “Not so neat, Quizzy. Can we get out of here?”

“Figure out how to get us off of here, and I would be happy to move on,” Asta instructed her dryly.

“Fine,” Sera slung her bow over her shoulder. “Cully-Wully, give me a boost.” Cullen looked confused. “Bull’s not here. I need someone to toss me to the other side,” she explained. “Has to be me, ‘cause Varric’s not around, and he’s denser. So… hoist me up and throw me. You’re the strongest and tallest.”

“Sera, Cullen is _not_ going to throw…” Cullen just shrugged and picked up the small elf easily. “Cullen!” Asta hid her hands. “I can’t look.”

“It’s only a few feet,” Cullen eyed. “Sure you can make it, Sera?”

Sera blew a raspberry, “’Course I can. I’ve jumped farther than this when I see a spider.” She braced herself. “Shoot.”

Cullen tossed her, and Sera landed, poised elegantly on the next stone slab. “She’s fine, Asta,” Cullen told her, and Asta eased her hands away from her eyes.

“Good.” Asta shuddered. “If she had fallen…”

“I would have gone in after her,” Cullen smiled.

“And you would have sunk,” Cassandra criticized. “You’re wearing armor, Commander. Or did you forget? Surely you are not such a strong swimmer that you can manage to do it in full armor?”

“I…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, yes, but… I would still have gone in,” he insisted.

“My hero,” Asta said sarcastically. “So good to know that we will die together by drowning at an unknown lake in Orlais.”

“It’s all good!” Sera called over. The next bridge was slotting itself into place neatly. “Come on across!”

“Cover your eyes,” Cullen whispered to Asta. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

“What if you fall?” Asta looked up at him, scared.

“He won’t fall,” Vivienne stated, striding forward. “Such a fuss over nothing.”

Asta safely over the crossing, the group spread out. “Found a chest!” Thom called from the other side of the small tower. “But it’s… guarded,” he eyed it cautiously. “I don’t think we should touch that purple shit.”

“Good call,” Asta said. “I think… we leave it,” she announced. “Whoever or whatever put that here, I don’t think we should touch it.”

“What?” whined Sera. “There won’t be any goodies?”

“No loot, at least for now,” Asta corrected herself. “If we need it later… we know where it is. But I don’t recognize that trap, and it feels like…”

“Magic,” Vivienne confirmed. “I think even a barrier wouldn’t hold up to that piece of nastiness.”

“Keep looking,” Asta ordered. “We need to keep moving.” They surveyed the area, searching for nooks and crannies that might hold secrets without any success for some time. The sun was already getting much higher in the sky, and the heat was increasing with the humidity steaming off the lake. “Did anyone think to bring water?” Asta asked, suddenly alarmed.

The companions all looked at each other, embarrassed.

“Well, aren’t we professional,” Asta muttered to herself. “Okay. We obviously aren’t going to make much more progress without water, so Cole - map out where we’ve gone and where the pedestals are. We’ll go back to the Palace, have a drink and some lunch, talk to Bull about pulling himself away, get more supplies, and come back out as soon as possible.” She straightened. “Honestly, you’d think you were all rookies,” she ranted. “We had no idea what to expect. What if the Eluvians only worked one way? What if…”

“It has been a few months since we were out, Inquisitor,” Thom pointed out.  "And you didn't bring any either.  Was it because you were preoccupied?"

“And you’ve gone soft in that time?” Asta teased right back, and then sighed. “It’s going to be hot.” She wiped her face down with her sleeve. “Have you got it, Cole?” She looked at the map. “Cole… this is…” he had marked all the pedestals, even the ones they couldn’t reach yet. “This is great!” She looked at him, surprised.

“I helped,” he grinned. “They told me where they were. I just had to mark them down.” He had put little arrows on each one.

“What are the arrows for? We haven’t had Sera try…” Asta frowned.

“Oh, they told me,” Cole assured her. “They know which bridge they control. And that one…” he smiled big. “There’s another mirror behind a wall.”

“What would we do without you, Cole?” Asta beamed at him.

Cole looked confused, “But you do have me. You’ll never know.”

Asta waved the rest back over. “Commander, take a sample of the lake water, so that Viv can test it, see if it’s potable. If it is, we may not have to go all the way back to the Palace to refill. That could be useful, in an emergency.” She stared at the lake. “And maybe we should think about establishing some supply caches in here. Potions, food and water.” She sighed and lifted her ponytail off of her neck. “This is looking more and more like a full-scale military operation, Commander. We need scouts, at the very least. This is just the first mirror. How many dead ends will we find? When I was in the Crossroads with Morrigan, some of the mirrors were dead and blocked. How many of those will we find?” The enormity of the task overwhelmed her.

“All we can do is try…” Cullen sighed. “The consequences if we fail…”

“But this day has been almost a total waste…” Asta fumed.

“Due to lack of preparation,” he corrected her. “Knowing what we know now, I would say we can do better tomorrow.”

“And if tomorrow I’m incapacitated?”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Cassandra intruded. “We’ll handle this maze like we handled the Deep Roads, one corridor at a time.”

“We should split up…” Asta muttered. “Bring in another elf. If only Briala…” she sighed. “We need a guide.”

“That isn’t an option,” Cullen reminded her. “Briala told you up front that she wouldn’t. The only way to do this is trial and error. Inefficient or not. And Cole helps, with his… talking to the switches.”

“We’re going to have to camp back here,” Asta observed. “We won’t be able to make it back to the Winter Palace every night.” Sera and Dorian both groaned. “Unless you can change the mirrors somehow to make them take us to the Palace instead of onward, Sera, we have no other option.”

“Fine,” Sera muttered. “Let me just twiddle my fingers in the air and blow that out my arse.”

“So we go back,” Cullen stood up straighter at the announcement. “We’ll take an hour to eat and clean up. After that, we will reconvene, and split tasks. We can’t expect Orlais or the Chantry to provide our supplies, so I need volunteers to shop and gather together our camping gear. Josie, Cullen, Bull and I will work on a list over lunch, so please, if you have anything that you would specifically like included - within reason, Sera-”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” muttered the elf.

“Sure you weren’t,” Dorian sniggered.

“-then speak to one of us.” Asta finished. “Be thorough. I want to make sure we don’t have to make too many trips back. This threat is real, and I don’t have time to faff about like we did in the Deep Roads.”

“You were hardly faffing about, Inquisitor,” Cassandra frowned. “It was an important job. And you had a guide there.”

“Exactly,” Asta faced her seriously. “But I don’t have months and months. The mark will kill me before then, Cass. So we have to find our way sooner rather than later.” She looked up. “Back across the bridge and to the Crossroads. Hopefully it’s held shape, so that we don’t have to guess which mirror we came through.”

“We need a way to mark them,” mused Cullen. “Paint?”

Asta looked at him with horror. “You would deface Elvhen antiques?”

“I’m hardly talking about graffiti, Asta,” Cullen defended. “A small dot wouldn’t…”

“I’ll leave a magical mark on them,” Dorian cut in. “Then we will know, even if they move.”

“An excellent idea,” Asta complimented. “Now. Back.”

 


	129. The Ham of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW at the very beginning. Not explicit.

Cassandra stepped through the final Eluvian and didn’t bother to stop and wait for the rest to catch up, marching down the stairs and towards the side door that was the easiest access to the room she had been given. She wasn’t sure whether to be furious at Asta for being so willing to sacrifice herself for what she believed, or to respect her for the same thing. Her mind was cloudy, and she needed to get her practice sword and find a training dummy immediately to shred into tiny bits. There had been a serious lack of hitting anything with a sword that day.

Perhaps then, it would all make sense. How the Inquisitor could even contemplate… and then she stopped in her tracks, her eyes focused on the flags flying from the gate. Her single-mindedness had almost made her miss it.

Kirkwall’s banner had been added to the Winter Palace. The Viscount was in residence…

“Varric,” she breathed, her heart leaping into her throat and warring with her shaken confidence about Asta’s behavior. She crossed towards the courtyard to get a better view, but no… it was definitely Kirkwall’s coat of arms. She immediately spun, trying to get a better idea of where in the Palace he might have been assigned rooms. His would be better than hers, she had no doubt. She was merely seventy-something in line for the throne of Nevarra - someone or other had had another baby she was sure, dropping her further down the line of succession. Whereas Varric ruled an entire City State. So where… She grabbed a passing servant, trying to do it gently and not really succeeding. “Tell me, do you know where I can find the Viscount of Kirkwall?”

“I couldn’t say, milady,” the servant curtseyed. “I did hear him say that he would be staying with his betrothed, but…”

“That is impossible,” Cassandra cut her off. “I am his… he would get a better room.”

“I’m not of the household, milady, I take care of the grounds,” the servant was timid now, and Cassandra attempted to appear less intimidating and failed. “But if that is the case, I would check the rooms you were given. Perhaps…”

Cassandra was already moving, shooting a “Thank you,” over her shoulder, heading back towards the door that had been her primary focus in the first place, and cursing the delay the flag had caused. He wouldn’t be there, she knew, but perhaps…

She swung the door open so that it hit the wall, to reveal Varric reclining on her bed, notebook in hand and the reading glasses he didn’t like to use perched on his nose. “Varric,” she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come?” Varric took off the glasses and smiled his shit-eating grin. “Did you forget so quickly?” Cassandra marched over to the bed and climbed over him, and he tossed the notebook aside. “Hi, Cass.”

“I…” Cassandra dove in and pressed her mouth to his, and then pulled away before he could respond. “Hello. I suppose.” She eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m pretty sure we can do better than that,” Varric joked. “You suppose?”

“But what are you doing _here_? You’re the Viscount! You should at least be in the Guest Quarters with Asta and the Commander!”

“And you’re a Nevarran princess and a Seeker,” Varric countered, “and yet they have you down here next to the Garden Maze.”

“I asked for this room,” Cassandra argued. “It’s close to the training dummies.” She sat back on her heels, slightly over his legs, frowning. “You know I hate ceremony.  Such traditions are ridiculous.”

“And I asked to be shown to where I’d find you the soonest,” Varric grinned again, and sat up further, drawn to be closer to her. “Andraste’s Ass, Cass, I didn’t want to be up in a tower or something. I wanted to see you, not compete with Asta for who has the fanciest chamber pot.”

“Well…” Cassandra’s tight lips bent into a sultry bow. “You’re here.”

“You bet your ass,” Varric replied. “Now, do I get more than a closed-mouth kiss and a half-hearted ‘Hello’?”

“Where is Bran?” Cassandra asked suspiciously, standing up.

“Probably in the rooms the Chatelaine wanted to give to me. Better to avoid possible Qun assassins anyway. No one would look for me here unless they‘re talking to the servants. And don‘t worry, Seeker‘s under the bed, where I can reach her easy.”

“Is he going to barge in here and start telling you what to do?” Cassandra was unbuckling her armor with military swiftness.

“Not if I lock the door,” and Varric swung himself off the bed and flipped the lock and jammed the bar in place. “Now, care to tell me why I did that?” He teased.

“Because,” Cassandra was out of her armor and pulling her shirt over her head. “I missed you. And if you can guarantee that Bran will not be intruding… we are going to have a moment.”

“A moment,” Varric sighed, and enjoyed the view, as she turned and faced him, topless, but still wearing the leather pants he loved. “I like this idea,” he admitted. “I missed you, too.”

“Obviously,” and Cassandra eyed the bulge in his pants. “One closed-mouth kiss and a little show and you’re…”

Varric crossed towards her, and cupped her still-clad ass with his hands. “I’ll say. With you, it doesn’t take much.” The knock at the door they were both expecting came at that moment. “Come back later, Bran! I have her half-naked and at my mercy!” He yelled.

Cassandra giggled, actually giggled, and Varric kissed the side of her breast.

“Umm… Cassandra?” Cullen’s voice came through the door. “I hate to interrupt… especially since I know it’s been a long time for both of you, but…”

Asta’s voice piped through the door, “Oh, sure, we hate to interrupt! Do you realize how many times Cullen and I have been interrupted just when we were starting something?! It’s about time that somebody else got the same treatment!”

Cullen’s voice grew louder, trying to drown her out, “As I was saying…Varric, we’re calling a War Council about the Eluvians to go over what we’ve learned and…”

“And I hope Varric’s treating you right!” Asta yelled even louder. “You’ve both waited long enough. So don’t show up to the meeting at all! Stay, and have great reunion sex instead.” Cassandra bent her head to Varric’s shoulder and made a disgusted noise, while Varric shoved his face into her chest and collapsed into silent laughter. A muffled argument came through the door. “Come on, Cullen, how many times do we wish we could have blown off a meeting and just gone for it? I‘m giving them a gift, here!”

“For the Maker’s Sake, Asta,” Cullen hissed, all too loudly. “Let them have their privacy, if nothing else!”

“Oh, please,” Asta snorted a laugh, “Varric will tell us all exactly what happened tomorrow anyway. Probably in greater detail than we would ever request.”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Asta!” Varric yelled back. “Well, except when I have to explain what happened to the bathroom floor. Or to embarrass Bran. Then I do, in explicit detail.” Cassandra backed to the bed, and unlaced her pants, stripping them off and leaving them on the floor, glaring at Varric for being too verbose. “Damn it, Asta, she’s getting ahead of me! I have to catch up.” Varric started unclasping his vest frantically, reluctant to tear his eyes away from her legs. “Just… go away! I’ll talk to you later, or in the morning… or just… sometime…” he ran out of words as Cassandra tilted her head sideways and lifted a finger to beckon him over from her place by the pillows. “Fuck. I…” his voice trailed off and he made his way to the bed, hearing distant cheering as Cullen drug his wife away from the door.

Needless to say, they didn’t make it to the War Council.  For once, Cassandra didn't even care.

***

The War Council was subdued and depressing, Asta picking at the simple food that Briala had provided in the still too dim light, despite the extra candles Josie had brought in.

“So he didn’t leave any indication as to how to find him?”

“No,” Asta was curt to her Ambassador. “Dorian was right, it’s a wild goose chase, hunting like this for him. The network could be endless.” She pulled apart her sandwich and tried to eat the ham in the middle. It tasted of despair, and she choked on it. “Maker’s breath, I’m beginning to hate ham,” she coughed and took a piece of fruit instead. “What does the chicken taste like? Futility?”

“Actually, I think it’s confidence,” Josie hid her mouth behind her hand as she chewed thoughtfully. “Something like that. A positive association, in any case.”

“Maybe when we get closer?” Cullen tried to comfort her by handing her his untouched sandwich instead. “We have to try.” Asta opened it. “It’s only tomato, Inquisitor, with some fancy cheese and spices. I knew better than to try the ham.” He tilted a small smile at her and took a different sandwich. “Apparently, even a Fereldan dog can learn new tricks in Orlais.”

Asta‘s face lit up at his words. “Cullen…” Asta thought quickly, “Is there any way Dane would be able to pick up his scent?”

Cullen shook his head. “Dane is intelligent, very intelligent, but he’s never met Solas. And we don’t have anything that belonged to him for him to smell…”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to smell Solas,” Bull grunted all at once. “Could he track the smell of Qunari after smelling me? If we find them first, then maybe Solas will show. Cole kept talking about him laying a trap, drawing you in, after all.”

Asta swung her eyes from Bull to Cullen. “Commander?”

“It’s… possible,” Cullen concluded. “If we can make him understand what we want. It should be obvious, if he doesn’t understand. He’ll just turn right around and find Bull.”

“And cover him with kisses, and demand some of those expensive Orlesian dog treats as a reward.” Asta teased, already feeling better. She thought quickly, “We do have something that belonged to Solas. What about magic?”

“What about it?” Cullen asked cautiously.

“Could he track someone’s magic?”

“The mark…” Josephine gasped, grasping her inference. “But do we know for sure it belonged to Sol… er, Fen‘Harel?”

“It’s linked to him, in any case,” Asta shrugged.

“I haven’t done anything like that with him,” Cullen said. “I don’t know… I wouldn‘t even know how to start.” He swallowed, recognizing how important it could be, “We could try.”

“We’ll wait to try until the mark expands again,” Asta decided. “That way, the connection will be strongest.”

“I wouldn’t want to put Dane up against the Dread Wolf,” Cullen said seriously. “That’s too much, and he‘s still just a puppy, really.”

“You let him fight a dragon,” Asta deadpanned.  "What's a wolf compared to a dragon?"

“A dragon isn’t an elven god,” Cullen argued.

“Usually,” Asta quirked her mouth at him. “We’ve met at least one that claimed to be a god that wasn‘t Elvhen. And what are the Archdemons, after all?”

“I wouldn’t let him fight an Archdemon either,” Cullen leaned forward heavily onto the table. “You may have an exaggerated idea about what a Mabari is capable of, my Marcher. Even Templars, to my knowledge, never used Mabaris to track magic. Apostates, yes. But not by their magic, by their scent.”

“The Hero’s Mabari fought the Archdemon. And Templars had phylacteries. Solas is an apostate - how did they get a scent for the dogs to follow? Dane found me, tracked me through the Deep Roads...”  Asta's stream of consciousness musing trailed to an end.

“I had your shirt.“ Cullen turned red and stared at the table. “Asta, please remember that we aren’t fighting a Blight. We’re hunting a terrorist faction…”

“And an Elvhen god,” Asta sassed. “We need every tool we can find.” She pushed herself off the table. “We will make the attempt. We’ll have lost nothing if he can’t, Cullen.”

“Very well,” Cullen resigned himself. “Just don’t be disappointed if he fails.”

“I could never be disappointed in Dane,” Asta assured him. “I owe him my life. And we‘ll keep him safe.” She looked at her brief notes and moved on. “We should discuss the supplies we need to purchase.  I have several notes here for specific materials and foodstuffs, some of which are more practical than others.”  And the meeting moved on, slightly more hopefully.

***

Dorian and Vivienne had volunteered to shop, and the man stared at the list in disdain. “Honestly, I can’t believe they rejected my ideas,” Dorian huffed.

“We need simple staples, Dorian,” Vivienne stalked through Halamshiral’s Upper Market like she owned it, peering into windows. “Things that will last. Strawberries will rot, unless they are dried. Sparkling wine is disgusting unless it is chilled.”

“I would have thought you’d be on my side,” Dorian grumped. “I know you like your little luxuries as much as I do.”

“Of course I like them, darling,” Vivienne purred, “But I can do without them. I was born outside Wycome - hardly to an illustrious family. And I lived a significant portion of my life without them.” She eyed the other mage. “Unlike you, I suspect.”

“Yes, well, we can’t all be peasants risen above their station,” Dorian groused. "So I was fortunate enough to have enough, at least until I came here, to this Maker-forsaken hole that doesn't even have magical ice buckets to keep wine chilled."

Vivienne’s laugh tinkled through the markets. “Oh, my dear. That is the difference between us. You were born with the proverbial silver spoon, I had to hunt for mine.” She had a pleased smile as she negotiated aggressively with the human merchants, and arranged for the wares to be delivered to the Winter Palace by that afternoon. “Besides, I would say Bull is keeping you very comfortably, is he not?” She tossed an arch look over her shoulder.

“Not for long,” Dorian sighed. “Such things inevitably come to an end. I‘ll leave for Tevinter and it will all come to a screeching halt.”

“Sweetheart,” Vivienne turned back to him, her skirts flaring out dramatically. “Everything comes to an end. Either with death, as did I and my Bastien,” she paused for a moment, whether to collect herself or for effect, no one would ever know, “Or otherwise. But I wouldn’t give up on Bull so easily. Make your own opportunities. Do you think it was easy to get dispensation to travel outside of the Circle? Even in Montsimmard, where the Knight-Commander’s own child was an apostate mage, I had to fight to make it work. Meeting Bastien was just the beginning, my dear. It was after that that the fun started.” She smiled mysteriously. “You can’t convince me that it would be any harder for a Magister and a Qunari mercenary to carry on openly than it was for a member of the Council of Heralds and a Circle Mage.”

“You… make a good point,” Dorian seemed surprised. “And it’s not like I am going back to Tevinter intending to please people. I‘m going back to argue for reform and crack their heads together until they see sense, as Bull says.” He smiled at the thought.

“Exactly, my dear,” Vivienne leaned toward him craftily. “With that in mind, there’s nothing to stand in your way. Build your bridges, break down the walls, but find a way to stay together. Nothing is impossible for people like us, Dorian.  Quit limiting yourself.” And she swanned away to the next shop without another word.

 


	130. Scars Without Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm never sure if a discussion of blood magic deserves a trigger for self-harm, but I'm throwing it out there, just in case.
> 
> Other triggers: PTSD and the death of children
> 
> I am sorry for the angst that is this chapter. Hopefully I'll have a slightly happier one up this afternoon.

Asta woke to the light of Cullen’s single candle and the sound of retching. “Cullen? What’s wrong? A nightmare?”

“It’s nothing,” Cullen was doubled over at the side of the bed, kneeling on the cold tiled floor. “I’ll be fine.”  He was pale, even in the golden light of the candle.

“Cullen,” she chastised, and sat up, rubbing her face free of the traces of sleep. “You haven’t had a bad one for a while. What can I…”

“No.” Cullen stared at the wall over the pot he had pulled out. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.” He sighed, and then as if the movement had set him off he retched again.

“As if I could sleep, love,” Asta swung her feet to the floor, grabbing a blanket and draping it over his shoulders, brushing her hand over his face. “You’re burning up.” She frowned in worry. “Can I get you some water?”

Cullen leaned into her a little, “Your hand feels so cold.” Asta pulled her fingers through his hair, straightening it, if ever so slightly. “Don’t worry. It won’t be the first time I serve while I’m not at my best.”

“Did something set this off?” She asked gently.

“I… don’t know. Maybe.” Cullen shook hard with chills. “We were talking about hunting mages yesterday. And I dreamed about the Wounded Coast, and caves filled with the glowing eyes of the children who were kidnapped by the blood mages that I was looking for, under the pretense of escaping from the circle, from the horrors that they had been subjected to there. But they were all dead, Asta,” his hands clenched the edges of the pot until the knuckles turned white. “They were already dead. I was too late. Like I always am.”

“I see,” Asta touched him his shoulder and squatted down next to him. “Anything else?”

“They all came after me.” Cullen stared blankly at the opposite wall, reliving the nightmare. “Calling my name from their dead mouths. Begging me to save them. And I… I drew my sword and…”

“Shhh,” Asta folded her legs under her and drew his head towards her chest. “I think I get the gist of it. Did that happen?”

“Not like that,” Cullen came back to himself slightly. “It wasn’t like that at all, actually. And I hate worrying you like this. You should go back to sleep.”

“I have my nightmares, too,” Asta reminded him. “Almost every night when I’m not at Skyhold. You never fault me for needing to be held.”

“But you don’t deserve them,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “I deserve to be haunted this…”

“Whoa,” Asta sat back and covered his hands with her own. “That is not true. You are not being punished.”

“How can you be so sure? The Maker…”

Asta snorted, “If you believe the Chant, and I know you do, the Maker turned his eyes away long ago. He’s hardly paying attention, Cullen. Besides, even the Chant says that repentance…”

Cullen relaxed visibly, even while he continued to shake. “I do repent,” he said. “I’ve…”

“So if the Maker is watching, he knows,” Asta sighed. “Don’t make me quote the Chant, love. You really don’t want to hear me sing. Even if I do know all the words in three languages.” Cullen managed a little half-laugh. “Come back to bed?”

“All right,” Cullen agreed, slightly better. “Will you…” he looked at the pot still in his hands. “Will you hold me? It… makes it easier to remember it wasn’t real.  That it wasn't like that.”

“Of course,” and Asta took the pot from his shaking hands and placed it on the side table where he could reach it. “I’ll light a couple more candles.”

Cullen laid back down, and Asta found and lit the tapers swiftly, and climbed in next to him, curling towards him, and he slipped down so that he rested his head on her shoulder as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “I think…” Cullen laughed self-consciously. “I think I would like to hear you say the Chant, even if you don’t believe it, or sing. Lots of people just say the words, you know.”

“Oh, love, I’ve been using the excuse that I don’t sing for far too long to stop now,” Asta teased and stopped at the pleading look in his eyes. “Fine. For you, I’ll say the Chant. Only for you. What should I say?” She sighed, resigned.

“Whatever you like?” Cullen closed his eyes. “Just let me hear your voice?”

“Fine,” Asta huffed and started to speak, soft but clearly. “’In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know that your light remains. I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of your voice calling creation to wake from its slumber.’” She stopped. “You know, I much prefer the Tevene version there, where they say ‘silence’ instead of ‘stillness’ and ‘melody’ instead of ‘song’. I think they cheapened it in the Common translation in favor of alliteration.”

Cullen stifled a laugh, feeling better yet. “Go on?”

Asta sighed, and continued. “All right, but I’m skipping a bit. I never liked the verse about how we can’t know the Maker. ‘You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me.’” She stopped again. “There are a lot of paths in the Chant. Have you noticed?”

“Like the Crossroads, or the Deep Roads,“ Cullen was getting sleepy again, the horror of the dream fading. “Keep going?”

Asta flipped to her back. “‘I have faced armies with you as my shield. And though I bear scars without counting, nothing can break me except for your absence.’” She smiled, noticing that her husband’s breath had evened out, and continued, more quietly. “’When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me, and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of all creation.’” Her eyes grew wide. “Damn it, Cullen, I think Andraste was a blood mage.”

He didn’t answer, long since lost to the Fade. But Asta, for several hours, laid awake and thought about the Chant instead of sleeping. Surely she was wrong, but in all her mental searching of the Chant, canonical and otherwise, she found nothing to refute her assertion, and much to support it. In the early dawn, she rose impatiently and started to write, citing and quoting and wishing for Skyhold’s vast library to refer to. She needed Genetivi, and Petrice, who while largely refuted would make a good counterargument, and to write a letter to Sister Dorcas… by the time Cullen rose and prepared for the day she had 20 pages of notes and references to check.

“Love, may I ask what you are doing?” Cullen looked askance at all the paper strewn about her and his worn copy of the Chant open to Andraste.

“Research.” Asta flipped madly through the pages. “You were asleep, so I didn’t disturb you. But this… Cullen…” she hesitated and looked at him seriously. “Cullen, I have a bizarre theory. Even worse than usual. Do you want to hear it, or would you rather stay ignorant so that when the Chantry hauls me off again you can plead ignorance?”

“Tell me,” Cullen crossed his arms. “I’m assuming this is worse than Shartan being Andraste’s lover?”

“Cullen, I have tons of evidence for this. But it’s… serious.” She searched his face. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Tell me,” Cullen repeated, and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m even sitting down.” His eyes were tired, but he seemed well enough, as Asta searched his face for signs of illness.

“I think Andraste was a blood mage,” Asta told him bluntly. “The blood in her mouth in Trials, the section in Andraste where she describes letting, possibly making herself bleed. Even her return to ‘the Maker’ after Hessarian stabbed her on her pyre…”

“Holy Andraste,” Cullen paled. “Asta, that’s…”

“Heretical.” She looked at her paper. “I’ve been working for hours. It’s there, in almost every single canticle. She wasn’t too frail for children because she was an elf, though I still think she was, she was too frail for children because she was anemic from draining her own blood to fuel her magic. I’ve said before that I think she was a magister’s slave… but Cullen… what if she learned blood magic from them? It’s not unheard of - for a elven apprentice or slave to be taken by a magister, used for blood rites and in return taught the craft…” Asta’s eyes swung back to him, more than a little panicked. “What if he used her blood, with her permission or not, to open the way to the Golden City…”

Cullen tried to compose himself. “Asta, this is all supposition.”

“No! It’s not! There is a serious argument for this!” Asta continued. “Her blood was used, and she… repented. And somehow, ‘the Maker’ - who I suspect is not a god either…” she trailed off, shaken. “She speaks of him as her shield. All these ages, people have assumed she is speaking in metaphors. What if she wasn’t being symbolic? What if he was a real person? She talks about him accompanying her on paths with arrows… that was Shartan that followed her on that path. ‘Though pierced with a thousand arrows his heart was strong…’” She put her forehead down on the small table. “The Chantry tried to hide it with excisions and lies…” She choked. “Fuck, I can’t even curse about this.”

“Asta, how much sleep did you get last night?”

“A few hours.” Asta picked up her quill. “This is more important.”

“Did you forget about the Crossroads?” Cullen asked gently, “That we need to get ready and go through again? And that we need to test Dane‘s abilities today before we can go?”

Asta sat back, remembering her purpose. “Yes. I did.” She looked at the work she had done, scattered out in front of her. “I have to hide this. It’s not ciphered, and Briala... Maybe I should carry it with me…” She gathered it together. “That would probably be best…”

“Asta, can you…” Cullen swallowed. “I’m going to ask you to do something, and I don’t want you to get angry.”

“You want me to destroy it.” Asta firmed her mouth and faced him. “I asked you before, if you would hate me when I discovered the truth. I guess we’re here, then, aren’t we?”

“I just want you to destroy it for now,” Cullen confirmed. “Just until after the Divine’s trial… I don’t want…”

Asta’s face cleared, “It’s not because you don’t want me to tell the truth?”

“This truth, if that is what this is, scares me,” Cullen replied bluntly. “It’s the stuff of my nightmares, and flouts all Chantry tradition and legend.” He took a deep breath, “But Asta, if it is the truth, and you have evidence that it is, I have to admit… I’d rather everyone know. Just like the truth about lyrium.”

“Really?” Asta searched his face eagerly. “You don’t want me to stop looking?”

“I want you to tear the entire Chant apart and put it back together if that’s what finding the truth means,” Cullen confirmed. “But I want you to wait until after you are tried and acquitted. And then possibly publish under a pseudonym, assuming that you can find a publisher insane enough to print something like that.”

“After I’m tried and sentenced, you mean,” Asta’s mouth twisted. “All right. I’ll… burn it.” She stood, shaky and a little dizzy with lack of sleep, and walked over to the fireplace, and fed the paper into it slowly, watching the work of a long night disappear into the flames, page by page, giving the words their own pyre.

As if the pages had been a barrier, Cullen went to her side and held her as the last page turned to ash. “Thank you.”

“Least I could do, and it‘s still mostly in my head. Safe from everybody except Cole,” Asta murmured and leaned into his body. “What time is it, anyway?”

“We were supposed to meet everyone at least half an hour ago,” Cullen’s smile quirked sideways. “They’ll never believe that we weren’t having sex this time.”

“Let them assume we were,” Asta said into his chest. “It’s safer that way.” Together, they watched the ashes of her revelation float up the chimney, still tense and scared.

 


	131. Carrot beats Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day!
> 
> Implied terrorism

Dane curled his lip after smelling Bull‘s pants, and whined slightly. “Dane,” Cullen started, and then paused. “We don’t want you to find Bull.” The dog tipped his head sideways. “We’d like you to find other people that smell like Bull,” he explained. Dane barked once, and dropped his nose, and went to Dorian, quickly sitting down and waiting for praise. Asta choked, and Dorian narrowed his eyes, unamused. “Well, yes, technically, that’s true…” Cullen gave him a treat. “But is there anyone else that smells like Bull but isn‘t Bull?”

Dane dropped his nose to the ground and sniffed around and then started walking gently in a different direction, but not towards the mirror. Instead, he headed into the Garden Maze.

“Probably on the trail of a pet nug,” Dorian remarked disdainfully.

“No,” Cullen waved him silent. “He’d be chasing after it. This is something else. Follow him.” The three of them followed the dog through the maze slowly, until they reached a small pile of boxes and squat jars in a dead end. Dane sat down and barked proudly and with confidence.

“What the…” Bull had been following at a distance to avoid confusing the dog unnecessarily. “Shit, Boss. It’s a cache. Gaatlok, and vitaar.” He sorted through it quickly. “Give Dane a treat, Cullen. The Qun is here already.”

“Well done, Dane,” Asta praised, even while she paled, and Cullen fed the dog a whole handful of treats. “That’s definitive, then. Dane is brilliant.”

Cullen beamed. “He is, isn’t he?” He rubbed the dog’s ears.

“Let him smell the Gaatlok,” Bull ordered. “If they’re planning on blowing up the Winter Palace, there will be more of it around. We’ve got to find every single place they’ve planted it…”

“Wait,” Asta stopped him, “We need him in the Crossroads. This whole experiment was about whether…”

“Boss, they’ve infiltrated already. They’re planting explosives.” Bull stared her down. “We’ve got to get this under control, and Dane can search faster than any of us.”

“You have a point,” Asta sighed. “I guess we can explore the Crossroads on our own for another day. Will it take more than a day?”

“I’ll get started,” Bull stood up. “So I guess I won’t be joining you. I have to warn Briala, so that she can evacuate everybody and tell Celene. And Josie needs to tell the Nightingale to stay the fuck away from here. I’m guaranteeing that they were trying to take out the lot of you.”

“Inquisitor, Divine, Empress, Grand Clerics, Ambassadors…” Dorian's voice trailed off in horror.

“Chaos for everyone,” Bull grunted, quoting his lover. “And then they’ll step in and reorder everything the way they like it.”

“You have to leave,” Cullen put his hands on Asta’s shoulders. “You have to get out of here.”

“I can’t, Cullen,” Asta covered his hands with her own. “I have to stay with the Eluvian. I have to find Solas. And if they want everyone, they won’t strike until the Exalted Council starts. Even if Leliana comes early, Celene is still in Val Royeaux, and the other Council representatives, other than Varric, won’t arrive until much later.”

Cullen took a shuddery breath. “Then for once we lay the trap,” he announced, sounding more confident. “Bull, leave the cache intact, but have it watched. We tell Briala, who can either tell Celene or not, as she thinks is best. We will act like we don’t know, and catch them in the act. Dane, we need to find the rest of these,” he instructed, and the dog barked like a salute. “What I wouldn’t give for ten more just like you,” he grinned, undeniably proud. “But we have to keep a low profile. Bull, if you think anyone’s watching, quit looking. They can’t know that we know.”

“I’m going to need a fuck-ton of scouts,” Bull shook his head. “This is a lot of Gaatlok, and it doesn’t take much to make a big fucking boom, Cullen. If there is more of it…”

“Do we have enough places for all of them?” Asta worried. “It’s months until we were supposed to arrive in force. Will it look like we are trying to occupy Halamshiral?”

The four of them stared at each other, and Dorian spoke. “You need to talk to Briala, Amatus. Get her on our side. Maybe she can provide spies to watch the caches.”

“How are they getting this stuff in?” Asta stressed.

“It has to be the Eluvian,” Cullen frowned.

“It’s under guard…” Asta argued.

“Guards can be bought, or spelled,” Dorian lifted an eyebrow. “It’s a simple matter to put someone to sleep. You know that, Asta. Stop panicking and think.”

Bull nodded, “It wouldn’t be spells. Saarebas don’t have that level of control.” He met Dorian’s eyes apologetically. “But yeah, alchemy…”

“Then tell Briala she needs to have her guards guarded.” Asta ordered. “And we stay on alert when we’re in the Crossroads.” She shook slightly with the tension. “Every nation in Southern Thedas is sending a representative,” she breathed, and clenched her hands into fists. “This just got a whole lot worse. Just the Chantry is one thing…”

“Yeah,” Bull grunted, “This is looking a whole lot less like an independent group and more like a specialized force. They’re too organized, Boss.”

“So it is the entire Qun?” Asta raised her eyes to the spy, silently begging him to tell her the opposite, to not agree with her.

“You can’t take the risk that it isn’t, Boss.” Bull looked sad. “I’ll put Dane to work. Cullen, will he listen to my orders?” Dane barked indignantly and sat up straight, as if at attention. “Nevermind, Dane and I have this,” Bull grinned. “Let’s do some hunting, right, boy?” Dane barked once and started sniffing.

“We’d better get to the Eluvian,” Cullen watched the Qunari man and his dog wander off with purpose. “The others will be waiting.”

"And we're leaving Cole behind," Asta agreed, turning to go back.  "He may be able to pick up on any Qun infiltrators."  She leaned into her husband pensively.  "I didn't think this could get any worse."

"That will teach you," Dorian interjected.  "It can always get worse."

***

Solas strode back up to the top of the tower, and waved the Veilfire torches back to life with a movement, their eerie light penetrating the darkness of the night and blotting out the stars. He gave instructions to the Captain behind him. “I will be casting into the night,” he instructed. “Your reports on the Qunari involvement have disturbed me, and I have to investigate this further. I’m hoping to learn something in the Fade. I also need to continue with our primary focus. So I need you to wake me in approximately ten hours.”

“Of course, Fen’Harel, Ser,” the officer noted. “I will assign a guard, and wake you when it’s time.” She saluted, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Solas breathed in and out gently, staring out the window in the direction of Halamshiral. “I think, my friend, that you need a carrot,” he explained. “You seem to not move fast enough.” He glowed a little brighter briefly, and he drew his staff from his back. “What can I offer you?” He pulsed dully with blue light, and smiled, “A library, perhaps?” He faced the Eluvian that stood open behind him. “Time to direct your path, my friend.”

***

Asta woke screaming in the night, only an hour after she had fallen asleep and it was Cullen’s turn to try to offer comfort, and hold her through the pain. “Damn it, Solas,” Asta cursed between pulses of pain. “Couldn’t you give me a clue?” They had made very little progress again in the Crossroads, though at least it seemed to be holding shape for them. “How can I possibly find you without your help?!”

“At least he gave you a few days to rest,” Cullen held her too tight with one arm, trying to wipe her sweaty hair out of her eyes with his other hand. “A few nights of sleep.”

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra’s voice was on the other side of their door. “Are you all right?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Asta yelled, and Cullen walked to the door, to let the Seeker in, scowling at being cussed at.

“Commander,” Cassandra’s mouth was a single hard line. “It is the elf again?” She eyed Asta’s hand, spreading irregularly down the junction of her hand and wrist.

“Yes,” Cullen answered curtly. “Of course it is.”

Asta swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Wake everyone up, if they aren’t already,” she ordered. “We go through the Eluvian _now._ ”

Even Cassandra was taken aback by the order. “Now?”

Asta’s teeth clenched. “Did I stutter? We’ll sleep when this damn thing stops killing me. We’re going to find that… man… and tell him exactly what he can do with his spells and his plots and his puzzles…”

Cullen raised his eyebrows and nodded. “As you say, Inquisitor,” and started to throw on his armor. “Cassandra, will you wake the others?” The Seeker sighed, acquiesced and left the room.

The Crossroads at night were different, and the small group was on edge. laden down with camping gear and supplies. “I hate this,” Sera whimpered. “Creepy place even creepier in the dark. There are probably ghosts and… things.” It was spooky, with the gnarled trees casting jagged twisty shadows in the light of the nearly full moon. “And I can’t see those breezy demons in the dark,” she groused. “It’s better to know where the blighted things are.”

“Interesting,” Dorian observed, “The hours of daylight seem to apply here as well. Where are we? This implies somewhere far more physical than…” Sera growled at him and Dorian closed his mouth rather than anger the only one who could get them home.

“Through there,” Sera consulted the newly drawn map of their current area. “Map says a mirror behind another wall.” Asta nodded and made her way over cautiously. There was a sound of movement from behind a ragged wall and Cullen drew his sword.

“Inquisitor, Sera! Behind me!” He ordered. “Now!” Asta pulled her daggers and Sera nocked an arrow, while the other companions drew their weapons stealthily. “Who goes there?!” He challenged.

“It’s the Inquisition!” They heard, and they were attacked in the next second, a massive Qunari rogue warping out of stealth and Cullen blocking just in time to save Asta from going down to his knives. “Kill the Inquisitor!”

Asta dropped into stealth and crept out from behind Cullen, but then her hand flared up, giving away her position and making her collapse. “Protect!” Cullen yelled the order they had agreed upon in training, knocked back the rogue and stabbed him viciously in the throat. Haltingly and delayed by opponents, he made his way to her side, where she lay against a half wall, trying to remember to breathe through the pain, painting the wall behind her green with the afterglow of her hand. Rainier was already there in front of her, two bodies at his feet.

“I’ve got this, Commander,” Thom hollered. “Guard Sera! If we don’t have her, we’re stuck here!” Cullen hesitated, but pivoted and fought his way back towards Sera’s perch on top of the wall.

“Hello, Cully-Wully!” Sera smirked. “Here to save me from these arses?”

“Something like that,” Cullen grinned at her, more teeth than humor. “Thom has Asta safe. We should be,” and he interrupted his words to finish off a Reaver trying to launch themselves at the waify elf. “She should be fine,” he finished.

“I’m touched,” Sera cackled and rained down arrows on the entire battlefield. “Varric, did you see that? I hit at least four!”

“I’m up to eight confirmed kills!” Varric taunted. “Seeker is on fire today!”

“That is so corny,” Sera yelled back at him. “Why you got to name it after people, anyway?”

“She’s got to trust me to take care of her!”

“Well, that’s kind of sexist… not like the other Seeker needs anyone to take care of her!” Sera knelt and took her time, and then fired an arrow directly into another warrior’s throat, saving Thom from being flanked. “Say ‘Thank You!’” she yelled at him.

“I owe you an ale!” Thom replied instead, and for a while they were all fighting too hard to speak.

At last, the enemies were defeated, and Asta, recovering from her episode, stood shakily and made her way behind the wall. “Another Eluvian,” she sighed. “And…” she toed the crates and vessels. “More Gaatlok. Apparently we have our link. They are using the Crossroads.” She drug her hand over her face, exhausted. “Cullen? Thoughts?”

“We need Dane in here, as soon as Bull can spare him,” Cullen confirmed. “But until then, we should… follow their trail while it‘s fresh.” His brow creased deeply. “How many potions do we have? Was anyone injured?” No one said a word. “I think we should go through,” he opined. “If we wait, we risk losing them entirely.”

“Anyone else have an opinion or concern?” Asta waited.

“You should try using it,” Vivienne insisted. “Can’t you tell when it’s building up to a breaking point?”

“I suppose,” Asta muttered. “But it’s difficult to put yourself through pain on purpose, Vivienne. Better outcome or not.”

“It’s preferable to unpredictability,” stressed the mage. “You need to control it, not let it control you. And the power it offers - it could make the difference in the fights to come, Inquisitor. Think.”

Asta stared at her palm, nearly swallowed now with the Fade-green light. “I will try,” she said at last. “When I yell, pay attention and get the hell out of my way, all of you. I can’t guarantee I can control it. I don’t know if it will cast a barrier, or rip a hole in the Veil, or explode all of you into tiny pieces.” She raised her eyes, pleading to Cullen, as the most likely to be close to her. “So listen!” She dropped her hand. “Let’s go through, assuming you’ve all caught your breath.” She went to step through, and Cullen stopped her, a hand on her arm.

“Let me go through first,” he requested. “There’s a good chance…” Asta nodded and stepped aside. “Thank you.” He stepped over the frame, already on guard, and Asta was through almost before his leg had disappeared.

 


	132. Meeting Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not making a certain portion of this up. I swear. I can't have been the only one to have found this, but it's not in the Wiki or any walkthroughs that I've watched. I am sorry, but I didn't do it.

On the other side was a library, without a single enemy in sight, and Asta spun at the massive shelves disappearing into the distance from every angle, entranced, like some fairy tale princess in a ballroom.

“Maker’s Balls,” Even Thom came through and caught his breath. “I had no idea there were this many books in all of Thedas.”

“There obviously was once,” Asta breathed, giddy, and crossed to the nearest shelf eagerly. “They’re all on the Evanuris,” she breathed, picking up the next and the next, and opening them randomly. “Holy Andraste…” she smiled with pure elation. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.” She breathed deep, and the smell of the ancient leather and glue filled her lungs, and bliss covered her like a blanket.

“She’s never going to leave,” Cassandra drawled out. “We’ll have to carry her emaciated body when she forgets to eat and passes out.”  But the Seeker drifted towards the nearest shelf and began to browse idly.

“We’re going to camp here!” Asta announced. “This is… this is perfect! I’ll read everything I can, and…” Cullen opened his mouth to complain. “Commander, this is too important!” She begged. “I’ve never seen any of these books. _Any of them_ ,” she stressed. “This is my field and every single one of these is new to me!” She spun around. “Half of you need to go back to the Palace with Sera, and come back with all the crates you can carry…”

“Asta!” Cullen cut her off. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” he had never seen her look so stubborn. “Why shouldn’t we? These books are just sitting here, unused,” she begged. “And this library looks like it’s falling apart! Into nothing! Let me rescue them!” They stared each other down, Asta pleading and Cullen regretful, but firm, a whole argument between them in the charged silence of the archive.

Sera shuddered, “Don’t remind me.” She wandered around the backside of the shelves. “Ew! Oi! Lady Bits!”

“What?” Asta marched away from her husband, even as he reached out a hand to appeal to her. “Oh…” A skeleton sat with a bowl next to it, just a few inches from falling off into the nothingness beneath them. Asta knelt down and looked at the bowl with its simple note. “A merchant?” She mused. The others came and gathered at her back to see what Sera had found. Varric made a strange sound, and pushed past Sera and Asta to get a better look, grabbing the note and falling to his knees.

“Well, shit,” Varric paled with grief. “It’s Bodahn. He was supposed to be working for the Empress, not…” He jumped up and spun around, looking a little sick. “Where’s his son? Surely Sandal…” he stopped, and walked the other direction. “Damn it,” he cursed. “Just…” he picked up a piece of paper, covered with a single word. “’Enchantment,’” he whispered, and shut his eyes, tears leaking out. “Andraste’s Ass, Bodahn,” he cursed again, “Why’d you ever leave Hawke’s estate? You should have known Orlais was nothing but a death trap.”

“You know… knew them, Varric?” Asta asked gently.

“Yeah,” Varric wiped the tears away. “Couple of dwarves. Two of the few I like - liked. Good guys. Sandal was… simple, but a savant. Reminded me of Dagna, with how brilliant he was. Capable of weird shit.” He swallowed hard. “Curly, you didn’t meet them, did you?”

“No,” Cullen looked down. “Do you… want me to say something for them?”

“Nah,” Varric dropped the sheet of paper over the edge of the island they floated on. “Bodahn, at least, adhered to the Stone. It wouldn’t be right, to say the Chant over him.”

“Did they have family?” Asta asked quietly. “Someone we could let know what happened to them?”

“Hawke was their family,” Varric said, after a lengthy pause. “Bodahn had been exiled from Orzamaar. So Hawke gave them a home, for a while at least… she should know. I’ll write and tell her.” Cassandra shook off her shock and went over to him, awkwardly putting her arms around him. “Fuck, Cass,” he muttered. “This sort of thing never gets easier. And Hawke‘s lost everybody.” He wrapped his arms around her and shook slightly.

“I am sorry for your loss,” she told him stiffly, but stroked the back of his neck, just under his ponytail. “I know from your book that you enjoyed their company.”

Varric laughed in memory, “You could say that. Sandal saved our lives in the Deep Roads. He ran off, and we found him surrounded by dead darkspawn, and he had frozen an ogre, and…” he stopped. “Maybe I won’t tell you the story. He’s dead, after pulling off all of that. What in here was so bad that it could have taken that kid out?!” He breathed shakily. “What the fuck could have killed him?!”

Asta thought carefully. “Surrounded by dead darkspawn? Did he tell you how he did it?”

“Enchantment,” Varric shut his eyes again. “That, except for some creepy weird prophet-like crap that he shared with Hawke and a few ‘Thank Yous’ was all he ever said. Though Hawke claimed that he occasionally used full sentences around her once he got comfortable. He was a strange ass kid.” Varric shuddered and repeated, “What killed him?”

The answer was another chest guarded by the strange purple magic, sparking evilly. “Well, that’s that,” Asta blurted. “Don’t touch the stuff.” She clenched her teeth suddenly. “FUCK!” She yelled, “Away from me, all of you!” She held out her wrist as they scattered to a safe distance, and released. A barrier fell over her, benign and green. “Oh.” She smiled sheepishly. “That wasn’t so bad,” she laughed feebly. “In fact, that’s just embarrassing.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra relaxed from where she and Varric had sheltered behind her shield. “I thought…”

“I thought I was going to explode,” Asta confessed, and eyed the treasure chest. “I don’t suppose…” she sighed wistfully.

“NO!” Cullen pulled her away. “Absolutely not. No loot.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Moving on.” She marched back to the books. “Now then, we are taking these,” she ordered. “If you won’t let me send back for crates, I’m taking as many as I can comfortably carry about Fen’Harel.”

Cullen crossed his arms, “Inquisitor…” he warned.

“No,” Asta stared him down. “That at least is useful for our purpose, Commander. I…” she bit her lip with longing. “I want them all. You know how much. I don’t want to sacrifice a single one. But I know that we don’t have time to go back, now that I’m thinking clearly.” She failed to look at him, tracing her fingers along the spines of the books gently. “It’s such a waste,” she sighed. “But wasted they will be. Maybe this whole area is more stable than I suspect and we can come back…”

Cullen frowned. “Fine. Load yourself up. You’re carrying them,” he pointed out bitterly. She bent down, and selected carefully a single book on the Evanuris, flipping through it quickly, before setting it back and choosing another. “Inquisitor, we don’t have the time to browse,” and Asta straightened up.

“You are right. I… can’t choose. I might as well grab them at random.” Torment played over her face. “This sucks,” she breathed, and grabbed three books, including the one she had selected first. “Fine, I’m done.”

“Only three?” Dorian raised his eyebrows. “That shows restraint.” He walked over to the shelves and grabbed the next three. “Here, I’ll carry some for you.”

Cassandra gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she bit out. “I will as well.” She took two, and hesitating, a third. “This is the first and last time I will carry your books for you, Inquisitor,” she announced, and then Varric took four, stuffing them into his pack without comment.

“Varric?” Asta’s face lit up.

“Who says they’re for you?” He grinned, if stiffly, “You aren’t the only reader in the group, you know. But maybe I’ll let you borrow them, if you ask nicely.”

“Deal,” Asta smiled back. “Thank you.”  Dorian put his hand to his mouth as he perused a different shelf, and slowly selected several, stowing them away after wrapping them up in his fuzzy sweater to protect their covers.  Thom merely sighed and shook his head, grabbing three at random and throwing them in his pack carelessly.

“Well, I’m not,” Sera spat again, and this time the dust puffed up through the ruined library into what looked like the memory of fire, but she failed to react. “Stupid elfy elves, cutting off their noses to spite their face, stupid blighters tattooing themselves with squiggly lines…” Asta raised her eyebrows. “I was listening to the egg,” the archer insisted. “Hate the bastard, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t tell the truth at least some of the time.” She turned huffily. “Not talking about it,” she muttered. “That’s not who I am.  It's all pride cookies.  With raisins.”

“Methinks someone doth protest too much,” Varric murmured to Asta.

“Leave it, Varric,” Asta said under her breath. “She’s not wrong. And she hates this place. I’d say she’s entitled to her anger. For whatever reasons she has.”

“I can hear you,” Sera yelled back around the corner. “I’m an elf, after all. Huge ears and eyes that glow in the dark, supernaturally good archer that doesn‘t have to fucking practice, and all that other bullshite. So quit talking about me behind my back unless you want arrows through your smallclothes and what‘s in them. _Rude_.” She led the way down a steep slope that used to be a staircase, the others following, but for once, Cullen hung back, and quickly selected five additional tomes, stashing them in his pack and then running to catch up.

He could carry a little more weight.

They wandered down through the library, broken stairs with elaborate tiles sitting on edge, as if they were waiting to be replaced by someone who cared. Asta’s fingers itched with a desire to pick up the books they passed, abandoned and far from their shelves, but just noted the titles instead, none of them familiar. “Dorian, do you recognize any of them?”

“Two, so far,” the mage replied, just as wistful. “But that’s all. Goes to show that the library in Minrathous is bound to have some mysteries for you, Asta.”

Asta sighed longingly. “I hope so.”

“Minrathous,” Varric raised his eyebrows. “Something you would like to share with the whole class, Inquisitor?”

“Just a visit we’ve been planning,” Asta deflected self-consciously. “Years away, I’m sure.” They turned a corner and orange wisps danced along a line of rocks far above them. “What are those?” Asta looked closer.

“Demons,” Sera spat off the edge of the rock they stood on, and the entire rock floated up to be on the same level as the wisps. “Stop doing that,” she yelled into the ether of the Crossroads.

“There’s a pedestal,” Asta nudged her. “Care to…” Sera snarled and touched it, and the rocks slid together, never touching enough to grind. “Thank you, Sera.”

Sera didn’t reply, but she swung her bow down before they started to cross the bridge, even more furious.

What happened next wasn't reassuring.

“I am Archivist,” the fractured spirit told Asta, and Asta squealed, a piercing sound that made Sera wince and Cullen grow very, very alarmed. Asta quickly calmed down, and Cullen resisted his urge to barge between her and the spirit, to guard her, arguing that it surely would not pose her a risk… his eyes flashed back and forth between his wife and the insubstantial wisp as they conversed, the spirit pouring out her sorrows at the almost lost knowledge and wisdom that was crumbling away even as they spoke. “Something in me calls to you,” the Archivist concluded. “I wonder what it could be.”

Cassandra took a deep breath, “Like Command,” she muttered in Cullen's direction.

“Like what?”

“In Crestwood, Asta encountered Command,” the Seeker explained. “It couldn’t - or wouldn’t - return to the Fade without someone following one of its orders. All it wanted was for a Rage demon to be killed, so the Inquisitor complied. It didn’t seem to have any effect on the Inquisitor, I assure you. It was a minor confrontation, and was included without incident.”

“She obeyed a spirit.” Cullen rubbed a gloved hand over his face. “Followed its orders.  Of course she did.”

But Asta was replying, lost in thought and wonder, “All my life I’ve sought truths, searched for lost history. I feel it, too,” she confessed, longingly. “You are more than Knowledge or Wisdom. You are Record. You are Memory. You are History.” Her voice grew thick with desire. “You are Fact.”

“Perhaps once,” the Archivist sighed with regret. “But I remember so little now. My purpose is lost, all my memories…” Her body scattered a little, but she pulled herself back, with obvious difficulty. “I wish I could help you. The spirit that touched you… Command… she cannot help you right now. You have always sought to learn, puzzle, contemplate… Command was a poor fit for you, and yet you needed her.”

“Yes,” and Asta stretched out a hand to try to touch the incorporeal being. “You understand me. Together…”

“NO!” Cullen and Cassandra threw themselves between Asta and the spirit. “Inquisitor! You must not! It is a spirit now, but if it enters you…” Cassandra’s frantic voice trailed off and then firmed again. “I suspect it would turn into Desire.”

“Command, Asta?” Cullen’s brow furrowed. “What happened in Crestwood?!”

“I didn’t know,” Asta insisted. “I did her a favor, and she went… home. I didn’t know she had touched me.”

“You travel with someone Faith has touched,” the Archivist observed. “How is that any different? And you have been touched by Compassion many times. He has left his mark on you, just as surely.” The Archivist surveyed Asta’s companions. “You are not unfamiliar with my kind. So why should it matter whether or not you are touched with Memory?”

Cassandra shuddered visibly. “Yes, I have been touched by Faith.” She faced Asta, leaving her back open to the spirit. “I beg you, Inquisitor - do not allow yourself to be possessed. Please.”

“Possession?” The Archivist mulled it over. “Sharing? No, I cannot abandon my purpose any more than I have been forced to. Your Archivist is in no danger from me.” Cullen let out a sigh of relief. “But I would touch her, let her see what little I have left… it is not much…” Cullen tensed again, his hands drifting to his sword.

Asta smiled in understanding, pulling her hand back, and biting her lip to hide the remnants of her regret. After all, was this deal any different from Imshael, in the end? Easy answers offering themselves in spirit form? “My friend is right,” Asta gazed back at the spirit. “I wish I could, but… your place is not in our world. After all, what Archivist abandons their records? A researcher belongs to their work, even when it is destroyed,” Asta’s eyes met Cullen’s, and he nodded in recognition of her sacrifice. “You hold knowledge, but I’d have to pay the price of myself.” She smiled, ruefully. “And I wouldn’t have the joy of discovery. So I agree, Archivist, we are better separate.” She hesitated, “Is there knowledge you could share without joining me?”

“Of course,” the spirit replied. “All is fractured, but I will help how I can.” The spirit flitted past the ex-Templar and Seeker, too fast to track, and reached out and touched Asta’s forehead with the approximation of her own - the slightest brush - and then drifted away, as if she had forgotten their presence, even as another bridge formed to let them cross the divide just beyond them, another mirror waiting in the far distance.

Images played through Asta’s mind, the information gathered creating more gaps, not less, but welcome all the same. Images of fire, and betrayal, and elves fighting for a freedom that they thought they could afford.  A thousand arrows flashing through a night-black sky, with no moon in sight.  A sword, held by a slim figure, hair streaming behind it, and a green light shooting from it into the sky, joined by countless other streams of similar light and then darkness, shot through with the light of stars as the elves seemed to collapse and dissolve back into memory.  And the Archivist screaming in pain as something crucial to her existence was leeched out of her slowly, over ages, a barrier between her and her sustenance, starving slowly as she was denied. 

Cullen reached out and grabbed her before she could fall, holding her tight, unable to draw a sword against an enemy he could not see. Asta came back to herself, her mind stuttering with all the spirit’s confusion. “It’s all right,” she told Cullen. “It’s still just me,” she reassured. “And what she could share… it is just how the Evanuris fell, her last memory of it all going wrong, but it’s still unclear…” Her eyes grew wide. “Solas has the answers, though.” She stood up straighter. “I’m beginning to think he has all the answers.” She followed the forgetful Archivist with her eyes sadly. “May I never lose my purpose,” she whispered.

Cullen put his hand back to feel the lumps of books in his pack and sighed, resisting the urge to remove them, and made a decision. “Never again,” he whispered as Asta passed, and she looked at him strangely, not understanding the new context, but smiled all the same.

The small group made their way down the hallway and Cullen waved the others forward first, needing to speak with his wife. Alone, and relatively safe, he stopped her before she went through the next Eluvian. “I…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Asta searched his face.

“For stopping you,” Cullen confessed. “For asking you to destroy your work for the sake of my own selfishness. For not letting you save all of this,” he waved his hands around him, swallowing the lump in his throat. “For focusing only on myself, on the fact that I don’t know how I’d manage…” his throat closed off, and he shut his eyes. “I’ve been incredibly selfish.”

“And I’ve been greedy,” Asta put her hand on his shoulder. “I lust after these books, Cullen. But I can’t enjoy them if I’m not alive. And if we don’t find Solas, I am dead. If we don’t stop the Qun, I am dead. If I’m caught with heretical materials and am executed, I certainly won’t be able to enjoy them. All the knowledge these books hold means nothing if death comes first.” She reached up her marked hand to touch his face, thick with stubble against the tips of her fingers. “I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me for being… so single-minded.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Cullen said, confused, but Asta shook her head and smiled sideways, and then went through the mirror, leaving him to follow at her heels.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Bodahn and Sandal. My heart broke when I found them.


	133. The Tide Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to finish this by Christmas. UGH! Editing came to a swift halt this weekend, and unless my thoughts start really pulling together (or I severely compromise what I want out of this section) it's just not going to happen. Blah. I'm very disappointed in myself.
> 
> Hopefully things will start gelling again (there are so many essential details that I have to include or nothing will make sense!) and I'll push past this. So frustrating.
> 
> Chapter title is a reference to the Tide that Koslun repeatedly uses as a metaphor in his writing, and also another Demon Hunter song "The Tide Began to Rise".

The building that stood before them on the other side looked oddly familiar and yet completely out of place. “A Chantry?” Cassandra stared at it with her arms folded. “It can’t be.”  They all stared blankly at the structure shaking their heads.

“A Chantry with the Dread Wolf in front of it,” Asta pulled Cullen forward with her hand, eager to go inside, and then stopped, looking up at the sky. Day had long since broken, and it was probably midmorning. “How many hours have we been gone?”

“At least ten,” Cullen estimated. “We’ve made good progress, assuming that we‘re still on the right track.  If not, we're going to have to circle back to the library..."

“That wouldn't be so bad," Asta sassed, and added, "Then let’s scout around and make camp here.  At least, if we don’t see anything dangerous. Remember, don’t touch the purple shit!”

“Yes, mother,” Dorian sassed, but winked as they wandered off to establish that there was no immediate threat, and Asta started to put up the tents, managing just fine in the bright daylight, Cullen was pleased to note, trying not to smile.

He came up behind her, careful to step silently on the soft grass. “So you can put up a tent in the daylight,” he murmured into her hair, and she nearly dropped the pole she was lashing to the canvas.

“I told you I could,” Asta spun around, temporarily abandoning her work, much to the detriment of the tent's stability, and snaked her arms around his neck. “Care to join me in one, Commander?”

“Business first, Inquisitor,” Cullen reminded her. “But maybe I could… assist? I have years and years of experience with setting up tents in all sorts of conditions and weather, after all. Many fond memories of tents. I‘d love to share them with you.”

Asta laughed at him. “I’d like that.” She turned back around, and he reached his arms around to finish tying together the peak of the first two poles, as she started to lash the sides to the left, bumping into each other occasionally and flashing little smiles when it happened.

“Oh, that’s darling,” Dorian drawled sarcastically as he watched them work from a distance, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed, and then walked over to them, laid his hand on the tent and cast a ward into the canvas, glowing faintly. “It’s silence,” he told them curtly. “So that the rest of us can get some sleep. Don’t worry, you can hear outside the tent, Commander, but we… we won’t be able to hear you. For any reason. Enjoy the privacy.” He marched into the Chantry, unslinging his staff from his back as he went, prepared for anything he might find there. “Don’t say I never gave you anything!”

***

Varric approached Asta later, as they all tried to eat something before they retired to get some rest. “So, Your Inquisitorialness, I need to get some quotes.” He had his notebook in hand. “On the record, as it were,” he smirked.

Asta looked at Cullen, standing off by the water surrounding the little chantry, and then dropping down and sitting with his knees curled up comfortably. “What do you want to know?” She asked, slightly suspiciously.

“Well, I haven’t been around for everything between you and Curly, thank Andraste,” Varric teased, “And for posterity, I need the answers for a few questions.” He flipped open the book, business-like. “So, how did you and Curly finally come to an understanding and where?”

“That depends what you mean by ‘understanding’,” Asta threw back at him warily, eying Cullen from his spot by the water, seemingly relaxed and at peace as he stared off at it and threw rocks. “We were working towards one for months.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “This isn’t about sex. I already know about that, between your letters and reading in between the lines. I’ll respect your privacy. Trust me. But I need details to make your relationship believable!”

Asta hesitated, “I suppose it was on the battlements at Skyhold. But before that…” but Varric was already writing things down. “There was a chess game, but you probably knew that… and you know I spoke to him right after I was elected Inquisitor…” she trailed off.

“Quotes,” Varric pressed. “I need quotes. What did you say? What did he say? This is important!”

“Well, after I made sure that he hadn’t left anyone special behind in Kirkwall,“ Varric snorted, and Asta raised her eyebrows, a little offended on Cullen’s behalf, “Cullen expressed disbelief that I would be interested in him,” Asta answered with confusion. “I… reassured him. We had to find a place we wouldn’t be interrupted so…”

“Interruptions,” Varric breathed in excitement. “That’s good. I can use that. Was it awkward? Sweet? Describe how he kissed you.”

“Varric, you don’t kiss and tell, and Cullen would not approve of me giving you details,” Asta complained. “He’s a rather private person, despite his position and I…”

“I’ve already made up most of it,” Varric waved her objections aside. “But I need to get your words so that it sounds right.”

“It was a little awkward,” Asta thought back, smiling, “but Cullen… kisses very well. He surprised me, honestly. Once he was sure…”

Varric scribbled madly. “He does? That’s surprising. He wouldn’t even go into the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall for an investigation. Words?”

“I think he said that he didn’t think it was possible?” Asta tried very hard to remember. “And later he said that he wanted…”

“Good,” and Varric looked over his notepad at her. “Now, your first time together…”

Asta snuck a look back at Cullen, now laid out in the grass and staring at the clouds drifting overhead with a relaxed smile on his face. “He told me that he had never felt anything like this before,” she whispered, blushing. “And at the lake, he gave me a coin that his brother gave him before he left for the Templars. Said it brought him luck.”

“That’s the one you wear, right?” Varric scrawled his notes with messy precision, writing as fast as he could.

Asta nodded. “I tried to tell him I didn’t want to take his luck, and he insisted. I told him I‘d keep it safe.”

Varric made a face. “You could have handled that better, but I can work with it. Now, what do you think were the greatest obstacles in your relationship? I have my theories, but again, this needs to ring of truth.”

“Time.” Asta was blunt. “It’s always been time and distance. Our work constantly separates - separated us. It’s better now, but…” Varric nodded, and wrote a single word. “And… his lyrium withdrawals. We both have nightmares. And I talk too much, and he is terrible at not saying anything or exactly the wrong thing.” Asta laughed, “Lack of privacy!”

“Hmm,” Varric looked at her. “I can’t make you seem too weak, Inquisitor. You can’t build a legend with weaknesses.”

“I’m all weakness,” Asta laughed. “I guess I won’t make much of a legend.”

“You will when I’m done with you,” Varric smiled. “Anything else you’d like in there?”

Asta blushed, “He told me after Adamant that he didn‘t want to move on… not from me.” A smile took root and started to grow. “Do you think you could include our wedding?” Asta said wistfully. “It was such a lovely day, and Cullen’s vows were beautiful.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Varric frowned. “That takes the whole book closer to the present than I was hoping to go. And I wasn’t there. Better to twist distant memories a bit rather than argue with people’s recent ones. But I’ll give it a shot. No promises. Is that it?”

Asta hesitated one more time. “Cole told me something once. ‘Safe and solid, protecting and proud. He feels like quiet, stronger when you hold him.’ That was… it described him so perfectly.” Asta got a dreamy look in her eye and stared off over his shoulder, a small smile playing about her lips.

Varric sighed, recognizing her preoccupation for what it was, and closed the notebook. “That will have to do. Cullen’s coming this way, looking very relaxed, and you have a warded tent to make use of.” He winked. “Lucky girl. Think Dorian would oblige if I asked?”

Asta snapped back into the present. “Only if you prove that you and Cassandra are loud,” she told him dryly. “Dorian won’t waste the mana otherwise. This is the first time he‘s graced us with his skills after all these years.”

“Well, that sounds like a challenge,” Varric grinned. “Hey, Seeker! Wanna share a tent?”

“UGH!” Cassandra’s disgusted sound marched around the corner of the Chantry before she did, but she met Varric’s calculating grin with a twisty smile of her own. “I suppose.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Sera grumbled from off to the side.  Asta watched her walk down to the water and plonk down hard with a scowl on her face, worrying slightly on her behalf, even as Cullen tugged her towards their tent.

***

Solas was more than pleased. “Now you‘ve found the trail, Inquisitor,” he said as he watched their camp through the spelled Eluvian. “I apologize for the necessary confusion, but there's someone you still need to meet.”

He reached out a hand and changed the Eluvian’s reflection back into the rippling blue that was normal, and stepped through to the crypt underneath, viewing the stacks of Gaatlok vessels and crates of weapons and supplies with distaste, but leaving them in place. “I am glad that your dog is not with you,” he said idly. “He would smell me and insist on tracking me, I am sure. And I am not quite ready to be found.” He climbed the stairs, waving aside the hidden door with a gesture, and turned to the statue of the Dread Wolf on the dais.

“A little clue is perhaps necessary,” he waved and the plaque on the statue shone with magic, reflected by the blue in the stained glass windows far above his own murals. “And I’m sure you will guess the significance of this site,” he chuckled, enjoying the game he was playing with her - perhaps too much. “I hope you are prepared for what comes next,” he looked at the door - the only thing separating him from his erstwhile companions. “I suggest you sleep well.” He extinguished all the Veilfire torches that Vivienne and Dorian had lit while searching the area earlier, and then descended again, sliding the door shut, walking back through the long corridor and crossing back through the Eluvian gracefully.

Once on the other side, he paused. “Perhaps, just in case, I should do you a favor,” he added, and flashed a wave of blue at the mirror, changing his view back to their camp, where Sera was on watch. “A shortcut, if you will,” his mouth twisted, watching Sera toss rocks into the water angrily. “Such a waste. So far from what she was meant to be,” he murmured. “I’m sure you would agree with me on this, Inquisitor, if nothing else.” He waved the mirror closed, and Sera never realized she had been watched.

***

The team slept late, tired with the heavy packs and the long travel from the day before, but they finally awoke and came out of their tents, stretching and groaning with backs that weren’t used to sleeping on the ground any longer. They went about their morning ablutions almost lazily, putting on their armor and strapping on their weapons.

“It’s such a peaceful place,” Cullen sighed with contentment. “I wish we knew where we were. I’d like to come back here someday.”

“Somewhere in the Dales,” Sera spat out. “That’s all I know. Too much room and not enough roads.” She grumped off into the direction of the Chantry, raising an alarm a minute later. “Come and get me, you  bastards!” She leapt out of the doors a minute later, flipping backwards out of the way. “We’ve got company!” Asta drew her knives and dropped into stealth just as a half dozen warriors ran out to confront them.

Cullen ran after Asta and shoved himself in front of her with his shield, blocking her dagger throwing lines.

“Watch it, Commander!” Asta folded her daggers back hurriedly. “I could have hit you!”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly and tried to concentrate on where she was. Her stealth had greatly improved. He would have to improve his perception.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Asta yelled all at once, and he dove out of the melee, followed a second later by all the others. This time, her palm exploded, shredding the warriors into small bits as they were sucked into the Fade. She panted, helplessly, holding her hand and wrist, now glowing beneath her wrist by a half an inch. “Maker, tell me I didn’t hit any of you!” She begged, falling to her knees. “Tell me you are all right,” she wept, rocking a little.

“Protect!” Cullen ordered, and sprinted back to her, shield up. “Cassandra, Thom, check out the inside. We must have missed something last night,” he stressed. "We're all right, Asta," he soothed while the other warriors obeyed.  They came back out without any other incident, shaking their heads in confusion. “There is no other Eluvian,” Cassandra claimed. “I don’t understand - there’s no other way to get here.”

Sera snorted. “Let me look.” She wandered into the building insolently, staring at the murals and the statue without humor. “Has to put his tag on everything, doesn’t he,” she grumbled. “Can’t just bloody leave a flat surface alone, has to put up a doggy statue and deface the walls with what he calls art.” She spotted the plaque and snickered. “Where the Dread Wolf‘s eye falls? Well, isn’t he helpful combined with the glowy bits,” she sniggered, and pointed at a Veilfire sconce on the wall. “Light that thing up. He must think we’re stupid or something,” she grumbled and waved Dorian on when he didn’t follow her directions. “Had to draw us a bloody map.” she stomped away from the statue, and the floor opened slowly revealing the stairs. “There we go,” she laughed in bitter triumph. “Devious bastard. Think you‘re so smart.”

Cullen made his way down. “Footprints - large ones and a few smaller - in the dust,” he pointed out to Asta. “They’ve definitely been here. Stay alert,” he breathed at the others. “Thom, watch their flanks,” he muttered, as loudly as he dared.

“Aye, Commander,” Thom murmured back. “I’ve got this.” He walked down the stairs, trailing them and walking backwards very slowly, but no one came.

The stairs wrapped around a corner, spiraling down beneath the statue, leading to a long corridor full of little rooms with barred doors. Asta shuddered, as it reminded her of the Chantry in Haven, and she resisted the desire to reach for Cullen‘s hand. They walked down, their footsteps echoing into the distance, the end of the tunnel too far to see. Dorian lit a torch and held it up high enough for them to see.

Asta looked inside the rooms as she walked through, most of them empty, until…“Loot!” Sera cheered, and dropped to her knees to try to pick the lock on the roomful of treasure. “Damn it, this is a toughie,” she grumbled. “Cover me, Thom?”

“Sera, we really don’t have time…” Asta urged, seeing subtle movements in the distance, “They’re still here! Sera, drop it!” Sera shot her a wicked rebellious look and kept going. “Sera, is the gold worth your life?!”

“It is,” Sera insisted, “’cause it belongs to _him_. The arse-biscuit. Deserves it, he does.” The door clicked and she scooped the gold into her pack quickly. “There, all done.” She looked up and saw her friends fighting a long ways down the narrow corridor. “Shite,” she cursed. “Now I feel like an arse.” She swept her bow down from her back and shot three times in quick succession taking out three enemies: throat, eye, and a trick shot through the ear. “Sorry, you lot!” She yelled.

“Thanks for joining us,” Thom grunted, bashing one back. “Hope it was worth it. Stealing from Fen’Harel, I mean. That has to feel good.”

“Definitely,” Sera grinned. “Nobody got hurt except the baddies, right?”

Asta frowned at her. “Eventually we are going to have to have a talk about why you hate him so much, Sera.”

“What’s not to hate?” Sera groused. “Bald know-it-all. Even his arse has pointy ears.” She took out a rogue trying to flank Asta, and covered the entire group, strafing as she went to climb the pile of crates in a corner to find higher ground. “Trying to dig it up and restore some fucking Elven Glory.” She snorted, “Who needs it? He‘s the biggest Pride Cookie of them all.”

It was a hard fight, and they were exhausted on the other side, panting and sweating in the close dusty air as they made their way to the circular room, lined with vessels of Gaatlok, crates and barrels of food and racks of weapons.

“This isn’t a cache,” Cullen’s mouth was hard. “This is a supply depot, and an armory.” He picked up one of the weapons, and thrust it away impatiently, so that it clattered against the stones. “Bull needs to know about this,” he turned to Asta. “We need him out here, and Dane. This is… this could be their staging point.”

“We’re half a day in,” Asta worried. “It’ll take us the rest of the day to get back…”

“Then we’d better get started,” Cullen ordered. “Let’s go get the tents.” he ordered. "They’ll see the bodies and blood, but we can’t help that. Let’s give them a mystery of their own to solve.”

Asta nodded thoughtfully, “That sounds like a good idea. Only…” she smiled. “Let’s take one with us. Drag it through the Eluvian. As proof that the Qun is using the Crossroads, just in case Celene was doubting us.”

Sera looked at her, cackling. “I like the way you think. Blood on the tiles. Toss it in front of them and make them pay attention.”

Cullen frowned, “The bodies shouldn’t be treated with disrespect."

“The Qun does not believe that their bodies, after death, are worth respect.  They see them as shells, nothing more,” Asta said, shaking her head. “But if you insist, we can give them a pyre, down by the water.”

Cullen hesitated, “We don’t have time,” he said regretfully. They had made their way back up to the main floor, and started to pull their camp apart with more speed than precision.

“Then leave them, as a show of force, and we take one back with us. It will send them a message.” She paused, “What do we do with all the Gaatlok?”

“Let’s ask Bull,” Cullen worried. “I don’t think there’s enough room to explode it safely here.” Asta nodded. “I wish it were more secure…”

“We could leave someone to guard it…”

“It took all of us to bring the first group down,” Cullen pointed out. “Too risky. If it’s gone when we get back… we all saw it.”

They took down their camp and kicked the fire out, dumping water on top of it impatiently and looked around.

“It’s still peaceful here,” Asta whispered, taking his hand.  "Despite the associations."

“Yes,” Cullen sighed. “We’ll be back.” He turned towards the rest of the companions, Cassandra and Blackwall struggling to carry the Qunari, a bloody hand trailing along the ground. “Here, Cassandra, let me…” he moved toward her and she jerked away.

“No, protect the Inquisitor,” she ordered. “I am fine. Go.” Cullen backed away at her curt order, turned and stepped through without protest, and stood on the other side of the Eluvian, back at the Winter Palace, the narrow anteroom before them. He stared in shock as Asta stumbled through and fell into him where he was frozen. “What?!”

She looked around and started laughing. “Maybe Sera twiddled her fingers and farted?” She giggled, just as Sera came through cursing.

“Arse-wipe! I didn’t do it!” Sera panicked, “I swear!”

“I believe you,” Asta laughed. “But that is wonderfully convenient.” She started walking immediately. “Let’s go find Bull and Briala and leave some blood on their tiles, Sera.”

Sera nodded, visibly shaken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I'm still within the realm of lore here, based on descriptions from "Last Flight" (though that was an elven mage that followed the magic trail to the journal - and if you haven't read it - do!) and Solas stating that Sera was the opposite of what she was supposed to be, and her description of the Breach, and other bits of Sera banter. And yes, that was a clue, if not a very good one, iduna. ;)


	134. Find a Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter of the Day! Hooray!

Dane came bounding around the corner and up the stairs, barreling into Cullen and licking him ecstatically. “Down, Dane!” He ordered, but dropped to his knee and fluffed around his jowls cheerfully when the dog obeyed. “Have you been good?”

Dane barked happily, and Bull came around the same corner, consulting with Briala and stopping dead at the sight of the Qunari body that flew out of the Eluvian by itself at the same moment, arse over teakettle. “The fuck!” Bull started laughing, and Briala stared at them all, with a small upturned corner of her mouth.

“Inquisitor,” she greeted, her eyes moving to the body. “I suppose that’s that, then.” She sighed, and turned. “I have to notify Her Radiance,” she sighed. “The Inquisition makes nearly as many problems as it solves, I suspect. I‘ll have the Chatelaine send someone down for that… mess.”

Asta shrugged at her departing form, “You aren’t wrong,” she called after her and turned back to Bull. “Any more Gaatlok? Because we‘ve found tons.”

“Lots,” Bull growled. “But I’m pretty sure Dane found them all. Dorian, you said that the Mabari was originally bred in Tevinter? Because I want one. In fact, if you decide to breed him, I want the pick of the first litter,” he told Cullen, “I‘ll pay whatever you or the female’s owner wants. And you should breed him. Waste of good stock, otherwise.”

“You want to get a dog?” Dorian frowned. “A dog like that one? Really? It‘s not even attractive…” Bull glowered at him while Cullen’s eyebrows furrowed with the insult to his dog.

Asta quoted impertinently, “’Mabari kennels take a lot of time and manpower…’,” and Cullen elbowed her in her ribs while she laughed her head off and shoved him back. “Besides, Cullen doesn’t have time to raise an entire litter of Mabari puppies… he told me so himself,” she stared at him saucily. “Isn’t that right, Commander?”

Dane panted happily in the summer heat, staring at his friends, looking slightly demented, and showing no sign that he understood.

“The Blades of Hessarian did make an offer…” Cullen’s words trailed off. “But Asta is right. It’s a massive affair, to take on something like that. But I’ll keep it in mind,” he grinned. “Dane is brilliant.” Dane understood that, and barked, all too happily.

Asta sighed, and pulled them back to the more pertinent issue. “In the meantime, we need both you and Dane back in the Eluvian with us,” she stressed, “We’ve located what Cullen thinks is at least a supply depot, and might be their staging area, with another Eluvian right in the middle, surrounded by…”

“Gaatlok,” Bull grunted. “You said that. All right, I’ll go. Just let me get my axe. You guys need anything while you’re here or can we go right now?”

“We got some sleep on the other side,” Cullen shrugged, “So I’d say we’re good.”

“You got some sleep,” Sera grumbled. “Not all of us did. Can’t sleep in that place. Gives me the colly-wobbles.”

“We didn’t camp in the Crossroads, Sera,” Asta puzzled, “Why couldn’t you…”

“Wasn’t talking about the Crossroads, Inky,” Sera shifted her shoulders. “I think I have a bottle of ale in my room. Gonna go find it and try to forget about that… place.” She wandered off.

“Meet us back here in an hour!” Asta called after her, and Sera flipped her off without looking back. “Her behavior is becoming an issue,” she worried. “Any ideas?”

“I’d say she was fighting something pretty hard,” Bull said. “Nothing you can do. It’s Sera. She’ll either sort it or block it.” He shrugged. “You could just not take her. The Arbor Wilds would have messed her up, too.”

“That’s not an option,” Asta sighed, “The Crossroads behaves differently for her than for the rest of us. We need her in there.”

“Then you’re gonna have to put up with the attitude,” Bull concluded. “Sucks for the both of you, but there’s no other way ‘round it.” Asta nodded, resigned. “Now, bring me up to date. What did you find in there that made you drag a dead Antaam out here just to prove your point?”

***

The Eluvian crossed into a strangely familiar looking place, and despite his hand on Dane’s neck, Cullen started to shake in recognition. “Cullen,” Asta grabbed his elbow. “Are you all right?”

The Deep Roads, grey and dark and shining with the blue of a lyrium mine was all around them, and Cullen’s knees started to tremble and his head ache with the noise of the singing. “I can’t…” Cullen swallowed. “I will,” he tried to make his voice stop shaking. “I…” Asta started to shove him back through the mirror. “NO!” He stopped her. “I will…”

“No, you won’t…” Asta’s face was a solid line of worry, from her forehead to the creases at the corner of her lips. “Love, you won’t be all right. Go back through.”

“That’s not an option,” Cullen gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. “Let’s move on. We‘ve been here before. I survived then, and I‘ll survive again.” They marched through a partially collapsed tunnel, Bull having to twist his head to slide his horns through on their way up.

“Crap, this place sucks,” he muttered. “I barely fit.”

“Some of us fit and would rather not,” Varric grumbled, scrambling to find footing.

“Eh, quit whining,” Sera snapped, “Some of us were down here for bloody months. Suck it up, Sunshine.” She marched ahead. “Least I don’t have some fancy-chancy skills down here,” she groused. “Elves don’t belong underground.”

“Then how did the Eluvian get down here?” Vivienne asked her, eyebrows raised, only to be shown the bird over Sera’s shoulder. “Well, that was unnecessary,” the Right Hand straightened. “I was merely pointing out…”

“Whatever,” Asta put a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Let it go, Viv?” The mage inclined her head, reluctantly. “No point in making it worse.”

The scaffolding in the mine climbed impossibly high, with innumerable vessels of Gaatlok stacked on and around it. “Are they using it to mine?” Bull frowned at Asta’s question. “So they don’t have to touch it?”

“That is so dangerous,” Varric’s voice sounded unnaturally high, and Cassandra stepped up to walk besides him. “Fuck, that’s a terrible idea. They could cause a cave-in, and that‘s just the best case scenario…” his voice trailed off.  Blackwall was stoic and silent, ever watchful.

Cullen stopped when he turned the next corner, holding Asta and the rest of the group back, “That’s…” he paled in recognition, “Ser Jerran?”

The former templar straightened automatically, “Knight-Captain Cullen?! What are… how?!” He stared around him frantically as if unsure if he was dreaming or not, or perhaps debating if he should flee. “I…”

“Explain yourself,” Cullen narrowed his eyes, and used his best Commander voice, “immediately,” he barked, Dane growling at his side.

“I… I’m… sorry…” The templar couldn’t meet Cullen’s eyes, staring instead at Bull, far past fear.

“He’s a viddathari,” Bull challenged the man with a single look. “Aren’t you?”

“I was just standing for order, Knight-Captain! And discipline! Trying to protect the innocent!” The man protested, his eyes never leaving Bull’s Ben-Hassarath form, his eyes wide and more scared than they should have been. “After Meredith… and the Inquisition backing the mage rebellion, I joined…”

“You joined the Qun,” Bull stated flatly. “Thinking you could fulfill your purpose there. And they used you, just like the Chantry, dragged you down here to this Void-begotten place and…”

The man seemed almost eager to explain. “It’s Viddasala. She’s… she has a plan, calls it ‘Dragon’s Breath’. They’re mining - and processing - lyrium, giving it to the Saarebas…” the templar stumbled over the word. “The lyrium, it flows down here. The more they mine, the more…” he drifted off, as into memory. “It never stops, Knight-Captain. Like a fountain.” His voice sounded reverent now. “Lyrium unending.” The man swallowed involuntarily.

“And all the gaatlok?” Cullen prompted, ignoring his own yearnings and his shaking hands and pounding head, venting it through his voice, “What’s that for? And Bull, who is Viddasala?”

“It’s part of the plan,” the templar offered. “They’re using the gaatlok to get the lyrium without coming into contact with it, Knight-Captain. They’ve captured a high dragon…”

Bull cursed fluently in Qunlat. “So that’s where they’re getting all of it. They’ve captured an Ataashi…” the word sounded like a caress. “Viddasala… she’s a senior agent of the Ben-Hassrath. One of three,” Bull breathed. “Boss, we’ve got confirmation. This is the full Qun - special invasion. No way would she go rogue. Not unless she was making a move against the Arishok. And that would be fucking crazy.”

“Yes…” the templar was still staring at Bull, unblinking. “I swear, it’s the truth. I know it sounds crazy, but… this plan, it’s as mad as Meredith ever was. I… I want out,” he stressed. “Can… will you…”

Asta waved him away. “Fine, get out of here. I’m assuming you know where the Eluvian is. Just get out of here, Jerran, was it?” Her voice was harsh, but her eyes were filled with pity, Cullen noted, even as he glared at his former comrade, resenting their weaknesses. “And next time, don’t be so easily led,” she threw at him. “If you can make it to Skyhold, the Inquisition will protect you,” she offered.

“Yes, Serah,” he all but whispered. “Thank you… I…” he swallowed. “If you’re going to stop them, there’s gaatlok everywhere. There are primers at Central Supply,” he waved his hand vaguely. “You could set off an explosion?” And the man took off in a different direction without saying goodbye.

“We should do it,” Asta whispered, her eyes noting Cullen's distress and recognizing what she was going to have to do.

“Fuck, Inquisitor,” Varric shook just as much as Cullen was, though far less capable of hiding it, and Cassandra stepped a little closer to him. “You’re going to cause a cave-in down here on _purpose_? It’ll kill us all!”

“Not if we do it right,” Asta breathed quietly to steel herself for what she had to do. “You and Cullen are heading back to the Eluvian. You’ll wait for the rest of us there.” She watched her husband try to protest, closing his eyes, opening his mouth and trying to find his courage. “No, Commander,” she said gently but firmly. “This time, I insist. The fewer we are, the faster we’ll be able to move. Just in case, Sera, you’re with them. They might need you to get back to the Winter Palace if things have changed.” She looked at the rest of her companions. “Bull, I need you to stay. Cullen,” she swallowed, “Can I borrow Dane? I might be able to find the gaatlok quicker that way and…” Dane whined and pressed up against Cullen.

“Of course,” Cullen finally found his voice, and knelt down to his dog. “I need you to go with Asta, to keep her safe,” he muttered to the dog. “You understand?” The dog whined. “I’ll be fine,” he stressed. “She needs you more.” The dog grumbled, but went to Asta’s side. “Good boy,” Cullen whispered, and followed the dog. “I don’t want you to do this,” he said quietly.

“I have to do this.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Cullen choked. “Be careful. Please. I don‘t want…”

“Always,” Asta leaned in her forehead to meet his, already bowed, and closed her eyes. “Just… get out of here. I need to know you’re safe.” She pulled back and met his eyes again, and he nodded slightly. “All right, folks, let’s…”

“I’m going with them,” Vivienne announced. “They could use a mage, in case they run into any Qunari down here. So I’m going.” Asta nodded her acquiescence.

“Then let’s go blow up a lyrium mine,” Asta finished. “I’ll see you soon, Commander,” her voice broke. “Get yourselves safe,” she ordered again, and turned away, with difficulty. “Dorian, shields…”

“Yes, yes,” the mage replied irritably. “And only if they’re in place do I get to play with dead people. I _know_.”

“Kadan,” Bull rumbled gently.

“I know what to do,” Dorian finished, tone softened. “Don’t micromanage, Asta.”

Asta swallowed a sobbing laugh. “All right then. Dane, find us some Gaatlok.” The dog barked an affirmative and dropped his nose, leading them far away from the Eluvian and certain safety.

Cullen watched her leave until Varric tugged at his arm and pulled him away. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
“Yeah, well, Asta is the queen of terrible ideas,” Varric’s forehead was creased. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t the worst one.”

“Let me know if you think of one that is worse,” Vivienne drawled. “Because I’m with the Commander. A lyrium spring? And she’s going to make it explode? In several places? They’ll flood the tunnels, and I remember what just a few drops did to Dorian. And the Eluvian we came in through? Is downhill.”

Cullen stopped in his tracks, “I have to go back. I can‘t lose her to lyrium. I can‘t lose everything…” he turned around and started to climb back up and Varric drug him back around.  "Let go of me, Varric!" He barked.

“Sorry, Curly,” Varric shoved him on, and Sera grabbed his other arm. “Asta’s the boss out here. Not you. I don’t have to follow your orders. She said to get safe, so that’s what we’re going to do. She’s going to do her thing, and hey, she’s got divine bad luck on her side. She’ll be…” the dwarf couldn’t say the words. “Well, better I not say it,” he finished, rather weakly. “She’s got Cass with her, though. If anyone can drag her out of her own mess, it’ll be her.” Cullen tried to twist free again, but the two rogues were unnaturally strong, and he gave up at last in favor of praying silently.

He went backwards through the Eluvian, just as the first explosion went off, and the rocks started to shake.

***

The first explosion and the second didn’t cause any obvious flooding, but the third… “Well, shit,” Asta cursed. “This wasn’t part of the plan. We’ve got to move faster.” The small group was stranded, the way down to the other Eluvian flooded over with liquid lyrium, the scent slimy and metallic. “We’ve got to find another way out,” Asta tried not to panic. “Any one remember which way Jerran went?”

“That way,” Bull pointed up. “Bound to be a way out there. Hopefully it’s an Eluvian and not a week’s trip to the surface. Because that would _suck._ ”

“Don’t jinx us, Bull,” Asta ordered. “Let’s move.” She took off scrambling over the hills and through the tunnels. “Bull, do you think three explosions and a flood will be enough to keep Viddasala from coming back through?”

“Probably,” Bull grunted, his brow creased, “Since her only way of mining was to use gaatlok. I’m guessing she can’t handle whole lakes of it. So yeah, we’re probably good.” They climbed a slight slope and Asta cursed again at the sight of Jerran in a pool of blood. “But it looks like we’re going to have to fight our way out, Boss. You ready?”

“I have to be,” Asta drew her daggers as she mounted the small flat spot in the tunnel. “If they attack, take them out fast. If you see a way to run instead of fighting, take it. Because if the lyrium catches up first, we’re all dead.” She took a deep breath. “And if I scream to get out of the way, do it, Bull. The mark has been very unpredictable lately. I can’t control what it does.”

“Got it, Boss,” Bull turned his lone eye upon her. “But you know I’m not leaving you behind, right? Chargers always finish the job. Still your bodyguard, whatever games you’ve been playing with my job description.”

“Technically, the Divine is paying your salary right now, Bull,” Asta argued.

Bull snorted, “And so is Josie. Subcontracting is a beautiful thing, Boss. So quit arguing and let me save your ass. And maybe try to keep up so that I don’t have to decide between saving you and Dorian? ‘Cause that’s something else that would suck.”

“You’d save Dorian,” Asta said bluntly. “And that’s an order.”

Dorian and Bull exchanged a loving look. “I can take care of myself, Amatus,” Dorian pointed out humorously. “Save the bitch.”  Asta clenched her teeth to keep from cussing at her friends.

“Yes, sir,” Bull smiled, his teeth sharp. “So bossy,” he rumbled fondly, and slapped the mage‘s ass as he climbed the next slope, defending himself against the mocking glare. “What? It was there!  You shouldn't tempt me like that!”

"Save your energy for the climb," Dorian ordered, amused.  "I think we have a ways to go."

"Thom and I are perfectly capable of saving Asta from herself," Cassandra asserted. "Just climb, both of you."


	135. Spit and Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over 8000 hits?
> 
> Thank you. Thank you all. I feel like I've said it all multiple times (and I have) but thank you all for reading. I know it's getting crazy in here, and I hope I'm doing a good enough job to not lose any of you. Thank you for every comment, and every kudo, and to all of you interested enough to keep reading, even if you never say a word. If you wanted to, that would be cool though. ;) But don't feel like you have to, if you're shy. I read this site for six months before I dared actually make a comment. And it was another three before I requested an invitation. I get it.
> 
> And now back to the story! :D

Cullen paced on the other side of the Eluvian, inside Fen‘Harel‘s sanctuary. “They should have been back by now.” Why he always had to end up on the other side of the door, waiting to see if people would come back out, he never knew.

“They probably had to take another way,” Varric was just as tense, however. “Damn it, Cass,” he muttered aloud, “Get that ass out here.”

“I’m going back in,” Cullen announced. “I can’t…” he choked, and started to approach the mirror with purpose when it went completely dark. “No…”

Sera’s face crumpled. “Her…” she cleared her throat. “She’s not dead. I just know it.” She stood up. “We’re going back to the other Eluvian,” she announced. “So get a move on, you lot.” Varric sunk to the ground instead. “No, I’m not doing this!” She marched out of the room towards the stairs. “If you arses wanna shrivel up and die, fine,” she yelled back. “But I’m gonna figure out how to save Asta.”

Cullen stared blankly at the Eluvian for another minute and then drug Varric back to his feet. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “Sera’s got a plan. So for now, we follow her.”

“That’s better,” Vivienne approved. “Such self-pity shouldn’t be indulged.” She followed the Commander and Varric up the stairs and out the Chantry to where Sera was facing the Eluvian, glaring at it.

“So what’s the plan?” Cullen demanded angrily. “I do assume you have a plan?”

“I’m gonna spit at it,” Sera muttered rebelliously. “And tell the fucking thing what I want.” Cullen shifted and folded his arms. “You got a better idea, Cully-Wully?”

“…No,” Cullen admitted in defeat. “But where should we tell it to go?”

“The Deep Roads, obviously,” Sera rolled her eyes. “Near where they are?”

Varric was unresponsive in his grief, but Vivienne looked dubious. “Do they work that way, my dear? Perhaps a more precise location?”

“Your guess is as good as mine where the fuck in Thedas we were,” Sera snarled. “But I don’t see either of you coming up with a better idea. So we do this my way. With spit and threats.”

***

Solas watched the two groups alternatively and sighed. “Surely there was a better way, Inquisitor,” he sighed while watching Sera spit at his Eluvian, his lips curled in disgust. “But in this I can assist, if nothing else,” he added, and waved his hand, clouding the surface of his mirror again and stepping through, and once in the Deep Roads waved his hand again, changing the connection from the lone Eluvian that they could reach. “This way you can meet the rest of the Archivists. I imagine you will find them fascinating.” He stepped back through, still sighing wearily, to wait for his opportunity to change the other party‘s destination as well. “You cause me a lot of trouble,” he faced the mirror, eyes focused and alternately disgusted and amused at Sera‘s antics. “And you asked me if I had ever pissed magic,” he addressed the elf wryly. “We were all young once, but I can assure you I‘ve never spat at an Eluvian expecting it to appreciate the gesture.”

***

Sera spat at the mirror and said, “Back to the Deep Roads, you creepy thing.” It glowed briefly, and she laughed. “Did something, didn’t it?” And then she took a deep breath and stepped through, the others following her, Cullen still towing Varric, hollow-eyed and blank, and Vivienne bringing up the rear.

“Shit,” Sera was cursing on the other side. “It’s just the Winter Palace again.”

Cullen swallowed in despair. “We go back through,” he ordered. “Better to wait where we were…”

“Forget that,” Sera gritted her teeth. “Look, you... thing,” she stared at the mirror. “Just take us where we wanna go, alright? We’ve got to find ’em.” She hit the frame with her hand and then kicked it for good measure.

Cullen closed his eyes, sensing the futility. “Sera, I don’t think threatening it is going to…”

“That’s what you know,” Sera snarled. “I’m going back through. You lot count to ten and then follow if I haven’t come back.” She went through swiftly.

Cullen counted silently, and then crossed over to find Sera beaming. “But this…” he stopped, confused. “Sera, this is the library again. Not exactly the Deep Roads.”

“Yeah, and we can find our way back from here!” Sera crowed. “It worked! Well, sort of.”

Varric crossed over and perked up a bit before his face fell, realizing that they weren‘t where they had planned. “The only Eluvian that we know goes to the Deep Roads is probably ten feet deep in pure lyrium,” the dwarf croaked out. “It doesn’t do us any good to be here.”

There were footsteps in the distance and they all drew their weapons slowly. “Be prepared,” Cullen whispered, and challenged. “Who’s there?”

“CULLEN!” Asta threw herself up the crumbly slope, hands scraped and the cuts bleeding, stumbling across the floor towards him. “How did you get here?!” She lunged at him, and Cullen caught his breath, wrapping his arms around her and burying her face in his furry shoulder.

“Damn it, Asta,” his throat tried to choke him, the sobs crawling up slowly. “The Eluvian went dark. We thought we had lost… that you had…” A single sob escaped. “I’m never going to do that again, so don‘t ask. Where’s…” His dog bounded around the corner, barking madly. “Good dog.” He breathed deeper, the knots unraveling in his chest as his arms tightened around her, safe.

Varric was watching eagerly around the corner, but when Cassandra and Thom came into view he merely closed his eyes, suddenly showing all his years through the relief. Cassandra approached him stoically. “Cass, if you ever pull something like that again…” he said, all too quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever…” He pulled his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “I thought you were…” He gave up trying to finish. “We’re getting married,” he muttered.

“That will not keep me safe,” Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know, but at least then I will hypothetically have some input on whether you throw yourself into the path of a lyrium flood!” Varric yelled at her. “Assuming you ever actually listen to my opinions about your personal safety.”

“I hardly do this sort of thing every day,” Cassandra folded her arms and glared. “This is the first time such a thing has ever occurred, to my knowledge. Who could have predicted…”

“Vivienne did! And next time it will be a dragon or five,” Varric threw back, “or an entire tribe of Tal’Vashoth, or a whole herd of Varghests…” he threw up his arms slightly. “I just got you, Cass,” he muttered angrily, “forgive me for not wanting to lose you so quickly.”

“You were… worried?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “That is…”

“Crazy?” Varric suggested, “Insane? Pointless? Pick an adjective,” the dwarf expostulated.

Her mouth twisted, “Well, yes, but I was going to say… refreshing.” She looked surprised. “No one has worried about me since Anthony…” she smiled and then frowned, still looking at the dwarf. “I…” she paused. “Thank you. I was worried about you, too,” she replied stiffly, but sincerely. “I think perhaps you shouldn’t go into the Deep Roads again,” she reached out and pulled him towards her. “You did not look… happy.”

Varric snorted into her breasts, “You think? Andraste’s ass, Cass, that’s the understatement of the year. Nothing good ever happens in the Deep Roads. Haven‘t you read my book? I know you‘ve read my book,” he grumbled.

"That's the truth," grumbled Sera, who punched Thom in the shoulder.  "Good to see you made it back, too, Beardy."

Cullen sighed, still holding Asta against his shoulders. “How did you get back here?” He asked quietly, his heart beating too fast for comfort.

“We went through another Eluvian,” Asta said, holding him just as tight. “It brought us here.” She echoed his sigh, and pulled back. “Once we arrived here, we passed an island with another Eluvian on it, and more of those orange spirits,” she drew her hand under her eyes, and Cullen swiped under them with his thumb, smiling a little in his relief. “Since the last two places are dead ends, I’d say we’d better go that way.” She frowned, “How did you get back here?” she asked again.

“Sera kicked the Eluvian back at the Winter Palace?” Varric laughed and let Cassandra go, while she grabbed his hand and glared at him for daring to release the embrace. “And apparently it responds to beatings,” he joked.

Asta looked skeptical. “Okay…” she shrugged. “Whatever worked, I guess.” She brightened, “Perhaps these orange spirits will be more Archivists and I’ll learn more about what happened!”

“Where’s Bull and Dorian?” Cullen looked alarmed, but the two came around the bend at that point, arguing quietly, and he relaxed. “So we’re all fine.”

“Yes,” Asta smiled briefly. “We’re fine.”

“Against improbable odds,” Dorian called out, overly loud. “But do you all mind if we sit for a little while? Because I do believe I’ve never had to move quite that fast, and I’m unaccustomed to climbing walls to reach mirrors,” his mouth pursed. “I’m never going to get the dirt out of these robes.”

“You don’t do your own laundry, Dorian,” Asta rolled her eyes. “So not a problem, is it?”

“I liked these robes,” Dorian complained.

“So do I. The green brings out your eyes,” Bull complimented.

“There you go,” Dorian smirked at Asta, “The green brings out my eyes. And they are ruined. Scuffmarks everywhere on the leather. And I’ll probably never find this exact shade again,” he fussed.

“Tevinter problems,” Sera drawled, “I am glad you lot made it,” she admitted grudgingly, a little happier, despite being back in the Crossroads.

“So, let’s go talk to some more Archivists!” Asta chirped happily, while everyone groaned. “What? We met Memory… who knows who will be next!” She laughed.

“I wish you weren’t quite so eager to talk to spirits,” Cullen grumbled, but he was still smiling. “Can I least request that you not drag us into any more lyrium mines,” he pulled her back towards him.

“I can’t promise anything, Commander,” Asta rubbed out the lines in his forehead as everyone else started walking away. “I wish I could,” she looked up at him. “But I can promise no one will be using that one again. That will have to be enough.”

The next Archivist was Study, and Asta spent entirely too long comparing notes with it, and becoming informed about Viddasala and her plans to use Saarebas to strengthen the Veil.

“You said you are a ‘learning thirst’,” Asta marveled. “What a lovely turn of phrase. I feel like I could speak to you for hours…”

Cullen tried not to tap his foot. He had promised that he wouldn’t get in the way of her research, and it had served them well so far. Cassandra let out a long-suffering sigh, however, and wandered back to see if she could find something to hit.

“I spoke to your… counterpart,” Asta added. “Memory. She was extremely helpful.”

“I regret that I am unable to think with myself,” the spirit lamented. “Everything is so incomplete now. Fragmented shards of what we once were.” The spirit sighed, and Cullen found himself wondering if they had to breathe. “You should find the rest of me. Fact and Secret…” she flitted over and touched her forehead to Asta’s, and Cullen found himself diving to support her again as she was once again overwhelmed with the last information from the previous occupants. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Asta came back to herself, gasping. “That’s just…” she blinked. “Lots of last words there.” This Archivist also flitted off, and Asta stood up. “Two more,” she said firmly. “I should have known to just ask the researchers when I couldn’t find anything in a library,” she grumbled. “I know better.”

“Why not ask the Librarians?” Varric joked, and Asta shuddered suddenly. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I think we’re going to meet the Librarians soon enough, Varric, and I think… I think they’re going to be very angry with us,” Asta confessed.

“We’re going to have to kill some Librarians?” Dorian’s eyes grew wide with mischief. “Oh, this will be cathartic… Can I pick which ones? There was this grumpy old man at the main library in Minrathous that tried to tell me that my clothes were too loud…”

Asta snickered. “Don’t count on it. I’ve just received some very interesting information about them and these Librarians _really_ dislike their current patrons,” she informed him. “I’d keep your staff handy. They’ve been woken up, and they aren’t happy about it.” She marched around a little rise and nodded at a pedestal for Sera to touch. Sera was uncharacteristically silent as she complied, forehead worried. “Are you all right, Sera?”

“Don’t ask,” Sera bit off. “Just… lemme think, aye?” Asta looked at Cullen, who shrugged feebly.

Fact was surprisingly emotional with her sharing, and Asta was left glaring from Cullen’s arms at the overwhelming hatred that the ancient elves felt for Fen’Harel. “He made the Veil.”

“WHAT?” Cassandra marched up to her, unable to find anything to hit and her frustration showing.

“Fen’Harel made the Veil, Cassandra,” Asta stood up straight, left herself vulnerable. “The Chantry _lied_. The Chant is fake, or so incomplete that it makes no difference. Unless Fen’Harel _is_ the Maker…” Asta’s voice trailed off.

“You cannot know that,” Cassandra firmed up from her shock quickly, and grasped the hilt of her sword, making Cullen move toward his own. “You cannot just know that…”

“Fact has no reason to lie,” Asta’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “So why would she?”

“Trusting demons and spirits?!” Sera blew a raspberry. “As if. You tell her, Cassandra. It’s all bullshite, ain’t it?” She looked slightly pleading.

“I don‘t know…” Cassandra swallowed. “Let’s just move on,” she demanded, releasing her sword.

Cullen frowned. “Asta…”

“I know what I saw,” Asta confronted him. “He made the Veil. The Veil destroyed the Elvhen empire and then he disappeared, and fuck, the Elvhen were angry. Forget just him locking away the pantheon and the Forgotten Ones, Fen’Harel single-handedly demolished their entire way of life. And everything we’ve been taught about the Veil is wrong. This is my job, Cullen. I will find out the answers. Trust me, please?” She searched his face desperately for a sign that he would believe her.

“I trust you,” Cullen nodded, scared but determined. “Keep going, love.” Asta relaxed and looked up.

“I think the next one is up there,” she nodded her chin up. “So perhaps this mirror will take us there?”

“Upside down?” Varric laughed nervously, a poor imitation of his usual chuckle. “We’ll all fall off into the sky, like they tell little children in Orzamaar.”

They passed through the Eluvian one by one, and Asta started talking with the Archivist immediately. “I wondered about the murals in his sanctuary. He looked like he was freeing the People,” Asta exclaimed. “So Fen’Harel was responsible for locking up the pantheon and Forgotten Ones, but he didn’t mean to take down all of Elvhen?”

The spirit fluctuated and reformed hazily. “My records are incomplete. I am sure that the answers you seek are no longer contained here in the Library. I would suggest that you follow Viddasala, but you will need a password for the Eluvian where she has gone, as it is… restricted. I do have that information, and perhaps my remaining secret will assist. After all, in times past, I would guide those like you, ‘seekers of knowledge true.’ Once, I could connect all the People, their thoughts and memories, but now, I am so diminished,” the spirit pleaded. “I would pass on my last secret…” and she leaned toward Asta and met her forehead.

“Maraas Nehraa,” Asta breathed, coming back to herself, but still standing, even as Cullen reached out to catch her. “The Eluvian in the Darvaarad. Ma serranas, Secret…” but the spirit was already drifting, and a path raising beyond her to another round room, filled with tables and yet more bookshelves. Asta walked slowly and warily, and the reason why was obvious in a single moment when spirits materialized before them and attacked. “It’s the Librarians!” Asta screamed. “Kill them all! They… are not themselves!”

Dorian laughed uproariously and struck with Chain Lightening. “My pleasure!”

“Wait, did you say ‘Darvaarad?’” Bull swung his axe and cleaved a Librarian. “Fuck, Asta, this isn’t good.”

“Why?” Asta was breathless as she fought, the long day of climbing and running taking it’s toll. “What is a Darvaarad?”

“It’s where we send magic that we think should be shut up!  Pretty much all of it!”

“So… the Qun’s version of a Circle?”  Asta was confused.  "That doesn't sound..."

“Not exactly…” Bull's skin went greyer and took out another Librarian as an outlet. “You said they had captured an Ataashi…” once again his voice caressed the word lovingly.

“I dislike the way you say that word,” Dorian complained. “Can you not sound so… entranced?”

“Sorry, Kadan,” Bull grinned. “That I cannot do. But Boss, we shouldn’t go through that Eluvian,” he grunted and threw himself in front of bolt of magic for Sera. “You okay, Sera?”

“Fine,” Sera said from the top of a reading table firing arrows single-mindedly into Librarians with a viciousness that she normally reserved for nobles. “Just do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

The last of the Librarians fell and Asta threw herself, panting, into a chair as they disintegrated. “Okay, Bull,” she ran her fingers through her hair, falling down hopelessly after the long day, trying to tie it back again. “Why shouldn’t we go through the Eluvian?”

“Because there’s probably going to be a high dragon on the other side,” he was dead serious. “We’re completely unprepared to fight a dragon, and if they’re… using her to make gaatlok, she’s gonna be pissed off, Boss.  And Viddasala has her own Saarebas, Saarath... and she's... not exactly nice to him,” he concluded weakly.

“Andraste’s Ankle Mole*,” Cullen cursed, more focused on the obvious threat. “Of course you’re going to have to fight another dragon. What kind of dragon? Can we at least guarantee that this one breathes fire?!”

Asta shook her head. “I think we can’t count on anything, Commander.”

Bull went on. “It’ll be a Ben-Hassrath fortress. Heavy guards…”

“Heavy resistance,” Cullen growled. “The Qun in numbers we haven’t dealt with up to now.”

Asta stood up. “We’re exhausted. There is no way we’re in shape to take on a dragon right now, much less infiltrate an entire Ben-Hassrath fortress. We need to sleep, and eat, and prepare…” she bit her lip nervously. “Bull, do we have the time to make the preparations we need to make? Is there more than one Darvaarad?”

Bull shook his head. “They know we’re coming,” he grunted. “They’ll have discovered the carnage at the supply site.  Probably.  But if we go on now, we might as well admit it‘s a suicide mission. None of them are going to be exhausted. And yeah, there‘s more than one. But I can get with Cullen, map out what it‘ll probably look like.  The Qun loves to reuse plans. It'll have a research tower, for sure…”

“We need to warn Briala as well,” Cullen said slowly. “We really ought to return, if for that reason alone…”

“Then we go back,” Asta decided. “We warn Briala, get some sleep and food, and leave the Palace after we have time to prepare.”

Bull only nodded, resigned.  "You're the boss, Boss."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This creative Andrastian curse is attributed to Chanterie, who was the first to use it as a curse in a comment, and to the amazing MaryDragon who writes the BEST Dragon Age fiction - in this case her current ongoing project 'Keep to the Stars'. If you haven't read any of their stuff, do it. Please. You won't regret it.


	136. Dream of the World Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter of the Day! I'll be able to finish the Crossroads by Christmas, I think, but not the Exalted Council or the Epilogue I've written.
> 
> But at least I'm back on track?
> 
> Chapter title from Breaking Benjamin's 'The Great Divide'

Briala was pacing outside the Eluvian when they returned. “Inquisitor,” she bowed slightly. “We have apprehended two individuals trying to… move the gaatlok around the Winter Palace. Will you accompany me?”

“Bull, Cullen, you’re with me,” Asta ordered, and the three followed Briala past the fountain and into the Garden Maze. “What were the circumstances, Briala?”

“We found an elf and a human at the first cache site, and both claim that they are with the Inquisition,” Briala explained.

"Andraste's tits," Asta swore, looking at Cullen. “It’s entirely possible they are. But we didn’t give any orders to move or to interfere. We have barely anyone local in Halamshiral.  Isn’t that right, Bull?  Cullen?”

“That’s right, Boss,” Bull grunted. “Briala’s people were doing the watching, not ours. She’s got no reason to believe us.”

Cullen agreed, "I have some people stationed in Halamshiral proper, but not in the Winter Palace itself."

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Briala’s eyebrows were hidden by her mask, but Asta had a feeling that they were arched coyly. “You did deliver a massive Qunari warrior as convincing evidence that there was a plot, after all.  That's a lot of effort to go to just to draw attention from yourself.”

“I knew that was a good choice,” Asta laughed despite her fatigue as they reached the cache. “Bull, Cullen?” Asta waved her hands towards the people restrained before them. “Have any questions you’d like to ask?”

The human, male and young, started, “Commander! I tried to tell them that you…”

“Silence,” Cullen barked out. “I told you nothing. You aren’t even supposed to be here. You were stationed in Halamshiral, in the markets, not the Winter Palace. To help keep the peace.  Do you have an explanation for why you aren’t at your post?”

“I received a letter…” the soldier started, already sweating, his eyes moving between the Commander and Bull.

“He’s lying,” Bull broke in. “He’s viddathari.”

Asta nodded, and turned to the elf. “And what is your story?”

“I…” the elf swallowed. “I serve the Inquisition. I’m a scout, Your Worship.” Asta managed not to wince at the title.

“She’s not lying,” Bull grunted. “Not yet anyway.”

“I… was told to remove the gaatlok,” she blurted out.

“By whom?” Cullen demanded. “Whose orders are you obeying?”

“I cannot say,” the scout whimpered. “I…”

“Are you working for the Qun?” Asta asked straight out, and Bull groaned.

“Boss, you can’t just ask like that.”

“Why not? You can tell if she’s lying, right?”

“I am not of the Qun!” The elf exclaimed, evidently relieved to be able to answer outright, and Asta turned to Bull, a trifle smug.

“She’s still not lying,” Bull admitted. “So whose are you,” he asked her. “Because you might be with the Inquisition, but I’d bet my last jar of horn balm that you aren’t Harding’s alone.”

“Do you work for Fen’Harel?” Asta asked quietly.

The scout was silent. “Well, she knows better than to try to lie to me,” Bull grunted. “So yeah, she’s his. What you going to do with her, Boss?”

Asta weighed the woman‘s fate, “I’m going to let her go,” she decided.

“Seriously, Asta?” Cullen grabbed her shoulder. “She might have information…”

“And we still need an alliance with Fen’Harel,” Asta interrupted. “We can gain his trust this way. So, we let her go.” She turned back. “Report back to Solas,” she told her, and the woman’s eyes widened at the name. “Tell him we are on our way, but that we have a big problem to take care of before we can reach him. Tell him…” Asta sighed, “Tell him it’s getting worse. He’ll know what I mean.” She nodded to the guards and they knelt to untie her. The woman stood, rubbing her wrists and leaving as swiftly as possible. “As for the viddathari, Bull, I leave him to you,” Asta concluded. “Get what information you can out of him. I doubt it will be much. He’s just an errand boy. And if he doesn’t talk, kill him,” she ordered. “You need sleep and food more than we need his information at this point.” Her gaze was hard and cold where it landed on the man.

“All right, Boss,” Bull sighed, and grabbed the man’s shoulder. “You’re with me, viddathari. Briala, you got a place we can keep him?” The man spit an invective at him as he led him out of the maze. “Yeah, yeah, my soul is dust,” Bull grumbled. “You would think a language with such a great depth of meaning would have a wider range of creative epithets. Your soul is going to get splattered across half the dungeon if you keep me from my dinner and Kadan. I’m really hungry and Dorian‘s always impatient. So start talking.” Briala led them through the maze, leaving Asta and Cullen alone.

Asta visibly sagged. “I’m so tired,” she rubbed her face. “What are the odds that Solas will let me sleep tonight?”

Cullen led her out of the Maze easily, and helped her up the stairs to their room.  "I hope he will," he answered quietly.  "Surely he realizes that if you aren't at your best you will fail?"

Asta didn't reply, and instead of sleeping, she spread out the books from the Library, and scanned through them for hints of Fen’Harel. She found little notes in the pages, in a language that she knew was Qunlat, but couldn’t decipher, and set them aside for Bull to look at later. She read furiously, making her own notes and musing in murmurs while Cullen listened and ate. “This makes no sense,” Asta concluded at last. “Why did he make the Veil? He sealed away the pantheon and Forgotten Ones, except for Mythal, who was _murdered_ by the Evanuris. Did he intend to rule in their place? What was his point? His purpose? Solas _never_ acted without a purpose, when he was with us, even when we didn’t know what it was! And I can‘t believe that _Solas_ \- Elvhen Glory personified - would have chosen to destroy the entire empire if he had another choice!” She sighed, and sunk her hands into her hair in frustration, leaning heavily on her elbows, and Cullen shoved a plate in front of her.

“You should eat and sleep,” he said. “Maybe it will be clear after some rest. You escaped from the Deep Roads and killed Librarians today. You can’t tell me you aren't tired.” He rubbed her shoulders, and Asta covered his hand with her own, looking up at him with a half grin.

“Do you know any of the stories of Fen’Harel?”

“I’ve heard a few,” Cullen shrugged. “Doubt I could tell them well.  My mother used to tell us stories in the evening, to get us to shut up and go to sleep.” He smiled sadly. “It didn’t always work. My brother and I often ended up jumping on our beds claiming to be whoever the hero was, and fighting about who had to be the villain. When she told love stories, though, we both fell right asleep. So she told lots of those. She rarely had that problem with Mia and Rosalie, unless she was telling stories about the Rebel Queen. Then Mia would stay up forever.”

“Love stories were that boring?” Asta raised both eyebrows.

“There was kissing,” Cullen teased. “My brother made the best vomit noises.” He laughed slightly. “If we get out of this, we should go visit them.” Asta nodded, and picked up a piece of bread spread with a soft cheese, and tried to eat it, drawn out of her previous thoughts.

“Cullen…” Asta paused. “Are they going to hate me?”

Cullen blinked in confusion, “Why would they?”

“Well, you’ve given me the impression that your family is… a bit traditional,” Asta wavered.  "I'm probably not who they would have wanted for you."

Cullen laughed. “Mia is wild, Asta. She’s logical, and fierce, and protective, and as long as you don’t hurt me, she’ll love you. I don’t know Rosalie well enough. She was too young when I left. Branson, though…” Cullen chewed his lip. “I knew him so well, when he was younger. But he’s married now, with two boys, settled down. I… think he’ll like you. But it doesn’t matter if they despise you,” he insisted. “Their opinions…”

“Matter,” Asta broke in. “If they hate me, it will make you sad. They are your family. I don’t want…”

“ _You_ are my family. If they don’t love you, they’re insane,” Cullen insisted, and then rethought his choice of words. “Well, thinking back, insanity is possible,” he admitted. “But don’t borrow trouble. We can’t visit until after the Exalted Council in any case.”

Asta nodded, and finished chewing, and sighed, closing her books and setting aside the random notes for Bull. “Let’s get some sleep.”  Cullen looked concerned.  "I'll eat better in the morning, love.  For now, I just want to sleep."

***

Solas frowned thoughtfully. “She let you go.”

“Yes, Ser,” the scout replied, shaking her head. “She didn’t even let them finish questioning me. Just determined that I wasn’t lying and wasn’t with the Qun and then had me released.”

“Interesting,” Solas turned to face the tower’s window. “You may go.”

“Ser…” the scout hesitated. “She told me to say that they had a big problem to solve, and that ‘It was getting worse.’”

“Consider the message delivered,” Solas replied. The scout left immediately and Solas continued to stare out into the night, lost in thought and a little tempted.

***

The next morning, more rested, the War Council and Inner Circle met, Cullen and Bull going over the possible plans for the layout of the Darvaarad in a hurry with Cassandra and Thom. “There will be a guard tower,” Bull informed them, “With ballistas, and several guards on watch.” He marked probable locations. “There will be a wide front gate, but it will be locked down. Nobody gets in without the key, and the pattern for the sealed doors.” He huffed, “But I can probably figure it out, given enough time. We’ll need the key, but we don’t have to count on torturing the information out of the guards. They probably don’t know anyway, if I know Viddasala’s reputation. She’s a secretive bitch.” He shook his head, slightly admiringly. “After we’re inside, though, we’ll have to deal with Saarebas, and Ben-Hasserath.”

“Where will they likely be keeping the dragon?” Cullen’s brow was creased with thought.

Bull snorted, “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, how would I know? A Darvaarad big enough to hold a full grown Ataashi?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Dorian grumbled.

“Sorry, Kadan,” Bull didn’t smile this time. “It could be anywhere, but…” he hesitated, “if it were me, and I was planning ‘Dragon’s Breath’, that dragon would be locked up tighter than…” he censored himself. “Well, pretty damn tight.”

Asta was thinking hard. “Cullen, when you were fighting the Qun in Kirkwall, how…”

“Different situation, Inquisitor,” Cullen sighed. “We were defending, not on the offensive. They had hunkered down, yes, but spread out to attack different areas of the city. This time, we are the aggressors, and they defend.” He frowned, “We need Varric, Cole and Sera to take out the guards, here, here and here. Inquisitor, you’ll take out this guard, and…”

“No,” Asta replied. “You can’t count on me not to be… incapacitated. The others will have to take out the guards, and I’ll…” she sighed. “I’ll be dead weight. We can’t risk blowing the entire plan with my hand exploding at the wrong time and drawing all the Ben-Hassrath attention to me. To us all.”

Cullen nodded, meeting her eyes. “You’ll wait at the rear, then,” he corrected. “Here. With your own protection.”

“We need you up front,” Asta replied. “So it needs to be someone else.”

“Thom,” Cullen offered, “Would you mind?” The man nodded. “After the guards are taken out and searched for the key, we’ll reconvene at the gatehouse, and Bull will open the doors. When the gears move and the alarm is raised, Cassandra and I will flank the doors, and Vivienne will shield us all. Dorian will cast his Terror spell, or if he is unavailable for any reason, Sera will throw a jar of bees. Once they’ve panicked, Cassandra and I will take out at least two, and Vivienne will step in with Chain Lightening..”

“No good,” Bull grunted, “They’re not going to be wearing enough conductive metal to arc.  They dress like me. Fire.”

“Fine,” Cullen corrected. “Sera and Varric will cover us. If any get past that, Dorian will bring back the fallen and add assistance.” He stood up straighter. “That gets us past the front gate. After that, I suspect we’ll meet resistance, but it will be more random, more like the encounters we‘ve had so far.”

“The hallways will be narrow,” Bull informed the group. “So Cole and Asta, stealth is going to be rough.”

Cole sighed, “They’re so buttoned up, locked away, scared of who they could be without the rules.” He frowned, “I don’t want to kill them.”

Asta bit her lip. “Cole, can you still… kill people?”

“It’s not easy anymore,” Cole frowned. “I don’t want to do it. I want to help in other ways. But they‘re hurting _her_. I will help kill Viddasala, because she hurts them,” he announced. “But these people… they’re…” the man tried to focus. “But they’ll try to hurt you…” he sighed. “I’ll help if they hurt you first,” he decided.

“Cole, if you aren’t sure,” Asta sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I will help,” Cole insisted. “If they aren’t stopped, they’ll hurt everybody. But it’s not their fault that they can’t make mistakes.”

Asta met Cullen’s eyes. “Cullen?”

“We can put him in your guard,” Cullen sighed, resigned to the one-time spirit’s newfound reluctance to kill. “If you are threatened, perhaps?”

Asta nodded. “Cole, will that work?”

Cole smiled happily, “Yes, I’ll hurt them if they hurt us, or if they want to hurt any of us. That isn’t wrong.”

“We’ll try to observe the dragon before we engage,” Cullen braced himself on the table. “The more information we can gather the better.” He looked up, focused on his wife. “Are there any questions?” The silence around the table was deafening.

Josephine spoke up, clutching her writing desk with white knuckles. “May the Maker keep you all safe.”

Asta laughed bitterly. “If only he was watching.”

 


	137. It's Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to get three (!) chapters out today. They're short, but since I find it likely that I won't be posting on Christmas Eve (I have kids...) I'd like to try to wrap this part up today.
> 
> Just a heads up, if those of you still subscribed start getting a ton of notifications.

Their plan went well, with only minor noises as Varric and Sera took out the guards one by one, Bull taking Cole’s place in the rogue group, and moving nearly as silently as the spirit would have through the shadows of the night. Cullen and Cassandra flanked the entrance, and Sera turned the key, and Bull started manipulating the gears, and found the correct sequence without trouble. The door opened and a series of Antaam appeared, one lone guard raising the alarm high in a far watchtower. “Crap, forgot about him,” Bull cursed. “Sorry, Boss,” he bellowed as he dashed out of the gatehouse.

“It’s all right, Bull,” Asta yelled. “It’s still a good plan.” A terror spell settled over the group of guards flushing out of the newly opened gate. “You and Cullen are a deadly team.” Cullen and Cassandra engaged the first two panicking soldiers, dispatching them quickly and moving onto the next. A massive explosion went off at the gates. “That’s our cue, Cole and Thom,” and Asta scurried out of her place in the deep shadows along the side of the keep‘s walls, through the gate and down into the bowels of the fortress. “Let’s see how deep we have to go until we find a dragon, shall we?”

***

The group stared at the dragon in awe. “She’s enormous,” Asta swallowed. “How old do you think she is?”

“She’s… she’s beautiful,” Bull nearly whimpered. “Do you see those flanks? And those scales… the colors...”

“You could look at me like that,” Dorian grumbled.

“Are you jealous of a dragon, Dorian?” Asta teased.

“Yes, I am,” the mage stuck up his nose. “You’ve heard his theories about who the Qun… breeds with. I think I have reason.”

“Gross,” Sera made a face. “Don’t wanna hear about it. Drop it, yeah?” The elf seemed a little calmer, out of the Crossroads and with a clear goal. “Let’s just kill it and be done?”

“Actually…” Asta grinned. “Let’s do something the Qun would never suspect. Especially since your Inquisitor is developing a reputation as a dragon hunter.”

“Boss?” Bull’s eye was wide with wonder and hope. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  Because she's too pretty to die.”  Dorian made a disgusted noise, obviously slightly hurt.  "I still love you, Kadan. She's pretty, but not as pretty as you."

Asta grinned at the man, “Let’s set it free to wreck havoc through our enemies.”

Sera cackled with glee. “Now we’re talking!”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen hesitated and asked cautiously, “What kind of havoc? Once it's free, we can't control it.  This isn't precisely advisable... Does it even breathe fire, or…”

Asta smiled at him brilliantly, taking his breath away. “Let’s find out, shall we? Sera, follow me, we‘re going to find out how that gate is controlled. Dorian, Viv, try some elemental spells once the rest of you engage with the guards, but try not to hurt the dragon?”

“This is good,” Cole breathed, “They’ve been hurting her. Her poison burns…”

Cullen went paler yet, “Poison? I don’t think…” but Asta was already dropping into stealth. “Damn it, Asta,” he cursed. “You heard her,” he sighed. “Save the dragon. Kill the Qunari.”

Bull half stood, went a dark grey and dropped back down behind the wall. “Dammit, Cullen. Viddasala. She’s…” he took a deep breath. “She’s here.  Is this a bad time to mention that she used to be my boss?”

Cullen stood partially and peered over the half wall. “I guess you get to burn a bridge, then.  No time to waste, right?"

“All right,” Bull eyed Dorian, more than a little nervously. “Stay away from her, Kadan,” he instructed. “Please.” And then he stood up fully, preparing to roar.

“Hissrad!” A tall, elegant Qunari woman’s voice, deep and commanding, cut through the distance between them. “How unexpected.  After you threw away the full alliance, I thought we'd never see you again, that you would be lost to the madness lurking in your own mind. Rejoin us, Hissrad! Kill the Inquisitor!  Embrace your purpose!”

Bull’s eye carefully avoided seeing Asta, still hidden with Sera, making her way down to the floor of the main chamber, even as his mouth started twitching. “Now, why would I do that?”

“The Qun demands…” Viddasala’s mouth drew out in a thin line. “Tal-Vashoth,” she hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, not a chance, ma’am,” Bull grinned at Dorian. “Watch this, Kadan,” he winked. “I’m gonna make _her_ soul dust. Just for you to play with.”

“Have fun, Amatus,” Dorian waved him on. “I’ll just be over here, trying to keep up your shields. And otherwise assist, in my small way.”

“You…” Viddasala sneered, “How far you’ve fallen, Hissrad.”

“Oh, I’ve fallen, all right,” Bull showed all his teeth as he stalked her from across the room. Dorian cast his shields, and they settled over him like a second skin. “Fallen for that fine looking man that the Qun would‘ve called a Saarebas. Sewn his mouth shut, chained him up, and called him a dangerous thing. Well, he’s dangerous, all right. He’s a fucking ‘Vint, the worst kind of ‘Vint, and the son of a magister. And he’s mine,” he smiled proudly. “Ain’t love grand?  Say, 'Hi!', Kadan?”

At that moment, Dorian cast Terror over Viddasala and she stumbled as he marked her with a Spirit Mark and nodded at Bull. “Take it away, Amatus,” he smiled. “When she falls I’ll bring her back and you can do it again, and again. Only the best for you.” The four warriors attacked nearly simultaneously, engaging the enemy and backed up by Varric and Seeker, and Vivienne, for once happily shielding them from outside dangers, namely, one dragon that was incredibly irritated at having its already limited personal space invaded by a bunch of small things carrying pointy objects.

“Do hurry, darling!” She called out. “I think the beast is feeling a little threatened!”

“Who wouldn’t be intimidated by you, Madame de Fer?” Thom complimented as he blocked a blow from the Ben-Hassrath agents guarding Viddasala.

“So charming,” Vivienne nearly purred. “Apparently even bearded barbarians can be taught. Still - make it quick?”  She fade-stepped to the other side of the dragon.  "Even I can't dance with it forever, my dear."

Asta snuck up under the wheels of a loaded cart with Sera. “Sera…” she peeked over the edge. “Do you think we can raise the gate?”

“Easier to blow it up,” Sera spoke softly. “This cart is filled with gaatlok.  I can smell it.”

“It’s right by the dragon,” Asta worried, “How will we get past it?”

Sera cackled. “Bees. They‘ll give her a scare, but won‘t hurt her.  And Viv can dodge, yeah? Or use those fancy shields?”

Asta nodded, grinning. “The most versatile tool. Let’s do it,” the friends smiled at each other in anticipation, as Sera fished out and tossed her jar. “NOW!” Asta yelled, and they sprinted for the back of the cart. “Fuck, it’s heavy!” They laughed and shoved, giggling madly as they struggled with the vehicle. “Varric, if you aren’t busy, we could use those arms!” Asta yelled.

Varric slipped between them, shoving. “You got it, Quiz,” he said. “Over by the gate?”

“Yes!” Sera continued to laugh and cackle wickedly as Asta tried to inform Varric of their mad plan. “We’re blowing it up, assuming Viv will help with the kaboom…”

“Of course,” the mage called, humming what appeared to be a dance tune as she tried to simultaneously dodge the dragon's panicked claws and the bees. “Just tell me when!” The three rogues shoved the cart over against the gate, just in time to realize that the dragon wasn’t panicking any longer, the bees and wasps long since flown away. “Get out of here,” Asta ordered, and they all dove for cover as the dragon spat venom at them viciously. “Vivienne, NOW!”

A massive firestorm of flame descended from the Fade, kindling the wooden cart instantly, and seconds later fragments of metal gate, stone wall and wooden cart splintered into the wall sheltering them, hitting with a resounding noise that made Asta‘s ears ring.

“That was…“ Sera laughed giddily. “Can we do it again? Wait until Dagna hears what I got to do… Worth the hearing loss, aye?!” The elf was fiddling with her finger in one ear, wincing.

“You said it,“ Asta yelled, eying the gaping hole in the gate and wall through the cloud of smoke. “Apparently we don’t need to show her the way out.” The dragon pulled up her chained leg, spitting acid along the chain, and broke free, spitting poison at Viddasala spitefully and flying to freedom. Asta sighed happily, watching her wing away. “I love a happy ending,” she sighed, as the dragon evidently attacked its former captors in the distance and then gasped, her hand starting to smart and shake, and she gripped it. “Get away!” she ordered Varric and Sera, trying to hold on long enough for her friends to get to a safe distance. “Cullen!” She cried out, and Cullen looked up long enough to see her collapse and her hand explode.

“Asta!” He yelled, and ran to her side, abandoning the pitched battle in a heartbeat, Cassandra picking up his opponents capably, and dispatching one before he noticed the change in attacker.

Viddasala waved her remaining soldiers over, eying the Inquisitor‘s debilitation warily. “Retreat to the Eluvian,” she ordered, and she slipped through a side door, nearly unobserved.

Cullen grabbed his wife. “Are you…” he picked up her hand. “Oh, Asta,” his mouth went dry. The mark twisted up her fingers and threaded halfway down to her elbow.

“Fine,” Asta gritted out, trying to sit up. “I’m fine. It’s just… that was worse than…” she followed his eyes and stared at her hand in horror. “Cullen… I… don’t think I have long,” she swallowed. “We have to follow her. We have to end this.”

Cullen nodded and helped her up. “Let’s go.” His grim determination fit over him like a second set of armor. “Let’s go save your life.”

***

The area on the other side of the Eluvian was filled with Qunari, and they were immediately engaged in battle as they crossed through together. “Vivienne, shields!” Cullen and Asta yelled, and for once, Vivienne obeyed without argument, just as Asta crumpled to the ground again.

“Get away,” Asta yelled at Cullen, and she slammed her closed fist into the dirt, hoping to stifle the explosion, knowing he didn‘t have time to flee. “Just…” she screamed helplessly as the earth itself rippled out to topple the Qun warriors and Saarebas, shaking her friends as they trickled through the Eluvian one at a time.

“Cut the Inquisitor a path,” Cullen demanded, seeing a familiar figure standing by the Eluvian just on the crest of a nearby hill. His heart swung upwards with what felt like hope. “Get her to the Eluvian!” He swept a Qunari blade aside, feinting and twisting it out of the warrior’s hand with a singularity of focus, that same optimism giving him a second wind of strength. “Get her out of here! The mark is spreading too fast!”

Asta stood, shaky and weak and ran slowly, crumpling after only a few steps. “Stay away,” she ordered again, slamming her hand back into the ground and shaking the Qunari soldiers again for a few moments. “Whatever all of you do, stay away from me! I can’t control it at all!”

“Take advantage of their confusion!” Cullen ordered, trying to keep one eye on the man standing and observing, and then turning and stepping through the mirror behind him, as if he couldn‘t be bothered to intervene. Cullen clenched his teeth, and fought furiously.  Sera’s arrows flitted straight and true, headshot after headshot into falling and fallen Qunari as Asta shook the ground beneath them all. “Keep moving, Inquisitor!” Cullen tossed his shield aside, lifted her shoulder and helped her limp forward, her eyes shut against the echoes of the pain. He cut down another warrior, and then a Saarebas, deadly and brutal despite using only one hand and no shield, and they reached the Eluvian just after Viddasala disappeared through it, seemingly abandoning her forces. He pulled Asta around to face him. “You know I love you, right?” He asked her seriously.

Asta blinked at him, stumped at his timing and still wrapped up in the pain streaming from her hand and arm - now clear up to her elbow. “I love you, too,” she said slowly. “But what…”

Cullen fisted his hand in her hair, and kissed her hard, desperately, stopping her words. He pulled back, eyes bleak and hopeful at the same time. “I’ll see you on the other side. Now, go!” and he shoved her through the Eluvian backwards.

“Cullen, NO!” But she was through, on the other side, and he had a job to do.

Cullen ran for his shield, swooped it back into his hand, and confronted his enemy, his only thoughts for his wife, praying to whoever happened to be listening that she was safe on the other side of the Eluvian, and that Fen‘Harel would help her, whatever the cost.

 


	138. Be My Mirror, My Sword, My Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Asta asks all the questions, and even gets a few answers, for a change. ;)
> 
> Chapter title from Coldplay's "Viva la Vida". One of my theme songs for Solas... and oddly for the Chantry.

Asta fell out the other side, and scrambled to her feet, spinning around and drawing her knives reflexively.

Solas stood alone at the top of another small rise, snapping his fingers and turning Viddasala into stone with the simple movement. “Inquisitor,” he greeted her. There was a cliff behind him, and the air was cool, with the trace of a breeze, contrasting with the close humid air of the Darvaaarad. He made a gesture, and the pain disappeared from her arm instantly.

Asta flipped back to the mirror and tried to go back through, but it was solid. “Solas, they’re all on the other side.” Solas waved his hand, and the mirror acted like a window, letting Asta see the other side - all too clearly, as her friends fought to kill their enemies and reach her. “Let me back through, Solas,” she insisted, slamming her hands against the mirror. Sera was front and center at the moment, slinging her arrows like insults flew in the Orlesian court, elegant, sharp and cutthroat.

“She’s of Andraste’s line, you know,” Solas had come up behind her while she looked through the mirror silently watching her friends struggle for their lives, and watching Sera flip through the air firing arrows and curses.

“What?!” Asta spun to Solas, startled. “You mean…”

“You were right about Alli Vemar,” Solas smiled slightly, giving the name a slight inflection and accent she didn't recognize. “She did find a Dalish clan to take her in - they were less exclusive then, if just as trumped up on their own importance. Possibly with more cause.” He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “She destroyed an empty ship, with her lover’s help, took a small boat to shore, and joined them.” He smiled slightly. “She was very… resourceful. Much like her descendant,” he mused, facing the mirror again, his hands behind his back. “That trait, at least, has carried through, as well as a certain… playfulness. Her mother never had either.” His face fell as the story ended.

“Which clan?” Asta remembered her friends, and turned back to the mirror, distracted and hardly listening to his answer, watching Cole weave in and out of the darkness of stealth, until he didn‘t come back out, and she fisted her hands against the cold glass-like material, frustrated and impotent.

“It does not exist any longer,” Solas looked down. “It was mostly destroyed, and the remaining elves joined other clans, or dispersed from there when it became obvious that they could not maintain their numbers. Sera, as far as I have been able to discover, was born in Denerim’s alienage, and spent some time in the orphanage there, before meeting and being taken in by her Lady Emmauld.” He paused, “She isn’t the only descendant of Andraste I’ve met. I was pleasantly surprised at how prolific her progeny turned out to be through the ages.”

Asta raised her hand to silence the Elvhen god, making his mouth form a hard line. “Hush, I think… I think they’re losing,” she faced the mirror, her nose almost touching it with her desire to get back to them, “Solas, they’re going down.” Thom had fallen to a blow to the head, and Sera tripped off her high perch in response to a well timed axe slash to her ankles. “Shit. You have to let me back through, Solas. I can save them, I can…” Varric collapsed, a dagger to his ribs, and Cassandra was slashed through the side trying to reach him, dropping to the ground as her side bled out.

“We have not finished our conversation.” Solas sounded irritated.

“Then help them, Solas, so we can finish it,” Asta slammed her hand against his Eluvian, still not looking at him. “How can you just watch them die?!”

“You’ve read the books you took from my library, Inquisitor,” Solas spun her chin to look at him. “You know the stories. You know the price of my help is high.”

“There’s always a cost when you ask for help, no matter who you ask, and no matter what they say,” Asta said firmly, “But I will pay it. They will not sacrifice themselves for me. Not when I could prevent it.” She jerked herself back to the mirror in time to see Cullen fall, flanked by a rogue he couldn’t see, and one she could have stopped. “Cullen…” she whispered. “No…” Her fingers trailed down the still hard surface of the Eluvian and she fell to her knees, unable to look away, despite the torment. Vivienne could barely keep up her shields, much less fight back or cast Resurgence, and then her impressive shields faltered, and fell, and the mage, whirling around to protect her own flank from the rogue that had taken down Cullen, missed the second entirely and dropped, her face full of surprise and her robes stained red for the first time Asta could remember.

“What will you give?”

Asta whirled to face him, as hard as stone. “My life if I have to. Just don‘t let _them_ die.” Her voice broke. “Any of them.” Behind her in the mirror, Dorian’s necromancy failed him for lack of mana, and he was barreled over by three Ben-Hassrath at once, Bull’s mouth wide open in a bellow and his face full of pain as he whirled around and lost himself to madness, truly Tal-Vashoth at last in the single moment when his Kadan was lost.

“Martyrdom is unnecessary,” Solas’ mouth moved up on one side, almost too subtle to see. “As I told you before. Instead, I will take something that will give both of us _more time_ ,” he stressed, and snapped his fingers again. “Now I will help them.”

Asta stared in shock at the lack of her arm, disappeared from slightly below the elbow down. “You… you took…” she tried to stand, a subtle fade-green smoke leaking from where her limb used to be and Solas waved a barrier into existence, a safe bubble insulating from whatever danger she presented to him. “No, you misunderstand,” Asta stumbled towards him. “You…” tears dripped down her face. “ _Thank you_ ,” she fell back to her knees, and failed to catch herself, forgetting already about the lack of her left hand. “Thank you, my friend,” she whispered, laying on the ground shaking, but for once, not with pain, shock far outstripping any pain that she might have felt with the severance.

“I would not have caused you pain without necessity, my friend,” Solas offered as he knelt next to her, his face as full of grief as she had ever seen it. “Now, I will save your friends, as we agreed.” He stood again, reopened the mirror and strode through, radiating blue light and emanating power thick enough to taste. Asta maneuvered herself back upright with her good arm, still shaking, and watched as Fen’Harel turned all the Qunari into stone with a snap of his fingers. He didn’t even have to draw his staff, weaving magic she could almost see over their skins and turning them into a series of macabre statues in a gruesome imitation of an Orlesian garden.

The Qunari disposed of, he drew his staff and concentrated, fingers to his forehead, swung it wide and around, and a green light Asta recognized all too well lit up every one of her friends, lifting them back to their feet and higher yet, leaving the ground in a defiance of natural laws, and then laying them gently back down as if they were never upright. He walked over to Cullen, as he alone stirred, and helped him rise, speaking softly to him and handing him his sword.

With that, Asta passed out in shock and relief, knowing her husband was alive.

***

Cullen groaned, and propped himself up. “Greetings, Commander,” Solas was before him, and Cullen was too dizzy to lunge at the elf, too worn to fight.

“Where is Asta?” He asked quietly, despair at her absence. “Were we too late?” He stared around him, disbelieving at the stone Qunari. “What did you do?”

“She still lives,” and Solas raised his chin. “Though I cannot say she is unaltered. She will live, however. I can promise that.” He bent down and helped him rise to his feet, handing him his sword. “Also, I suspect after she recovers from her shock that she will be looking for this…” and Solas opened Cullen’s hand and dropped Asta’s wedding ring into it. “It was not a part of the price she paid.”

“What did you do?” Cullen asked again and looked confused. “Why isn’t she wearing it?”

“I removed what would have killed her,” Solas quirked his mouth slightly. “She thanked me, I’ll have you know. Whether she will thank me later remains to be seen. Gratitude, in my experience, does not tend to last once the consequences of our choices are made apparent.”

Cullen went even paler and stumbled, sheathing his sword and trying to walk. “Take me to her,” he begged. “Please, Solas…”

Solas lifted a hand, “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” he sighed. “I have already extracted a price from your wife.” He looked at him sideways. “Your wedding was lovely. I appreciated the vows a great deal. Did you mean them?”

“I did,” Cullen’s confusion played over his face. “I do. I always will.”

Solas chuckled as if endlessly amused, “I was someone’s shield once, you see. And their sword as well, as odd as that might seem. We walked many roads together, and though in the end, she was betrayed…” his words ended abruptly. “It was a very long time ago,” he bit off, “But not as long as you might think.”

“Hold on,” Cullen struggled to follow the cryptic comments and tried to channel Asta in order to draw parallels to the Chant, “Are you saying…”

“I say what I mean,” the elf replied lightly. “Tell your wife she is… not wrong, though not quite right. If she keeps hunting, she will find the truth, and might even recognize it when she sees it, as she seems slightly more intelligent than most people educated in the Chantry. Minrathous is a start, because it was the end.” The elf finally sheathed his staff. “I would ask you all to remember that you owe me your lives,” he continued, “But I find that human memories are all too short, Qunari memories even less so, and Sera…” he chuckled. “Sera is very like her ancestors, whatever she chooses to believe. She will not thank me for saving her in any case. She is far more likely to spit at my Eluvians and every statue of the Dread Wolf she passes from here on out, especially if she knew the truth.”

“Ancestors?!” Cullen was bowled over and started to laugh. “Tell me. Asta will ask, and I want to see her enthusiasm when I can confirm it.”

“As I said, your wife is not wrong.” Solas chuckled again. “About many things. I don’t think anyone has come so close to the truth since...” He sighed in memory. “I slept too long,” he concluded. “But that is over now. The question is… what will the Inquisition do now?” He straightened. “The others will sleep for a bit. They need the rest, but they will wake. You should come with me.”

Cullen stumbled behind him through the final mirror, still dizzy and disoriented, and found his wife in a pile before it, nearly stepping on her before he realized. “Asta!” He dropped and pulled her into his lap, his stomach twisting when he realized her arm was missing, the leather nearly flat against the ground. “Solas…”

“It would have killed her,” Solas looked down, a trifle regretfully. “I spared her what I could. The blood, the healing from such a wound, and most of the pain, I assure you.”

Cullen started to shake in horror, and Asta’s eyes cracked open at the not-so-subtle movements. “Cullen?” She shook her head to clear it. “I’m all right, love,” she started to raise her left hand to his face, and shut her eyes when she saw the loose fabric of her armor flopping over instead. “Oh… so, that happened…” she swallowed. “I thought maybe I dreamed…”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen pulled her to his chest, and rocked back a little bit. “You’re alive, Asta. I don’t care about...” He kissed her head fiercely, eyes clenched against the possibility of tears and clutched her tighter. “Thank you, Solas.” The elf inclined his head in acceptance of his gratitude.

“Solas,” Asta struggled to sit up when she remembered. “Andraste’s Ass, Cullen, let me go for a minute? Your armor is crushing me.”

“No,” he replied, and Asta rolled her eyes. “Dammit, I thought you were gone, that I was…” Asta raised her other hand to touch his face, and he shut his eyes and leaned into it, tears leaking out and wetting her palm. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong. I have never been so happy to be wrong.” Asta wiped his tears away with her thumb.

“Inquisitor,” Solas weighed her appearance, and apparently judged her stable enough for the rest. “I fear there is more. I didn’t intend, when I made the Veil, for any of this to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he insisted. “You will not like what I have to do next.”

“So don’t do it,” Cullen said. “Whatever you’re talking about.” He was barely paying attention, focused on his wife even as Asta frowned in thought.

“You’re going to tear down the Veil,” Asta said quietly. “You are Fen’Harel. You created it, and now you are going to destroy it. Solas…” she hesitated, taking a deep breath. “Are you the Maker?” Cullen choked at her casual blasphemy. “Shh, Cullen, this is important.” She held her breath and waited expectantly.

“I can’t tell you all of my secrets in a single day,” Solas replied seriously. “You’ll appreciate it more if you discover them for yourself. You have the bones of the truth, and I have no doubt you will… flesh it out. My goals remain unchanged. And… it will cause a reckoning,” he concluded. “But the People need me.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, my friend,” Asta continued, even more quietly. “We don’t have to be in opposition to each other. I hardly fear the Fade, after having been in it so often.” Cullen’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he coughed at her exaggeration. “Well, the Nightmare was pretty bad. But I didn’t see a single demon the third time,” she pointed out. “It can’t all be spiders and nightmares. Cole came from there.”

“Then I look forward to being wrong yet again,” Solas replied blithely, holding out his hand to help her up. “I am not wrong often. It has been… a novelty.”

Asta laughed and took his hand, Cullen rising with her, trying to offer his assistance. “You realize that I will have to try to stop you, if you cannot guarantee this will not hurt people?” She eyed him suspiciously, “All the people, Solas. Even the nasty ones that really don‘t deserve to be saved. That includes most of Orlais. And possibly Tevinter, if Dorian can be believed.  That is debatable.”

Solas quirked an eyebrow at her. “That sounds like a challenge. Are you challenging me, Inquisitor?”

“Asta,” Cullen hissed urgently, “Don’t challenge the Elvhen god of tricksters.”

“Are you a god, Fen’Harel?” Asta smiled and asked straight out, a calculating look in her eyes.

“Never trust anyone who calls themselves a god,” Solas replied, slightly smirking.

“And by that logic, you are telling me to trust you, because you aren’t calling yourself a god. Not using the word, anyway.“ Asta replied laughing hard. “That is not an answer, you tricksy son of a bitch!”

“And who are you,” Solas bantered easily, “if not Andraste’s bitch, Herald? You even married a Fereldan Templar and made the moniker even more appropriate.”

Asta threw her head back and roared, much to Cullen‘s alarm, fearing for her sanity. “All right, challenge accepted,” Asta grinned showing all her teeth. “So where do we go from here, Fen’Harel, my friend?”

“You go stop the Chantry from making a massive mistake,” Solas’ lips twitched. “And I… will do what I must.” He grew serious again. “And then… we will see.”

Asta straightened her face, with difficulty, trying to regain a semblance of a professional demeanor. “And after that? Will I ever see you again?”

“Nothing is inevitable,” Solas hedged.

“Telanadas,” Asta nodded thoughtfully, and then started firing questions at him, point blank and as sharp as Sera's arrows. “Are you Shartan? Did you personally 'know' Andraste? How old are you? Are you a father?  Are all the stories about you true? Do you know how to use a sword or was that a mistranslation like Tyrdda Bright-Axe?” Solas looked at Cullen and shook his head, chuckling slightly, and turned away to reactivate the mirror, while Cullen steered her away from her prey. “Why aren't you respected more? Why all the wolf statues? And…” Cullen tried to shove her through the mirror, and she caught the frame with her hand to stop him, “DID ANDRASTE EVEN WRITE THE CHANT OF LIGHT?! WAS SHE A BLOOD MAGE?!” And then she was through the mirror, Cullen partially carrying her as she struggled to return to the only one who could answer, and Solas closed the passage, with an air of relief.

“I have never known a woman with so many questions,” Solas said to himself, and then reactivated the mirror, stepping through to a different destination and a far different purpose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I admit, I play with the lore, a lot. But, looking at Sera's banter - why shouldn't she paint? Why does she hate to sing? Why does Solas constantly act like a disapproving grandfather around her (besides the obvious). But they have funny little similarities, even as they are different. And Solas admires her singular focus. So... I played. And I don't regret it. I think it's amusing.
> 
> And let's face it, if Andraste was an elf singing praises to the Maker, I think that Solas might have been the Maker. ;) How many of us romanced him just to be ruined for any other romance? Hmmm? Coincidence?
> 
> So ask me your questions, if you have them. I'll explain my crazy theories fully now that this part of Trespasser is over.
> 
> Also - Beepiary, if you're still reading, I finally fit the Andraste's Bitch joke in!!!


	139. Show Me What's Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter of the day, and probably the last before Christmas! See you all on the other side! Happy Holidays!
> 
> And there's a NSFW portion about midway. Maybe a little past halfway. You should see it coming and be able to avoid it, if you would like.
> 
> Title is from Breaking Benjamin's 'Never Again'. So much Breaking Benjamin. It's a little embarrassing.

Asta stumbled through the mirror, off-balance and cursing. “Fuck, Cullen! Why’d you stop me!”

“Because he said you’ll enjoy it more figuring it out for yourself,” Cullen grinned in victory. “And I have the answers to some of those questions, Inquisitor.”

Asta’s eyes went wide. “Tell me!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cullen smiled even wider. “I might… if you’re nice to me,” he teased.

“I can be very nice,” Asta sized him up and sighed. “First, our friends,” and she went to Sera, who was just starting to recover. “Good morning, Buttercup!” She grinned, and the elf cursed.

“Fuck, my head…” Sera sat up, cursing. “What, did I drink too much? Why am I outside?”

“How is Andraste’s descendant this fine afternoon?” Asta chirped, all too cheerfully.

“What? HOLY… NO!” Sera yelled. “I’m not! I hate to sing, hate…” she narrowed her eyes. “Wait… how did you know?”

“Fuck, you knew?” Asta stared at her friend with disbelief. “How did…”

“My mam claimed that shit, before she died, not that it saved her when she got sick,” cursed the elf. “Stupid. All of it. Well, some of it. Whatever… And what the fuck happened to your arm?” Sera picked up the loose sleeve, eyes huge with shock and worry. “You okay?”

“Gone,” Asta replied, stoically. “Solas took it. He saved your lives, and mine, for that matter, so it was worth it.” She pushed herself upright, slightly unbalanced. “Going to go wake up Dorian.” Cullen was already helping Cassandra and Varric, and Bull was shaking himself up from the pile of stone warriors he was laying on top of. “Would have lost all of you, otherwise.” She shook her head to free herself from the memory, and then went over to Dorian, shaking his shoulder gently, while Sera stumbled over to Thom, who immediately held his head while Cullen came over to check that it had healed entirely. Dorian awake, Asta had to search a while for Cole, before she found him concealed behind a rock. Vivienne straightened imperiously, with a disgusted sneer at the mess of her armor.

Recovered, they gathered together. “I don’t suppose we can go back through the library,” Asta started, and they all groaned. “Just thought I’d ask,” she grumbled. “Ages of lost knowledge, lost again. I‘m never going to find all my answers.”

***

Josephine and Briala were on the other side as they stumbled back through the Eluvian one more time, the mirror going black as soon as they were all safely on the other end. Briala didn’t react, Asta noticed, but recognized that for the Marquise, the Crossroads had likely been shut to her for some time.

Josephine screeched piercingly. “Inquisitor, what happened to your arm?”

Asta raised an eyebrow, and decided to tease her. “What arm? Did I ever have a left arm?”

Josephine scowled. “Inquisitor, this is not funny. Did you succeed? Are you injured? Should we call a surgeon?”

“Yes, sort of, and absolutely not,” Asta answered in turn. “And the answer to your first question is that Fen’Harel saved my life,” she stressed. “That should be made clear. Whatever price I paid doesn’t matter, in the end.” Her face was stoic and still, now, with no remnants of levity. “So when you inform your contacts of my… disability, make sure you stress that it was a mercy and a gift.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josephine sighed. “I am relieved he could help you.”

“He helped in many ways,” Asta replied. “And now, I am tired, and need to get some sleep. I’m sure everyone else agrees with me. Let’s adjourn until tomorrow, and pick this up in a War Council.”

“Very well,” Josephine made a small note. “Ten o’clock?”

Asta waived aside her attempt at precision. “Let’s just make it whenever I wake up. It’s been… a long few weeks, Josie. I… really need to sleep.”  She struggled to get it out kindly.

“Of course,” Josie nodded once. “Just find me when you are ready. Lel... Divine Victoria arrived while you were gone. I will update her on the situation.” The Ambassador paused, and then embraced Asta with one arm. “I _am_ happy, Asta. I was… very worried.” She stepped back. “Rest well, and know that all is taken care of.”

Asta stumbled and weaved her way up the stairs to their room, holding the wall. “I can’t believe how little balance I have now,” she grumbled.

“Is it just fatigue?” Cullen stepped up and tried to guide her.

“No, it’s like I’m lopsided,” Asta sighed. “Not surprising, if… suddenly depressing. Still worth it, though.” She glanced back at her husband. “I’m sorry.”

He opened the door for her and followed her in. “Sorry for what?”

“I… can’t keep my wedding vows. Well, some of them. I can’t be your hands when yours shake, now,” Asta’s eyes welled up with tears. “I…”

Cullen almost laughed, but saw the tears in her eyes soon enough to stop himself. “You think…” he sighed. “Asta. I have you. I don’t need your hands. Maybe I’ll grow a beard, if I can’t manage to shave some days. It will work out.”

Asta burst into hysterical tears, all the same. “But I lost my ring! I’m sorry, it was so special and…”

Cullen pulled her in, and sat down on the bed with her. “Actually, you didn’t.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the ring. “Will it fit on your right hand?”

“I don’t care if it doesn’t,” Asta sniffled and let him slide it home. It fit snugly, but it fit. “Sol… Fen’Harel gave it back to you?”

“He made a point of it,” Cullen confirmed. “He knew you would be distressed at its absence. Now, what else are you upset about?” He rubbed her back, “Talk to me, Asta.”

“Our plans,” Asta whispered, tears still falling. “I… my adventuring days are over. All our dreams, our plans… I can’t do any of them with only one hand. I‘m helpless all over again, and there‘s nothing I can do about it.”

“We’ll talk to Dagna when we get back to Skyhold,” Cullen replied. “Perhaps she will have a suggestion.”

“I have to give up Artificing,” Asta mourned. “And I was doing well, not fabulously, they aren’t going to be talking about me in Orzamaar, but I was making progress. You have to have two hands for that kind of precision.”

“Again, we’ll speak to Dagna,” Cullen sighed.

“I can’t even undo my own armor,” Asta whispered, hopelessly embarrassed. “Are you going to be responsible for dressing and undressing me? How do you do up laces with only one hand?”

Cullen twisted his mouth to the side in a lopsided grin, “Would that be so bad? Maybe you’ll just have to wear simpler clothes. A few less buckles and laces?” He started working on the armor, recognizing her unspoken request. “I have removed you from your armor before, love.” He longed to kiss her neck while he worked, but second guessed himself, not sure if his advances would be welcome. He worked the buckles loose and slid the tight jacket off her shoulders. “Now, pull,” he said kindly, and the sleeve came loose. “That’s not so bad, right?”

“But you didn’t sign up for this,” Asta’s mouth was a hard line. “You shouldn’t have to…”

“But I want to,” Cullen bent his head down to meet her eyes. “I made you promises, too. And you aren’t helpless. Losing that blighted mark didn’t take anything from you except your left hand. Your most powerful weapon is your brain, Asta. That hasn’t changed. And maybe you should stop thinking for a bit, and get some sleep. It’s all raw right now, and you might feel better…”

“Or worse,” Asta muttered, but she worked her hand into the hem of her shirt and tried to pull it over her head, Cullen right there to help pull it loose. She dropped her hands to the laces at her hips and pulled one loose, knotting it and making her cuss with impatience.  "Andraste's Ankle Mole!  It's hopeless!"

“After some sleep,” he said practically. “But I’m not going anywhere, so I’ll help you get into bed, and then I’ll help you again when you wake up. For as long as you need me to. Understand? I’m here,” he stressed. “Every night and every day. Never again, love.” He picked the knot loose gently. “I’m not going to let you struggle.”

Her shirt gone, Asta stared blankly at the stump of her arm. “It’s ugly. I would never have thought of myself as vain, but…”

“It’s beautiful,” Cullen corrected, “because you’re alive and attached to it. I guarantee your death would have been a lot less attractive.”

That made her try to stifle a snorting laugh, and Cullen took advantage of her slightly less gloomy demeanor to kiss her lightly on the lips, and pull her up to remove her pants, and let her step out of them. He traced the line of her thighs up behind with his fingers, and Asta caught her breath at the tickling contact as he cupped her gently at the hips. “Trust me, love,” his voice deepened. “You’re still lovely. Don’t make me prove it.”

Asta smiled a little. “How would you prove it then?”

Cullen swallowed and fought the temptation. “You’re tired, and had a massive shock, and…”

“And I’m not going to fall apart… at least at the moment,” Asta leaned toward him. “So? Prove it?”

“Andraste wept, Asta,” Cullen cursed, and made up his mind, pulling her in. “We’re both exhausted!”

“So we’ll move slow?” Asta shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be fast…” Cullen raised a hand to her shoulder blade and laid down, making her follow him. “Oh, taking advantage of my weakened state already?” He rolled her over and finally kissed her neck, trailing his lips down it gently, and then making his way back up towards her earlobe, sucking hard enough just underneath it to leave a mark. “That will get noticed, Cullen,” she laughed and hummed when he nipped her to prove a different point.

His hands were busy, unwrapping her breastband, and pulling it free. Immediately he dropped a hand down and stroked her breast, still nuzzling her neck. Asta sobbed a small laugh and he pulled away, worried. “It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s… I want to put my hands in your hair, but I only have one. I…”

“One hand is enough to mess up my hair,” Cullen smiled and leaned his forehead against her chest. “If you had lost both hands, we might have a problem.” Asta cracked up at that and laughed far too loudly, still inclined to hysteria. “Shh,” he kissed her mouth again, to quiet her. “Go ahead and mess up my hair, Asta. I’m not going anywhere it will matter.” He deepened their kiss, swallowing her laughter mixed with sobs, sweeping them into his mouth like dust under the carpet and moved to her eyes, kissing the tears away.

Asta did her best to get his armor off, but grew frustrated with the many fasteners quickly, without the second hand to assist, so Cullen backed off, and took it off quickly, tossing it aside with far too little attention shown to its cleanliness. He shucked off his shirt and dropped his pants swiftly, racing himself to get back into the bed with her.

“I wish I had undressed you myself more often before…” Asta whispered to him. “I wish I had touched you more… I spent all my time worrying about your reactions, worrying that it would be too much…”

“You can touch me all you want with your other hand,” Cullen promised. “There is no need to mourn missed opportunities. This is just another beginning, Asta, not the end of everything. We’ll learn.” He trapped her lips with his again. “You always learn,” he murmured against her. “Every chance you get.” He rocked his hips against her teasingly.  "I can't stop you learning."

She laughed, still a little shyly, and then reached up and buried her hand into his curls, rumpling it purposefully, and tugging him down against her, becoming the aggressor against the softness of his mouth. She twined her left leg around his back and pushed up with her pelvis, cradling him against her. “And I suppose in this, we get to learn together?” She asked, half seriously.

“In this and many other things, I hope,” Cullen grinned, and caught his breath when she dropped her hand and lined him up with her center. “You’re sure?”

“Please,” Asta tilted her head against the pillow.

He pushed inside, tortuously slow, rocking his way in as she pushed from without with her legs and arched against him impatiently. He raised her up slightly, his hands under her back, settling her on his lap, still inside her as she whimpered and rotated, trying to seat him fully. His mouth moved against her collarbone, tracing the fine lines there, and up to her neck, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and twisted her fingers, pulling almost painfully on his hair.

He ignored it entirely in favor of her writhing against him, pushing up into her, dragging her down harder. He was lost, lost in the bliss on her face, and the music from her throat as she moaned and whimpered his name. She grew slicker quickly, and she began to push herself up, and slide down, a gliding ache that made him try to hold his breath, even as she started to gasp for air, still worn out from the day of fighting and hard decisions. She rode him faster, despite the fatigue in their muscles, hips tight, bent backwards and snapping forwards to meet his mouth urgently, and almost panicked in her frenzy.

“Maker, Asta,” he breathed, “I’m going…” and she froze, the moment almost lost.

“Don’t ever use that name in bed again,” she ordered, and started to move again. “Swear by anything you like, any four letter word in any language, fuck, I'll teach you a few, but NOT by the Maker. Not in here. Ever. Again.”

Cullen started to laugh, uncontrollably. “I… will try,” but he collapsed helplessly. Asta joined him, laughing, and he straightened her legs and leaned her back. “Hold on,” he smiled wide. “I want…” She tightened her arms around his neck and beamed at him.

“I love it when you smile like that,” she whispered and arched against him. “But please, Cullen,” she shook a little, inside and out. “I need to feel you move,” she pulled him down closer.

Cullen obeyed, still trying to go slow, but forced to pick up the pace as she panted against his ear and pushed him with her heels. He felt her release begin, and lifted her thighs to penetrate deeper, giving into the desire to make himself disappear into her body. “You are lovely,” he breathed at the end, just as he lost himself entirely to the wonder and magic they had made together, so exhausted that he felt like he was floating, like an island in the Crossroads.

By the time he recovered enough to move, she was already asleep, so he covered her, and curled around her injured arm, kissing it gently, so as not to wake her.

It took him longer to fall asleep, as he kept having to stop his prayers of gratitude, confused about who he was and should be addressing in his prayers. But at long last, he slept, dreamlessly and at peace, sure it would work out one way or the other.

***

Asta found Sera sitting by the fountain before the War Council the next morning, playing with the little fish and a blade of grass she had pulled up from the garden. “Sera, we have to talk,” she informed her sternly, and drug her up to the top of the Winter Palace, despite all the stairs, and stared her down for a full minute before she spoke. “You knew.”

“Well, I was wee,” Sera defended. “Could’ve all been nonsense. A sweet bedtime story to tell the babe with no da and a mam that worked in a tavern doing whatever.”

“That lullaby you recite,” Asta narrowed her eyes. “The one about the willows?”

Sera rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry. “Whatever. Everybody in Denerim knows that song.” But she didn’t look at Asta when she said it.

“You’re not going to help me with this, are you?” Asta sighed. “Sera…”

“Look, it…” Sera gulped, “It doesn’t matter, does it? I’m not Andraste. I’m people, not People. And you keep pointing out that Andraste was just people anyway. Hit us all over the head with it, dontcha, with a big fucking sign? So what’s the big frigging deal? It‘s like that Dalish tribe that claimed Ameridan. So some dead guy was related to them. He‘s still dust in the Frostbacks.  Andraste's still ash.”

Asta opened her mouth and then closed it. “You’re right,” she said. “Of course, you’re right.”

Sera snorted, “’Course I am.”

Asta weighed her next words carefully. “This explains a lot, you know. About why you believe in Andraste at all, since most elves…”

“Most elves,” Sera growled. “Quit lumping me in with that lot. Idiots, the lot of them.” She rolled her eyes.

“And your animosity towards elves in general…” Asta laughed delightedly.

“Look, it’s not like I can recite ages of my bloodline like Dorian,” Sera squirmed as Asta laughed and laughed. “I don’t even remember me mam’s name. I was… tiny when she got sick.”

Asta reached out and embraced her. “Sera, I can promise you, this changes nothing. But thank the Maker,” she cleared her throat, and decided not to draw the conclusion at least in front of her friend, “That you barely ever called me the Herald of Andraste.”

“Well, that would just be creepy, wouldn’t it,” Sera muttered, but returned the hug gently. “And you ain’t the Herald of anything but bad luck and spooky stuff. So get over yourself.”

“Gladly,” Asta smiled. “Now, let’s find a good spot to spit over the edge at Orlesian nobles,” she pulled back. “This roof has to have a good overlook of the garden somewhere. And the Divine is around here somewhere, so she‘ll have an entourage. Some of them must need to be dropped a peg or two?”

“Now you’re talkin’, Lady Bits,” Sera flashed a smile. “Think I can hit Viv from above at this height?”

Asta snorted, “I know better to bet against you. Your aim is diabolical.” She paused, “Or maybe divine. Whatever.” Sera cackled and Asta giggled.

Cole snuck up behind them, and addressed Sera. “You shouldn’t paint,” he said seriously. “It would turn out bad.”

Sera curled her lip, “It’s like he doesn’t even know what he’s saying,” she complained, and Asta steered her gently away from the spirit-man.

“But he’s back there, too,” Cole said, “The one I can’t remember. He paints.”

“What’s he goin’ on about?” Sera actually seemed more patient with the man than usual, in her request for information.

Asta looked pointedly at Cole. “Trust me, you don’t want to know, Sera.” She said at last.

Cole listened, confused, and then nodded as his face cleared. “She doesn’t want to know. Never mind, Sera!” He said brightly and walked away.

“Creepy,” Sera said, but followed Asta over to the edge of the roof. “2 sovereigns says I can hit that hat. I mean, what are those? Ostrich feathers? They‘re all stringy!”

“You’re on,” Asta said, biting her lip and hoped she had made the right decision. “Dammit, Sera, do you practice or something?” Asta dug out her purse. “Two sovereigns.” She chucked the coins into her hand. “I pick the next target, though. The ones you pick are too easy. And I don‘t have that much gold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story still isn't over! I have the Exalted Council, some tough decisions for just about everyone, and a whole huge epilogue that should probably just get split off and called 'Asta's After'. Trying to decide what to use of that is a major problem. *sigh*
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


	140. Forced to Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for depression. It's going to go on for a bit, I'm afraid.

The War Council was brief, curtailed with a notification from the Divine that she required an audience with the Inquisitor. Josephine grew incredibly flustered, and sent a note back that Asta - and her Ambassador - would attend her directly, even as Asta rolled her eyes at the unnecessary pomp and circumstance, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts in order to play the Game again with the Divine, even while her brain could only focus on her own sacrifices.

“This is horrible timing,” Asta grumped. “I can’t play the Game in this state of mind. How many Grand Clerics did she bring with her, Josie? And Chancellors?  Am I up against the whole of the Chantry hierarchy?”

“Enough,” Josie wrung her hands. “You will have to play, Inquisitor. The request is not informal. It’s probably a prelude to completing your trial in Val Royeaux.”

Asta leaned her head back against the wall she was propped against, fatigue settling into her bones. “I just want to go home.”

Josie straightened her mouth firmly. “Yes, well, soon enough Skyhold may not be your home to go to.”

Asta focused on that, albeit with difficulty, “What’s happened, Josie?”

“Ferelden representatives are making moves that insinuate they are uncomfortable with your army perched on the edge of their border. They seem to be steering the Exalted Council towards demanding that the Inquisition be disbanded, and are definitely going to insist that we abandon Caer Bronach and possibly Skyhold.” Josie broke the news gently, but it still came as a slap in the face to Asta.

“We stopped the undead from wiping out that town! We cleared out the bandits from the King’s Road! How much do we have to do before they are bloody grateful?!”

“Too much time has passed, Inquisitor,” Josie said softly. “Memories of your service fade.  They see only a Keep they could be making use of, and a town with strategic value.”

“Human memories are short,” Cullen mused, looking at his wife, already worn with weighing the consequences of her own sacrifice and remembering Fen’Harel’s words.

“All right, that’s a discussion for another day,” Asta said, staring at the War Table with a deadened face. “We will have to weigh our requests and what we are willing to give up very carefully before the Exalted Council, evidently. I want a report on my desk in the next few days from all three of you listing what you consider necessary for the Inquisition’s continued success, and what you think we can capitulate without harming our cause.” The advisors all nodded silently, and Asta took another deep breath. This would be the hard part. “Given my recent loss, I think we should also consider naming my replacement.”

“The Inquisition will never survive if you retire,” Josie gasped. “You are holding us together.”

“I will not be able to participate in any field missions,” Asta stared at the three of them, face bleak. “I cannot fight with only one dagger. We don’t have time for me to learn an alternative, and even if I was gifted in that manner, what would I use? I am not a mage, to use a staff one-handed. A sword without a shield? A bow without an arrow? Even a crossbow must be drawn or ratcheted with another hand, and no enemy will wait patiently for me to fumble. And that’s only if I could hit the broadside of a barn with one. Should I just stand in the background and throw bees? My usefulness as anything other than a figurehead is at its end. So I want a list from all of you of possible replacements.”

Cullen gripped his sword’s hilt hard enough to whiten his knuckles and threaten to split his gloves along the seams.

“Yeah, I don’t see it happening, Boss,” Bull finally spoke up. “I’ll do it, if you order me to, but there’s nobody out there.”

Asta glared at him for daring to say the words, “There has to be somebody. I can’t do this anymore.”

“So delegate, Boss,” Bull tossed back. “Field Agents. Have them specialize.”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life playing politics from behind a desk,” Asta threw back.

“Then you have a sucky job,” Boss stared her down. “Because that’s definitely in your job description.”

“Dismissed,” Asta said through clenched teeth. “Just get out of here, all of you.” Josie left the room biting her lip and failing to remind Asta to not keep the Divine waiting, Bull holding the door for her and shaking his head.

Asta braced herself against the War Table. “Go ahead,” she challenged Cullen at last. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I can’t,” he replied at length.

“Because I’m not wrong. I‘m useless.”

“No, because I worry enough about you in the field when you could protect yourself,” he sighed. “It will be a thousand times worse, now. And as Inquisitor, you can hardly shut yourself up in Skyhold when bad things happen. You’d be a sitting duck for assassins. Who are probably already in Halamshiral.”

“Exactly,” Asta stressed. “So we need a new Inquisitor. Someone that we can depend on in the field, ease into the role. Perhaps I can limp along until they learn the job… we aren’t that weak. Not yet.”

“I will make a list for you,” Cullen said softly, “But Asta, if you retire, I go with you. That will weaken the Inquisition as well. You saw what Leliana’s absence and the transition did to our intelligence. It will only be worse if both of us phase out at the same time.”

Asta snorted derisively. “So don’t leave with me.”

Cullen shook his head. “All naivety aside, love, you will not be able to remain in Skyhold after your replacement takes control. That would be unfair to them, it would divide their loyalties.”

“So you can join me after they are settled in, and Rylen takes your place,” Asta sighed, wondering where she would go. Her head started to ache.

“Or I could retire first,” Cullen offered, even more quietly. “If you hadn’t noticed, the war is over, Inquisitor. Your forces are involved more in peacekeeping than in the sort of strategic battles that are my strong suit. While they remain necessary, in my opinion, a reduction in our forces is almost expected, at this point.”

“Do these soldiers have places to go?” Asta’s own internal debate colored her perception. “We won’t be sending soldiers out to starve with no homes to go to?”

“Most have families, yes,” Cullen said. “And if given the option, many are probably ready to return to them.”

Asta sighed. “Add that to tomorrow’s council agenda, then. The reduction of our forces.” She rubbed her forehead irritably. “I should go stand in front of the Divine and try to look useful, I suppose,” she said bitterly. “These plans are useless since she still holds my heresy over my head.” She turned and left the room, without clearing up after herself, and Cullen stacked and tidied the table, trying not to worry, and then went to find his dog. Perhaps Dane would offer some comfort and distraction.

***

It was a formal audience, and Asta felt completely underdressed, even in her uniform. “I am summoned back to the Cathedral,” she thrust her chin in the air. “May I request the reason why?”

“Insolent heretic,” sneered a Grand Cleric from somewhere outside Ansberg. “As if you did not know.”

The Divine waved a hand at her and took a steady breath, “We do have your trial to conclude, Inquisitor. And we all are in agreement, I believe, that it is best concluded as quickly as possible, with the Exalted Council looming on the horizon.”

Asta stiffened. “How many times do I have to save the lot of you before you admit that the Inquisition is needed? There would be no Chantry without me,” she hissed. “I preserved your religion, protected the positions you now hold. Without the Inquisition, you would have watched while Val Royeaux and your precious Cathedral burned under the gaze of the Venatori and Corypheus returned all of Thedas to the worship of the Old Gods!”

The Grand Clerics visibly recoiled, and Josie held her breath, and her hand out to stop Asta from speaking further, but Leliana stopped the Clerics before they could retaliate. “And those events, as well as more recent ones, will be taken into account, I assure you, Inquisitor. We are all aware of your service.”

“Then let me make my request formally,” Asta took a breath and tried to regain her temper, “Dismiss the charges against me.”

“I will not,” the Divine replied, far more serenely than her opposition.

“I literally gave my left arm for you people,” Asta slammed her right hand onto the low table in front of her. “What else do I have left?” She turned and left the room. “I’m done speaking. I will see you all in Val Royeaux. Let’s get this bloody farce over with.”

Josie knelt in obeisance to the Divine, and scurried after her, too preoccupied to apologize for Asta’s behavior at that moment. “Inquisitor,” she fumed at her, struggling to catch up with the load of parchment in her arms. “Inquisitor!”

“What,” snarled Asta, flinging herself back around. “Are you going to point out that I can’t do the political side of the job, either? Because I’m fully aware. I lost an arm yesterday, if you didn’t notice. I’m not exactly in a frame of mind conducive to playing the Game, Ambassador. And that ‘audience’ was meant to determine that I am exactly what I am - unstable and physically incapable of carrying on the Inquisition.”

Josie sighed, “Yes, it was. And thanks to you, they succeeded in their goal. And with your injudicious use of language…”

“I did that on purpose,” Asta spat out. “Let them know that it’s their religion, not mine. I could care less. I’m done lying my way through my life. Let them know what I think.”

“Then you should just cede the Inquisition to the Chantry now,” Josie put her chin in the air. “Because that is what will happen if you fail to play well. We will be incorporated, probably as an honor guard for the Divine, as a pleasant recognition of services rendered, to turn into the next incarnation of the Templar Order, and you will be lucky if you are exiled instead of executed. Your little display has already cost us much.”

Asta crumpled in realization, “I’m sorry, Josie. I’m just…”

“I know,” the Ambassador laid her hand on her shoulder. “I know, my friend. But if anything you’ve accomplished in the last few years means anything to you, then please, please, find a way to keep going for just a little longer.” She sighed, “I will make your apologies, and the expected excuses. You are right, if anyone has a reason to be bitter in the presence of the Divine, it is you. I’m sure Leliana will understand, even if she cannot help but take advantage of the weakness. They will not forget, but we may be able to recover some standing.” She turned Asta gently towards the stairs to her room. “You should get some rest.”

Asta turned away from the stairs and headed for the gardens instead.

Cullen was pacing in the courtyard with Dane, trying to not worry. “How did it go?” His face fell when Asta looked up at him, bleak and despairing.

“I threw a tantrum,” Asta whispered. “I’m so tired, Cullen. I just… I don’t know if I can play anymore. I need to stop, to catch my breath, and I can’t stop. None of you will let me.” She wrapped her arm around her stomach, trying to do both, and realizing too late that the protective gesture was weakened with the lack of the other arm. “Josie is making my apologies, pointing out my recent injury and claiming the shock has overwhelmed me. It has the benefit of being the truth.” She stared at the tiles on the ground, letting both arms drop to her sides. “I don’t suppose we could just abandon everything and run away?”

“You don’t really mean that,” Cullen started, and then realized she did, when she looked at him, dead serious. “You really would…”

“I’m thinking about it,” Asta swallowed hard and shut her eyes. “A tactical retreat before it all falls apart seems logical, about now. I’m on the cusp of losing everything, Cullen. My home, my freedom, my life…” she choked. “I’ve barely lived, and the Chantry is going to take all of it away.”

“No,” Cullen stepped forward, and took her hand, pulling her towards him gently. “None of us will let that happen. If we need to make plans for a quick exit, fine, but Asta, let us plan for victory first. You aren’t alone in this. You have Josie, and Bull, and Harding, and me. Between us, we are a match for any Divine.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how many Inquisition members it takes to match wits with the Nightengale,” Varric pointed out from behind Asta. “Your Inquisitorialness, I take it the audience didn’t go well?”

“I’m summoned back to Val Royeaux to stand trial.  Again,” Asta replied bitterly. “Apparently the Divine Victoria is willing to trot me out of her prison to solve her problems and sacrifice my arm for her, only to put me right back in when I am no longer needed.”

“Welcome to the Chantry,” Cassandra said softly. “That does seem to be the way they work.” She sighed, and Varric wrapped an arm around her waist, as she rested one on his shoulder. “But we are not defeated yet,” she insisted. “You have done too much for them to just dismiss you now. What are your plans?”

“I have no plans,” Asta breathed in defeat. “None. All my plans disappeared with my arm.  What can I do with only one hand?”

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow, “Then it is time that we make some for you. Commander? Shall we adjourn to the War Room? Varric, summon the rest of the inner circle. ‘Twould be best to keep this private, I think.” She let go of Varric and marched away in the direction of the chamber. “Are you coming, Inquisitor?”

Asta sighed and followed. “Only if I’m allowed to sit down. I’m exhausted.”

 


	141. Won't Let You Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day!
> 
> Still some depression triggers.

Several hours later, a tactical retreat had been planned, quite easily, if slightly more romantically than was strictly necessary, thanks to the enthusiastic input of Cassandra and a certain romance author who was acquainted with a notorious pirate.

“Do we really have to have white horses?” If Asta hadn’t been so tired, she might have been amused. “Won’t they show up bright in the dark of night, as we thunder our way to the docks to locate Sera's stolen boat and the Jenny to row it to Isabela's waiting ship?”

“That is not the point,” Cassandra crossed her arms. “Any color of horse will do, however, I suppose. And from there, you will depart for Kirkwall, where the Viscount has already granted you asylum. After you choose to leave there…”

“If you ever do,” Varric pointed out. “Kirkwall has a way of growing on people. Like a fungus, despite what Curly may have told you and you may have experienced personally. And in the absence of further input from my muse,” Cassandra glared at him, "I'm giving you two a house in Hightown and a key to the city.  Don't tell Bran, I want to do it."

“…after you choose to leave there, you will go to Tevinter,” Dorian supplied, “Accompanied by your bodyguard, Bull, to keep the two of you safe and sound on the dangerous road,” he beamed happily. “There, I will use my considerable influence, and you, in return, will help me reform my home country into what it should be.”

"Hopefully with more success than I managed here," Asta made a face and then let it lapse into sullenness again.

“This escape scenario is all well and good,” Cullen hesitated at the series of scowling faces surrounding his possible criticism, “But how do we win? There must be a way to bring the Inquisition out of this whole and thriving.” Their road forward still looked overgrown and dark, and he could appreciate the attractiveness of the easy escape route.

“To do that we need to prove that the Inquisitor is more valuable alive than dead,” Cassandra thought aloud. “Someone that they cannot execute or exile because she is desperately needed.”

“Unfortunately, she looks weak at the moment due to her injury and… extreme loss of self-control,” Josie pointed out. “My apologies will only go so far. Hardly a person that is essential to the running of Thedas,” she worried, however critically. Asta was barely paying attention, staring at the map, scattered with random markers, indicating her probable route to freedom.

“We could trump up Fen’Harel as a threat to the Chantry…” Cullen offered, only to have Asta shut him down, horrified out of her disconnection with the present.

“Absolutely not! Are you trying to start a war with every elf in Thedas?!” Her eyes were wide. “We’re trying to be inclusive! Not trigger another Exalted March!”

“Well, you said yourself he was going to tear down the Veil,” Cullen winced at her glare. “Just a suggestion.”

“What?!” Cassandra spun on Asta. “When was this? He can’t just…”

“It’s just a theory,” Asta defended, and tried to cross her arms again, but remembering sooner this time that it wouldn’t work, let them fall. “He didn’t confirm his plans at all. And we have to work with him! He’s more powerful than anything any of us have ever seen before. We can’t fight him! Trust me, he’s capable of tearing down the Veil. He created it in the first place.”

“No, he didn’t,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “That was the Maker.”

Asta laughed harshly, uncaring for who she hurt, “Yeah, and who do you think the Maker is, Cass?” She wasn’t even gentle, and Cullen winced and waited for their friends reactions.

“HOLY FUCKING VOID!” Varric erupted in laughter. “Chuckles?!” Sera snorted, disbelieving.

Asta smirked bitterly, “Again, just a theory. He was very careful not to confirm or deny anything. Didn’t even call himself a god, or do anything but answer a few of my lesser questions and take my arm to save all of you. He did say he was Fen’Harel, and said that I wasn’t going to like what he had to do next. But…” she hesitated. “I think he’s a lot older than anyone thought. Much, much older.”

“Before Andraste,” Cassandra breathed, almost reverently. “This is…” she shook her head. “None of that matters. Can we use Fen’Harel as an excuse to keep the Inquisition going?”

“Long, long before Andraste, Cassandra. And we can’t, not if it means that we put ourselves in direct opposition to him,” Asta shot back. “None of us will survive if we do that, and the continued Inquisition isn‘t even in debate. I‘m talking about the loss of all races on Thedas as he rebuilds Elvhenan. He literally turned a Qunari horde into stone in front of me with a snap of his fingers.”

“Can we perhaps merely suggest that he is a danger,” Josie offered almost timidly, “and that the Inquisition sees this possible threat as their new priority? A hint, rather than a declaration of war?”

Asta snorted, “He is a danger. He’s a trickster, and the best bluff I’ve ever played against. If we play his Game, and I think we‘ve already been dealt our hands, we’re bound to lose. Bull, you and Varric played Diamondback against him. Once was enough, right? Did you even give him a run for his money?” She paused, thinking. “He did say one thing, that suggested I had a chance. He said, and I quote, “That he looked forward to being wrong again”, after I told him that we didn’t need to fight each other. That is… a breath of hope. Perhaps.”

“He told you before that he respected you,” Cullen offered, “And didn’t he tell you once he thought you were wise? I doubt that he‘s said anything of the sort to Leliana. Perhaps we can play you up as the only person that he would consent to work with for the preservation of Thedas?”

Asta slumped, “I don’t feel very wise right now. Just tired.” She sighed weakly, her sudden burst of energy gone.

“You don’t have time not to rest,” Cassandra criticized. “We are done here for now. Go sleep. We will have to leave for Val Royeaux all too soon.” The others filed out one by one, not waiting for Asta to dismiss the meeting and leaving her alone again with Cullen. Cassandra informed her before she shut the door, “Varric and I will keep working on solutions. There must be something we can do.”

“It would be so much easier just to let him tear it down, give up, let the Chantry have the Inquisition,” Asta whispered. “I don’t know even where to start.” She kept her eyes on the map, tipping over the markers one by one with a fingertip, as if conceding her loss.

“We’ve already started,” Cullen replied, and hesitated, “How can I help you?” He set the markers back up gently, but in different places to disguise their possible retreat.

“I don’t think anyone can help me,” Asta closed her eyes wearily. “I’m _tired_ , and there’s no one else to do this job. No one. It’s me, or nothing. You all made it obvious this morning.”

Cullen swallowed, “He talked to me about whether you would thank him when you realized the consequences of your sacrifice.” He looked at her, and suddenly relaxed and smiled. “I know exactly where you need to start. Love, I think you need to get back to work.” He strode across the room, and took her hand. “Let’s go get those other books - the ones that your friends so eagerly stole for you from an Elvhen god‘s library.”

Asta followed, dull and confused, and for once, not really wanting to read.

Half an hour later, she was still sitting, blank-eyed in front of a fairly massive pile of books. “I don’t know, Cullen,” she sighed. “I just can’t find the interest to begin.” She fiddled with the pages, flipping them randomly and not seeing the words.

Cullen smiled. “He told me that he was someone’s sword and shield once. That he appreciated our wedding vows. Asked me if I meant them.” He leaned over the back of her chair and spoke in her ear, “And that reminds me…” He bent over and removed an additional five books from his pack. “These are for you. A belated wedding present, if you will.”

Asta stared at the books. “Cullen? You took… But you didn’t want me to save them.”

“At the expense of your life, no,” Cullen tilted his head to meet her eyes. “But I figured I could carry a little extra weight.” He bent down and kissed her impulsively. “I can‘t read the titles. They‘re in Elvhen, not Common. I have no idea whether they will be useful. It could be a treatise on whether green is green for all I know. But…” he stopped, shy, “I wanted to show you I understood. Even though your life was more important to me. I believe in you, Inquisitor. You are needed, without the mark. And this is why,” he nodded at the piles of reading material. “We need your words.”

Asta stared at him with tears in her eyes, leaned forward and kissed him gently. “Then I’d better try to get to work,” she sighed with a small smile. “We have to leave for Val Royeaux tomorrow or the next day. Before Briala and Celene decide to kick us out so that they can finish their preparations for the Exalted Council.” Her brow furrowed, “Do you think I’ll be able to ride a horse with only one arm? How will I climb on?”

“I’ll put you on mine if you can’t,” Cullen smiled, a little more hopeful. “I know you’ll get sick in a carriage, because you’ll try to read. Though I‘m sure Josie would be more than happy to spend the time lecturing you on your behavior.” He stood up, “To work, Inquisitor. You have the creation of the Veil to research. I will see whether the Inquisition has any mages that have studied the Veil. And you should write to Sister Dorcas and Brother Genitivi. They may have some insights.” He hesitated, “And they might testify on your behalf. They are valuable allies. Everyone knows of “In the Pursuit of Knowledge”, after all. Do you think he would…”

Asta sat back, stunned. “I don’t know. Sister Dorcas, yes, but she’s… a little scatterbrained. Other archivists tend to assume she’s made mistakes rather than recognize her essential brilliance. And after the Tyrdda Bright-Axe incident, her prior work has been slightly discredited. Assuming ’Bladed Weapon’ must refer to an axe just because of a surname was a sloppy mistake to make, even given her Chantry bias. I’d be afraid to ask Brother Genitivi…” she shook her head. “Have Josie ask. If it’s official, maybe…” she bit her lip, afraid to hope. “Maybe. He‘s so important. And I‘m…”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” Cullen reminded her, his voice lightly touched with humor. “Probably the social and intellectual equal of even Brother Genitivi.”

Asta sputtered incredulously, “That, my love, _is_ heresy. Never compare us again in my hearing!” She laughed delightedly, “Flatterer. I‘m not even published.” All the same, she turned back to her books, burning a little brighter, however temporarily, with his sincere compliments. “Be useful and uncork my ink, then, Cullen. I can’t manage it on my own.”

***

_Dear Sister Dorcas,_

_I’m sure even in Denerim you’ve heard of my trial. I know, you taught me better. ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, even while you attempt to cut it off.’ But regardless, what is done is done, and I need you. I need your help to convince the entire hierarchy of the Chantry that Andraste can choose a Herald that doesn’t believe in her Divinity._

_I know, it’s a lot to ask you to travel all the way to Val Royeaux, though at least the roads are good this time of year, but you are brilliant, whatever silly mistakes you’ve made in your translations. Please, Sister, will you help me? You… are the closest thing to a friend and a mother that I ever had in the Chantry._

_And on a personal note, I would like you to meet my husband, Commander Cullen Rutherford. You’ll_ like _him. He’s Fereldan, unlike your cousin’s bitch of a wife, an ex-Templar, and devout. I can hear your incredulity from the other side of the continent. This may be your only chance to meet him, since the way I read this situation, I’m either going to be exiled or executed. It’s that bad. My comfort level with the Inquisition was far too high._

_I know better, I know that‘s what you‘re saying. But so did you. Honestly, Sister, ‘Bladed Weapon?’ Even before I started killing demons for a living I could have listed about forty different types of bladed weapons from a kitchen knife to a greatsword. You should have thought that through! Luckily, it was just me snickering on the other side, everyone else was far too impressed you managed to find Tyrdda at all. That was well done, and I‘m glad the Inquisition could assist you in a small way. For the record, my now-husband provided the guards for your expedition. You’re welcome._

_Your student,_

_Inquisitor Asta Rutherford_

***

_Dearest Asta,_

_You foolish child. What did I teach you about Orlesians? Especially Orlesians in the Chantry? Weren’t you listening at all? Even after your struggles with Mother Victoria? I thought you were doing well considering that you seemed to be making progress with your research. I should have never let you go back to Ostwick. You would have done well at the Chantry in Denerim after the Blight._

_Ah, well. By the time you receive this, I will be well on my way to Val Royeaux. I’m not sure what good I’ll be, since you know that I’m the laughing stock of Thedosian archivists since that… debacle. What an embarrassment. I bet you would have gotten the translation right, but then, you hardly have my bias, either._

_Husband? (I’ve already called you a foolish child, and I will attempt not to be redundant.) A Fereldan? Sweetheart, is he even noble? Your mother must be having kittens. On the other hand, it serves her right. I did hear, ever so quietly, that you were… involved with the Inquisition’s Commander, but… married? I suspect that certain vows are held a little closer to your heart than others. I can’t say that I didn’t try to steer you towards a safer path. I hope you are much happier now. I also hope he deserves you._

_I suppose I should be grateful that you cared to write to me at all. The closest thing to a mother than you’ve had, indeed. With nary a letter since the discovery of Tyrdda’s resting place? I thought you were embarrassed by me. Flattery will get you everywhere, however. I am glad that I had that news from your pen instead of hearing it through the limited gossip that trickles down to me through Teagan._

_Speaking of which, my dear girl, what have you been doing to Teagan’s lands? Honestly, my cousin is more than a little unbalanced about the Inquisition’s treatment of Redcliffe. I’m sure you had your reasons, child, but since he is the representative that King Alistair is sending to the Exalted Council, you have your work cut out for you. Do remember that his father tried to side with Orlais, will you? And that he was sent to the Free Marches rather than be allowed to involve himself in the Civil War? You’ll need all the information on him that you can get to keep from being overwhelmed by his ingrained sense of preservation._

_I will be at the Cathedral as soon as I can manage. Do try not to get yourself killed or start an Exalted March before then?_

_Married. Honestly._

_Love,_

_Sister Dorcas Guerrin_

_Rediscover of Tyrrda Bright-Axe’s Tomb_

***

_Lady Montilyet,_

_It would be my honor to attend and assist in any way at the Inquisitor’s trial. I have meant for these many months to pay a visit to the Inquisition in any case - history should be made and recorded as soon as possible, lest the facts be lost to time. I could never seem to enforce the necessity of keeping a journal to my young friend, and I’m sure the Inquisition’s archives will be the lesser for the lack of the Inquisitor’s private diary. I do, however, have an extensive collection of her letters to me that I will be happy to bequeath to the Inquisition upon my death. I also intend to publish them, as I suspect that the public would be fascinated to see two such historical figures converse informally. Your Inquisitor is the name on everyone’s lips right now, it's best to capitalize on her popularity while we can._

_I’m sure Inquisitor Rutherford nee Trevelyan is not as dangerous as the Chantry is no doubt claiming. From our earliest correspondence she has shown nothing but intelligence and wisdom - and a level of discernment that has assisted me more than once in my own ‘Pursuit of Knowledge’. She has a particular knack for asking just the right question that spurs on my_ _research in a new direction. I have treasured our correspondence over the years. Never was a title more accurately given than ‘Inquisitor’ to Asta Trevelyan-that-was._

_Accordingly, I will travel to the Cathedral at once. I need to consult their archives there in any case. I have recently found fascinating evidence pointing to the Witches of the Wilds presence in the Free Marches and need to check a few references. Needless to say, I would love to discuss it with the Inquisitor, if she has the time and the inclination. I imagine she is rather busy at the moment. But once we get these ridiculous accusations out of the way, perhaps then we can all sit down and have a nice debate over Transfigurations_ _and a bottle of wine._

_Sincerely,_

_Brother Genitivi_

_Author of “In Pursuit of Knowledge” and rediscoverer of the Temple of Sacred Ashes_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut most of Asta's correspondence with Genitivi and Sister Dorcas out of the story due to not being necessary to the majority of the plot, so they aren't as major of characters as I would have liked them to be. Bringing them in here is necessary, however, so yay! More archivists!


	142. Archivists Unite!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Knowledge Comes Power!
> 
> Sorry that there was no update yesterday. We had a windstorm yesterday, with gusts up to 100 miles per hour, and were without power for most of the day. Our generator isn't recommended for running sensitive electronics. But I got a lot of editing done!

Sister Dorcas ascended into the Cathedral in Val Royeaux as if she belonged there - as well she did, decades of Chantry responsibility and service allowing her to fit like the missing finger in a glove. She found Asta immediately in the inner courtyard trying to play with Dane, and pulled her into a hug sideways, beaming as if her former apprentice wasn’t on trial for her life. “Asta! Sweetheart!” She pulled back, “When can I help clear your name?” She wasn’t quite old enough to be mistaken for Asta’s mother, Cullen noted, more like a much older sister.

Asta was laughing, actually laughing, much to Cullen‘s delight and surprise as she returned the embrace. “Tomorrow. We’ve just been waiting for you and Brother Genitivi to arrive. I have to admit, I’m surprised you came so willingly. I‘ve hardly been making myself popular in Chantry circles.”

The Sister rolled her eyes. “You would be surprised.” She eyed the Commander, who was standing behind her shyly, far more nervous about meeting Sister Dorcas than he was about Asta meeting his family. “And this is?” The Sister sized him up expertly with an all too familiar look before donning a mask of politeness and… he blinked, realizing her scatterbrained nature was likely just a front and understanding a little better Asta‘s tendency to make jokes in the middle of battle.

“Sister, this is Commander Cullen Rutherford,” Asta said proudly. “The Commander of the Inquisition armies and my husband,” she beamed. “I never get tired of saying that,” she confessed.

“The ex-Templar,” Sister Dorcas mused, and smiled. “He’s cute, Asta. Not my type, of course, but…” Cullen blushed and Asta giggled. “And he blushes prettily, too.” She waved aside his embarrassment and started chattering. “Now then, where can we talk? Can you leave the Cathedral? Can we talk privately or do we need your representatives with us?”

“Come on,” Asta pulled her along. “I can’t leave the Cathedral, but I can talk to whomever I wish, as long as I remember that the Divine was once a spymaster and I’d better watch my words when in public.” Cullen trailed behind, unwilling to leave Asta unguarded, even in the presence of her mentor. They blustered and bantered about their lives and work since they had seen each other last until they reached their rooms, and went in. Behind closed doors both women grew far more serious.

“So, my dear, how much do they know?” This Sister was completely different from her public persona, and Cullen was dumbfounded, despite the earlier hints he had of her true nature.

“About me? Nearly everything,” Asta hung her head. “I thought it would make it easier, if they knew, to restore order and rebuild the Chantry. The idea that I could make a difference…”

“The possible power went to your head,” Dorcas bit off, far more severe than she had been in the courtyard. Dane started to growl at her. “Oh, stuff it,” she muttered at the dog, and he immediately sat back on his haunches, cowed at the formidable Fereldan woman in the guise of a sweet Chantry sister. “Asta, you were leading the Inquisition - what the hell were you thinking? EASY?” She nearly yelled, and Asta bowed her head further, “Nothing worthwhile is easy, and you know that!”

“I trusted them all,” Asta swallowed, tears in her eyes. “I made a mistake. Several mistakes, really.”

Cullen was slowly boiling over, and with the drops of her tears he finally interrupted, “No, she didn’t. She has friends that are prepared to give their lives for her and for her cause. She’s never had that before.” He rested his hand on his sword, debating with himself about whether he could kill a Chantry sister if necessary.

His internal debate proved unnecessary with the Sister‘s next words. “Yes, she did,” Dorcas contradicted, “She just never needed us before,” her brow creased. “But this could have been avoided, sweetheart! Why…”

“It went pear-shaped,” Asta confessed, “I thought that Leliana would be assassinated by now, and a new Divine elected, an even weaker one with a far stricter hand that we could rebel against as intolerant, dethrone and replace with a moderate. Instead, the Divine is consolidating power, and the Inquisition is weakening. Her reforms are taking, Thedas is apparently mostly happy about them, and… I admit that I’m shocked. But as you know, we need the Inquisition, as…”

“Elves in the Chantry, and mages as something more than lightbearers, and non-celibate Sisters,” Dorcas sighed. “Pity it was so late for so many of us. My parents would have loved to be able to marry me off _and_ dedicate me to the Chantry.” Her mouth twisted in a way that Cullen recognized seeing on Asta’s face. “But reforms are reforms. We do need them, after all, and if she succeeds... The face of Thedas will be changed. And we all agree, my dear, that the Inquisition is the balancing act in this equation. The question is… does the Divine know that there are more of us?”

Cullen’s eyes went wide with shock, “You mean…”

Dorcas smiled, satisfied. “Excellent. And yes, my innocent Templar lamb,” she grinned at the Commander, “Most archivists are actually non-believers. We run into too many contradictions in our line of work to write them off easily. But unlike my charge…” she laughed, “I learned discretion very young. And we are rarely in a position of power to take advantage and try to make reforms. Asta has done well, very well. Especially if we can arrange to not let it cost her life.”

“Just my arm,” Asta bit her lip, the words out before she could stop them.

Dorcas glanced at her missing arm. “At least it wasn’t your writing hand. You can continue your real work, child. You were never meant to be a soldier. It was a waste of your mind.”

“She is formidable,” Cullen argued.

“I have no doubt, but watch your tenses, my dear,” Dorcas said without looking at him, “It should be ‘was’, Commander. Not ‘is’. That’s in the past, and the sooner that Asta copes with that, the more formidable she can be in her _new_ position. She has to be on the top of the Game, here. And she’s not here, mentally, preoccupied with everything she’s lost instead of what else she has to lose,” Dorcas was stalking around her former apprentice critically. “For heaven’s sake, child, you should be looking far better than this. You aren’t a sister, why are you wearing such simple clothing?”

“I can’t manage…” Asta blushed red. “I prefer to be independent.” Her hand twitched around her simple skirts - easy things that she could pull on and tie one-handed.

Dorcas shifted tactics. “Child, you’re in Val Royeaux. You need to appear in control. Hire a maid. Have your husband dress you in your armor - the shinier the better. He looks like he‘s good at polishing. You should be battle ready at all times. You shouldn’t fear weapons, but words. Those whispers in the dark that you’ll never hear but everyone will repeat around you until they are roaring like the tide. The time for independence is over, you must do everything you can to win! Depend on whoever you must, _use whoever you must._ Don’t make me start handing you flowers like that imbecile of a mother you have before you get the message. You need to flaunt the loss of your arm, not hide it in baggy sleeves. _Remind them what you‘ve given for them all._ ” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “So foolish. You were right to send for me.” She firmed up. “So… show me your clothes. You are at war, young lady. Start acting like it. You should probably go shopping - a one shouldered gown would be just the thing right now. Shame that you are confined to the Cathedral.”

Two hours later, Asta, expertly made up, dressed modestly but well, her sleeve tidily pinned up with a jeweled brooch that caught the eye, and looking about a million times more pulled together emerged from the dressing room, and Cullen’s head was spinning with the Sister‘s instructions to both of them. Sister Dorcas looked at him approvingly. “I’m not what you expected,” the Sister observed. “Didn’t you wonder where she learned it all?”

“I assumed her family…”

“ _I_ am her family,” stressed the Sister. “Not that excuse for a noble family in Ostwick. But she never gave me or Genitivi up, did she? She didn’t tell even you.”

Cullen shook his head. “But your secrets are safe with me. Did she tell you about the Maker?”

“Not yet,” Dorcas smiled like a shark, “But she will.”

Cullen looked at her suspiciously, “You didn’t really make a mistake in the translation, did you?” he asked quietly. “It was on purpose, so that the world would have to recognize that Tyrdda was a mage rather than hide the discovery entirely. Are all archivists so…”

“Rebellious?” Dorcas looked him up and down, “You aren’t just decorative.” She leaned in, “But I’ll never tell,” she winked. “Tell me, do you play chess?”

“Don’t play against her!” Asta spun around. “She cheats, and justifies it saying things like ‘As if a knight would ever confine itself to an ‘L’ shape. Every knight I’ve ever known breaks the mold in a different way.’ And on top of that, she is a master at slight of hand. And strategy. She never loses.”

“Spoilsport,” huffed the Chantry Sister.

“Sister, I would love to play chess,” Cullen inclined his head. “I hope to be a worthy opponent.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Asta sighed. “It was nice knowing you, Rutherford. I‘ll recite something lovely at the funeral. Something with imagery.”

Sister Dorcas won, but it was close.  And Cullen couldn't tell how she had cheated at all.

"How..." he asked Asta afterwards.  "How did she cheat?"

"Oh, she didn't," Asta confessed.  "Because you knew to look for it, and it kept you preoccupied and off balance.  I've never seen anyone get so close to beating her.  Congratulations."  She kissed him lightly.  "There - a kiss for the runner-up."

***

Cullen, having met the real Sister Dorcas, was shocked at how humble and dimwitted she made herself appear before the Chantry, as well as how innocent and benign Asta’s heresy started to seem. She made her out to be a questioning child, and brought up several recent Sisters departing from the Chantry out of doubt as evidence that the institution needed to retain its best minds, letting them work through their questioning, and paraphrasing a Revered Mother Hevara, who was apparently local, “For after all, 'the only thing worse than a faith broken, is a faith untested'.”

The Sister pleaded before the Chantry Clerics and Divine for Asta’s life, calling her ‘the best mind of her generation‘, and saying things like ‘When even the elves have come to understand the will of the Maker, and are being drawn into the fold, why should we offer any less mercy to one of our own?” and she left the proceedings, solemn, and without even a twinkle in her eye to suggest that she was playing them like a fiddle, though the Divine had a pronounced one when she had finished her performance. Just that glimmer of amusement made Cullen extremely nervous - but he had to trust that in whatever Archivist Underground that they had been a part of, they had been in far worse straits than this and managed to keep it secret. The mages in Kirkwall had been far less circumspect, looking back, with their version of a Chantry board. Foolish, in retrospect. They might as well have put up a sign.

Asta spoke with her briefly after, in private, and though Cullen longed to thank the Sister for her help, he couldn’t help to wonder whether it would be enough. So she left all too soon to travel back to Denerim, unquestioned and unsung, despite her considerable talents.

Asta remained withdrawn, but she managed to pull herself together for the public eye, and readily asked Cullen for help with her appearance. It started to make a difference, and the gossip in the Cathedral grew more positive about the ongoing hearings and the Inquisition in general. Sera reported that Val Royeaux in general was becoming indignant on Asta’s behalf. Cassandra testified, completely blunt and honest, and even her open admission that Asta had claimed to be a heretic from the date of her very first War Council didn’t hurt the public’s opinion, though it raised a few eyebrows amongst the clergy.

“We’re gaining ground,” Varric whispered after she had finished, and Cullen allowed a seed of hope to take root in his chest.

By the time Brother Genitivi appeared, with a small flock of what appeared to be hangers-on, all openly envious when he greeted Asta as an equal with a hand clasp and a smile, that hope was almost visible in the way Cullen walked and carried himself. The Brother dismissed his peons with a wave and a kind word. They entered Asta’s rooms together, and as Sister Dorcas before, his stance as a foolish celebrity drained away with the shutting of the door. “Inquisitor,” he sighed. “I’m glad to see you are keeping your spirits up. I was lucky that my research inclined towards the Chantry’s stance, and had the backing of the Hero of Ferelden, or all those years ago I would have been in your place.” He eyed her. “Dorcas wrote to me on the road. Tell me about the Maker.”

“It’s only a theory,” Asta protested. “Fen’Harel…” Genitivi waved aside her disclaimer.

“Inquisitor, I trust your instincts. You guided me perfectly with your pertinent questions when you were only a child. I have no doubt you are right,” he stressed, “However strange your theory. Dorcas informed me she painted you as a questioning child - accurate enough fifteen years ago. And I’m sure the clerics believe that is her point of view. But now… they all know you as more than that, especially the Divine. I doubt it will be enough.”

“Then is she lost?” Cullen’s throat tightened and the tendril of hope withered. “Have we lost everything?”

Genitivi looked at him with disbelief. “Not at all. I have piles of letters to submit as proof that she believes wholeheartedly in the Maker, and is helping in the search for the truth of Andraste‘s life. That is not the work of an admitted heretic. It would be better if more of them were recent,” he sighed, “Why did you stop writing, Asta?”

“I was busy with the Inquisition,” but Asta’s mouth twitched. “Also, I may have gotten over my crush on you. The reason for that took away some of my free time and willingness to correspond, I admit.”

Brother Genitivi‘s laugh fizzled out from between his nostrils. “All these years? Even after you knew my preferences lay… elsewhere?”

“That didn’t mean mine did,” Asta laughed with him comfortably. “I have to admit, it’s better this way.  You didn't need me pining over you from afar.” They both turned to eye Cullen, who blushed and looked at the ceiling.

“Yes,” the man replied, “I see what you mean. Not exactly my type, I prefer them darker, not blond. But well done.” He nodded approvingly. “I’m dying to meet this friend of yours… the Altus? He sounded intriguing when he wrote to me after you let him read my letters. I look forward to years and years of interesting conversations with the man. It‘s so hard to find a reliable source in Tevinter!”

“He’s wonderful,” Asta said cautiously, “but you should know he’s taken. You’ll like his partner, Bull, he’s…” she smiled honestly. “It is nice to see you, Brother.”

“I agree,” the historian nodded firmly. “Now then, I’m assuming that you are holding firm to your stance as a confirmed, unrepentant agnostic, rather than try to claim otherwise? That‘s probably wise, rather than trying for repentance. We all know how that worked for Maferath and Hessarian. Best not to try the same game plan too often. Just one way we can learn much from history.” And their conversation, much to Cullen’s relief, evolved into tactics and strategy and the Game, and he was left to pour them wine, infinitely preferable to being ogled. “Then I know how to act,” the Brother concluded positively. “Let’s see if we can at least pull an exile out of this, shall we? An exile to Tevinter wouldn’t be such a hardship - especially if you have a friend among the magisters, though the slavery is difficult to stomach. Such a barbaric practice, burning,” he muttered. “I’m fairly certain that even before Andraste people weren’t necessarily burnt alive. That Maferath… whatever drove him to it must have been pernicious.”

“You know what I think,” Asta exchanged a glance with Cullen, and he smiled, relieved that she had trusted him with that much. “And I think it reappeared at Therinfall Redoubt,” she whispered. “You should speak to Cole before you leave. Think about how much you need to speak with him, and he usually turns up, unless he‘s busy.”

“Then I know my next stop,” nodded Genitivi. “To knowledge?” He lifted his wine up.

“To fact,” Asta replied, and they both drank the remainder down fast, Asta more than a little tipsy. The Brother could certainly hold his wine, and Cullen prepared himself mentally for having to put Asta to bed. “I’d better go find my room before I climb in with the two of you,” he grinned and winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the hearing, Inquisitor,” he bowed politely and left.

Cullen stood and held the door open for him, closing it softly, his mind whirring. “Asta, did you really have a crush on…”

“Mmm, yes,” she replied, wrapping her arm around Cullen’s waist. “Definitely. Have you seen the pictures on the back of his books? They’re extremely flattering.  He's not as striking in person. And I did tell you I was attracted to intelligence, Commander. Intelligence takes many forms. The word you are looking for is ‘Sapiosexual’,” she helpfully supplied. “If you hadn’t been interested I probably would have gone for Bull,” she mused, “but probably it would have stopped before going anywhere. He likes things a little… rough. I hear. From Dorian. Naturally. Though Sera has her own intriguing thought patterns, and I might have inclined…”

“I see,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Asta… I should have beaten you at chess back in Haven,” he attempted to flirt.  "One game and you would have been putty in my arms."

“It would have brought things to a head a lot sooner. You could always have not just let me win, at Skyhold, either,” she smiled and he wrapped his own arms around her back as if convincing himself that she had chosen him after all, “not that I’m complaining about how it turned out.” Her face fell, “At least, not that part. The rest of it is a bit of a mess.”

“With all these rebellious archivists on your side, I don’t think we can lose,” Cullen leaned in and kissed her. “I fully expect Genitivi to get you off on just his witness and your letters alone. Did you see how the entire Cathedral was fawning over him?”

“I’d rather have someone else get me off,” Asta giggled madly and Cullen groaned. “Oh come on, you left yourself wide open. And yes, I’m drunk, and no, I don’t care. Get that through your head before you start with the noble shit,” she insisted. “Come on, Commander!” And she tugged him over to the bed, giggling the whole time.

Cullen wished it were more than just the wine making her laugh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In several of my previous drafts, the Archivist Underground was a recurrent theme, but I ended up cutting it out, as unlikely to be kept a secret. So... I turned it into a super-secret organization designed to protect non-believing archivists and researchers embedded in the Chantry, that recruited Asta before she could become a Templar. :D Perhaps someday I'll pull out all the stuff I wrote for Genitivi and Guerrin and do a little side piece. It goes very deep, and yes, Leliana knows, and approves, and deliberately chooses not to expose them, though that will not come out in the story.


	143. A Different Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter of the Day!

The next day was the opposite of interesting, Genitivi apparently having decided to bore the Clerics and Divine into acquitting Asta rather than making the impassioned plea of a surrogate mother. His droning voice had more than one Cleric nodding before he even submitted Asta’s letters as evidence and announced his intention of publishing them for posterity in the future as a record of the ‘woman who became Inquisitor’. Asta coughed nervously and Cullen made a note to ask what was in those letters later. When she wasn’t suffering from a hangover and about to be executed, of course.

Dismissed at last, Genitivi got both of them alone. “And I’m off!” He announced, confidently. “I have a million things to do. Inquisitor, please keep writing!”

“Only if you pull out the more… adolescent of my letters from your collection and burn them,” she smiled, and embraced him closely, as Cullen tried not to scowl. The man was old enough to be her father and wasn’t interested. It was ridiculous to be jealous. “Deal?”

“I suppose,” the Brother sighed. “Pity the collection will be incomplete, but we all make sacrifices.” He winked at the Commander. “Take care of your Commander for me. And let me know about who I should contact about visiting Therinfall. I think that’s just where I should go next.” He shook Cullen’s hand and walked down the steps of the Cathedral, followers swarming like bees, and Asta watched him leave, her good arm crossed and clutching against the ruined, and a stony look on her face to cover the envy.

Cullen was reminded once again of exactly what she had gone to the conclave to do and become, and what she had given up for all of them and vowed to make it up to her. Somehow.

***

“Varric,” Cullen pulled the dwarf aside later, “I need a favor.”

“Those are scary words from an ex-Templar, Curly,” Varric teased. “Let me hear it, then.”

“Thank you,” Cullen sighed, “I know your… Bianca Davri. She is a Smith, correct? An excellent one?”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like where this is going, Curly. Better talk fast.”

“Asta needs a weapon,” Cullen blurted out. “Something, anything, and it has to accommodate her... vulnerability. She feels useless, and I…” he rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious and earnest, “I want to help her.”

“I don’t think Bianca would help,” Varric replied bluntly. “Asta didn’t stop the Seeker from slamming her into the wall, after all. And quite honestly, I don‘t care if I ever hear from her again, much less ask her for a favor.”

“I see,” Cullen sighed. “Well, do you know anyone else who could help?”

“She’s never going to fight with daggers again, Curly,” Varric shut him down. “It’s not possible. But…” he sighed, “I do know someone. And so do you, if you had stopped to think.”

“Who would I…” Cullen confusion cleared, “Dagna. I had thought of her, right afterward, but I got to thinking about Bianca - the weapon, not the dwarf - and forgot. Do you think Dagna could…”

“Dagna could,” Varric grinned, relishing the moment. “And I have just the bribe to get her thinking.”

***

_Dear Dagna,_

_Do you think that in that amazing Smith mind of yours you could manage to make something up for the Inquisitor? Something she can use to protect herself and make use of her bad arm? Perhaps not necessarily a dagger - I can only imagine how difficult finding the right balance would be to allow her to use something like that effectively, but something?_

_Her mind has been rather stuck on ‘useless’ lately, with everything going on. But I’m sure a smart thing like you could manage a miracle or so?_

_I’m sending you my spare parts. Cass and I decided not to burn them after all, and this is an incredibly worthy cause. Use whatever you like - I’ve got Seeker now, and thanks to you, a supply of ammunition to burn. So this bucket of bolts is all yours. Knock yourself out._

_Sincerely,_

_Varric Tethras_

_Author of Hard in Hightown and Companion to the Champion of Kirkwall_

_P.S. Still better than being Viscount._

***

Two weeks later the witnesses had all been heard on both sides, and the Divine called the Inquisitor and her husband into her Sanctum to break the news.

“I will have to find you guilty,” Leliana sighed in disappointment from the other side of the desk. “I see no other way around it, Inquisitor. You admitted you were a heretic, back in Haven, and in front of reliable witnesses, including myself and a Seeker. I am sorry. Your sentence, however…” the Divine’s voice failed her.

Cullen made a small sound in the back of his throat, and grasped Asta’s shoulder, almost painfully. She didn’t react, her eyes shut against the inevitability. “So the sentence?” She said at last, squeezing the words out with difficulty.

“I might be able to manage to reduce it to exile. I have a certain portion of the Chantry pushing quite strongly for just that,” Leliana began, “But I have a small but determined group of Clerics from the Free Marches that are demanding your death. You really didn’t make very many friends at home, did you?”

“No,” Asta answered simply, almost detached now that it was nearly over. “And you are right, you can’t afford to look biased. You’ll lose everything you’ve worked for. Your goals are more important than my life. I knew that it would come down to this.  I should thank you for the time to set my affairs in order.”

Leliana opened her mouth to continue, when there was a swift knock at the door. “Enter,” she sighed, closing her eyes to stifle her impatience at the intrusion. “But please, make this quick.”

“You shouldn’t be so hasty, Your Holiness. I have another solution,” Varric swung the door open wide, followed by a very determined Cassandra and the rest of the inner circle, including her own Right Hand.

"Most Holy, I’m afraid your guards have succumbed to a sleeping draught. You should warn them about drinking and gambling on the job,” Vivienne purred and Sera snickered.

“Oh, a plan that doesn’t lead to my untimely demise?” Asta spoke bitterly, as Cullen scowled, trying not to get his hopes up again. “Pray tell, Viscount Tethras. We are your captive audience. I have a lot of practice lately at being a captive, I bet you will find me most attentive.” Her sarcasm leeched into every word and even Varric winced. “Or is this when we disappear into the night?”

“Asta, you shouldn’t be so blasé about the end of your own life,” Cassandra scolded. “Listen to Varric’s plan.” Her face turned a little sheepish. “It’s one of his better ones, I assure you. Far better than fleeing to Kirkwall.”

“As you well know, Your Holiness,” Varric bowed graciously, “I have been appointed the Inquisitor’s biographer. I know, I’m not worthy…” he deepened his bow and Cullen deepened his scowl.

“Get on with it, dwarf,” he growled.

“Tell them the part where you save Asta’s life,” urged Cassandra. “It is brilliant.” Her face glowed slightly with enthusiasm - whether for the man or the plan, it was impossible to tell.

“It’s easy,” Varric shrugged. “Ask yourself, who do the people believe? The Herald of Andraste? The Divine Victoria?” Leliana raised an eyebrow. “No, they believe what they read, and what their friends and acquaintances tell them. The pulp fiction version of the Inquisitor’s tale is what they’ll devour and remember, not the official version fully sanctioned by the Chantry. You know that, with your… former… livelihood. Cassandra knows as well, since in a prior life she pored over my ‘Tale of the Champion’ in an attempt to find a clue where to find Hawke and discover the truth of the matter. And now, I’ve all but finished the Inquisitor’s story, with the helpful intercession of my personal muse,” he grinned at Cassandra, who blushed, ever so slightly, even while she glared at him for the teasing. “And I’ve taken… shall we say… poetic license, with some of the uncomfortable facts for the Chantry. Glossed over the… personal indiscretions and beliefs of the Herald in question. Why does the Chantry need to take a stance on her beliefs? Let the Reader decide! I’ve removed the arrest of Andraste’s chosen in Val Royeaux, and left in the bitter betrayal of the Lord Seeker and his tragic subjugation of the Spire’s Templars. In short, I’ve pulled together a stirring tale of a devout minor noble from the Free Marches - who was never a Sister at all,” he winked at Asta deliberately. “And woven her into a tale of heroism to rival that of the Champion of Kirkwall. That part wasn‘t hard. I just made her personally responsible for every major and minor decision, battle, hunt, and search in the last few years, with permission from those who were actually the heroes.” He paused for a moment. “Maker’s Balls, I hope Hawke isn’t jealous when she reads it. That woman in a jealous snit is something else.”

Leliana tapped her fingers against the arm of her chair, and Asta watched her fingers idly. Leliana didn‘t have tells, she knew it for a fact, so she wanted them to see her thinking it over. “So you’ve written a bunch of lies about the Inquisition and the Chantry.”

“No,” Varric assured her. “I’ve left out key truths and… altered some of the enemy‘s final fates. There’s a difference, Most Holy. Omissions are acceptable, when they’ll save a life that no one in this room wants endangered. Wouldn’t you say? And you personally come out looking scary, brilliant, all knowing and above all - Divinely Chosen.” He took a chair across from her, without being offered a seat, hoisting himself into the too-high chair with ease. “For example, the dragon at Adamant killed Clarel, so there’s no fear of a Warden at loose in the Fade, lack of darkspawn or otherwise. Erimond was executed fairly by Asta, instead of being randomly eaten by the same dragon. Both end up dead, and Asta looks more heroic and professional, instead of… bumbling, friendly and incompetent.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Asta murmured wryly, but with gratitude.

“Don’t worry, I made you taller, thinner, better in a fight, and gorgeous, too,” Varric grinned back. “I bet you’ll love the red hair. I know Bull will. Cullen barely enters into the heroic tale at all, much less abandoning his duties to go chasing after his physically inept lady,” Varric added enthusiastically. “It’s hard to make the charge of ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar’ when there’s hardly any seduction and the ex-Templar in question is devoted hopelessly to his duty.” Cullen frowned.

“That’s hardly accurate,” Cullen started to argue, and Asta put her hand over his, “Oh. Right. Sorry,” he muttered in apology, and Asta smiled sweetly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Varric continued, “Your love story is still in there, if you look at it just right. There’s just a whole lot less of your hopeless pining and getting drunk and maudlin back in Haven with the Herald’s brother - who I left out of the tale entirely since you might need a Friend in Ostwick - and a lot more of you working late, and barely managing to pull yourself away from your office, the training areas, etc. to go wandering all through Thedas with your lady friend.” He looked sad for a moment. “It was difficult. I think that your heroism made for a better love story. This way, it’s a little… boring in parts.”

Asta squinted, “He doesn’t pull himself away from his office. You included the desk, didn‘t you?” She asked suspiciously.

Varric smiled hugely, rebounding from his moment of regret, proud as punch, “I included the desk,” he confirmed.

“Asta, he knows about the desk?!” Cullen blushed red. “Is there anything you haven’t told him?!”

“What happened on the desk?” Leliana looked very interested, and far more hopeful. “I thought I had reliable information from the guards on the battlements!”

“Nothing,” Cullen stammered. “Nothing at all. That is to say…” he stopped, desperate, caught between lying outright to the representative of his religion and personal privacy.

“Hmmm, sounds like my version is better,” Varric smirked while Cullen glowered sullenly.

“I doubt it,” Asta smirked right back, and Varric looked surprised and impressed. “Oh, no, you’ll never know now,” she assured the dwarf. “After all, I can’t have you making edits at this late date.” Varric’s face fell, and so did Cassandra’s.

Varric recovered quickly. “So really, all that remained was a quick gloss over of Asta’s scandalous behavior at the Winter Palace - bowdlerized for the more tender readers - though I did hint vaguely at Celene’s various affairs, just to keep her on her toes for you, Nightingale,” he grinned again. “It can’t hurt. I’ve just got a few loose ends to tie up - the Solas situation is tricky.”

“That’s only getting worse, and the logical answer, to set me and the Inquisition against Fen‘Harel is just asking for trouble,” worried Asta. She tilted her head, thinking aloud, “If Cullen stays largely at his desk, then how in the fucking Void did I survive the Deep Roads?”

Varric winked, “You’ll have to read the book,” he teased. “I’ll send you an advance copy. I‘ll even autograph it for you.”

Asta laughed delightedly. “Cass, have you read…”

“He will not let me,” Cassandra replied, hugely offended. “The dwarf says I have to wait, like everyone else.”

“Oh, he’s so mean!” Asta replied, pouting. “So no one knows?”

“No one except my editor,” confirmed Varric. “And he knows that if he talks, he’ll be fish food by morning. So don’t try, my dearest Inquisitorialness.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Asta grinned. “I’m going to need that editor. Assuming that I survive, that is.”

Cullen frowned and protested, “Hang on. I have no part other than an advisor and love interest? What about the dragons I helped kill? What about Adamant? And the Temple of Dumat? What about Corypheus?”

“I told you when you rode into Haven, Curly,” Varric reminded him, “Asta’s the hero, not you. It’s a sacrifice, I know. But worth it, if it saves the woman you love from death by burning, right? You still are responsible for the strategy at Adamant, and present at the Temple of Dumat - though Asta‘s with you, since she was never injured in my version. She comes off as more blessed that way. Weakness doesn‘t sell books, and we need to sell as many as possible.”

Cullen thought quickly. “I… well, yes,” he answered slowly. “If that’s what it takes. Then absolutely,” he took Asta’s hand. “Give her the credit.” He smiled widely at her, and then turned to Leliana. “Is this possible, Most Holy?” He asked, a hint of pleading in his voice.

The room was completely silent for a few moments that stretched into forever.

 


	144. A Herald is Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a third chapter! Happy New Year!

“I’ll need to read it first,” Leliana answered, a deep line between her thin brows. “But if it’s as Varric says, then… it could work. It wouldn’t be the first time the Chantry has… altered past events to make them more palatable to the public. And this is a far better use than in the past.” She turned to Asta. “Are you comfortable with this, Inquisitor?”

Asta hesitated. “I don’t like being thought of as a holy figure, Varric,” she started.

“Too late,” several people replied at once.

“Look, let’s take a vote,” Varric raised his hand, “Who here thinks Asta is likely chosen by Andraste, whoever the fucking Maker turns out to be?”

Varric left his hand up, joined quickly by Cassandra, and Dorian, a little more hesitantly. Asta glared at him and the mage glared back. “What?” He demanded, “I have good taste in friends. One might even say ‘divine’.”

Asta groaned at the play on words, and then Cullen slowly raised his hand and her face fell. “Cullen, no,” she said, disappointed. “Even after Fen’Harel? You talked to him! You know!”

“It changes nothing,” he assured her. “But I know that Andraste chose you for me, love. And probably for everything else,” he beamed at her softly, as Cassandra smiled slightly. “I will not lie about it, or deny it,” he continued. “Why should I change what I believe just because the Maker turns out to be someone I know personally?”

Asta took his hand again, and nodded, still saddened. “I understand, I suppose. I just… hate knowing I‘m a symbol to the people I care about.”

“You aren‘t a symbol to me,” he insisted, warmth in his eyes. “I swear.”

And then they all turned to watch the Right Hand of the Divine and Sera raise their hands at the same time. “What? Just because Viv the Almighty thinks it means I can’t agree?” Sera stuck her nose in the air in conscious mockery of the mage. “On the contrary, my dear.”

“Sera is wise,” Vivienne confirmed, “At least this once,” she temporized, paling when she realized what she had said. “I’m sure it will never happen again.”

“Aw, Viv, never knew you cared,” Sera blew her a raspberry, and the mage curled her lip, hiding a small smile that she never would have admitted to.

Thom's hand raised very slowly. "It's not like I'm particularly good at this shit, and I haven't chanted in fucking years," he rumbled, "but yeah, probably. If anyone is chosen, it's her."

Leliana turned to Josie, who had her hand raised slightly, bent at the elbow. “I wasn’t sure,” she explained. “Not until after Corypheus. It seemed… unlikely. But now, I… want to believe,” the Ambassador confessed. “She has survived so much. Too much without divine assistance, perhaps.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow, “And none of you see it as a problem that she has no faith in Andraste?”

“Not in her divinity,” Cullen stressed, “She has never denied Andraste’s life or existence, and has spent a lifetime researching it. With as much as she knows, wouldn’t Andraste have chosen someone so dedicated to the pursuit of Her personal truths? Almost as if she knew Her personally.” He turned a slightly besotted gaze onto his wife. “I know I would have.”

“Cullen, you’re embarrassing me,” Asta whispered, aghast.

“Good,” he smirked, and bent towards her ear, “I like it when you blush,” he whispered quietly. Asta instantly turned a deeper pink and Cullen tilted his half-smile towards her. “Still worried I see you as a symbol?” He asked, under his breath. “Asta, this means that you _live._ ”

“You…” Asta sighed at him and shook her head. “Leliana, you know better than anyone that I know barely anything about Andraste. I also know you don’t believe, so none of this matters.”

“I will read the book, if Varric permits,” Leliana repeated. “And in the meantime, I will… allow you to proceed with the Inquisition at least until the Exalted Council. I believe that is fair, and more than permissive. I will have complaints, but I can counter them, I believe, with the right pressure from the public. Perhaps Sera can help with that.” She sighed. “I need you present at the Exalted Council as a voice of reason, and to placate Arl Teagan and other dissenters. I will delay my opponents in any way possible,” the Divine pressed. “We’ll have to give enough time for the book to disseminate through the public and turn the tide of public opinion further in our favor. These things take time, Varric. We might not have enough.”

“So does writing a book, Your Holiness,” Varric tossed back with a grin. “And the publisher is waiting, as soon as I write up the bit about Solas. Maybe if he kills his old buddy Mythal for her power…”

“Don’t you dare,” Asta threatened. “The Elvhen are not the enemy! Thedas doesn’t need another war or Exalted March! Even if it saves my life.”

“Hey, I can make him seem really sorry about it!” Varric protested, “And all to save his People. I’ll make you love to hate him and hate to hate him. Trust me!”

Sera snorted, “That wouldn’t be hard. Eggheaded bastard.”

Leliana straightened, “And if it doesn’t work… I’m still going to be forced to exile you, Asta. You’ll have to be prepared to leave Val Royeaux immediately after the Council.”

Cullen breathed a little easier. “You mean, you’ll let her live?”

Leliana bristled, “I didn’t ever want to kill her, Commander. I’ve spent most of the last few months trying to find a way to spare her life. I was hoping that her saving the Chantry from the Qun would be enough, but it stayed too quiet. The Empress doesn’t want anyone to know how close the Empire was to falling under the Qun. Regardless, the Chantry should serve the people, and they consider Asta one step down from Andraste! If I kill her, she will be martyred, and I would have to face the Chantry fracturing entirely - a second schism that we can‘t afford. If my opposition wasn‘t so strong, or the Chantry so weak…” Leliana sighed. “It is what it is.” She stood up and walked over to hold Asta’s hands. “After the Council, assuming Varric‘s plan works, you will be given a choice. You should think about it, before you are required to answer. An independent Inquisition is what you’ve worked for, but remember, the Chantry is vulnerable. The precedent of the last Inquisition…”

“That’s not going to happen, Leliana,” Asta said gently. “No matter how much you need the forces and protection. We serve a higher purpose than protecting the Chantry. Thedas needs balance and someone looking for the truth.”

“But we will work alongside you,” Cullen insisted, eying his wife with approval and caution. “Assuming we have the same goals.”

“You will have the Seekers, as well,” Cassandra broke in. “Just not under your personal command. We will answer to the next Lord Seeker, whoever that turns out to be.” She was firm and positive. “And we, with the permission of the Viscount and the Chantry, will be based in Kirkwall, out of the Gallows.”

Asta snickered. “Lady Seeker, rather.”

“No,” Cassandra insisted. “I will remain a Seeker, help rebuild, but I… have other plans. Plans I will not set aside. I have contacted a half dozen Seekers, who seem willing to meet with me at least. It isn’t much, but it is a start…” she blushed and looked sideways at Varric. “I suspect I will be busier in Kirkwall with personal matters than any head of the Seeker order should be.” She stared down at her feet, a mottled red.

Varric frowned, “Cass, if you want to head up the Seekers instead of being the head of my personal guard that’s just fine with me. I don’t want to cramp your style. With the Gallows as the center of the Seeker order, I‘ll see you often enough. I can think of half a dozen excuses right now to visit the Gallows.” He thought for a moment, “Which needs a new name. I’ll get right on that.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Cassandra hissed at him. “We’ll talk about it later. Privately,” she stressed. “I have made up my mind, dwarf. Just… drop it.”

Varric raised his eyebrows and shrugged at Asta’s curious look. “All right, later then.”

Cole giggled again. “It’s a secret,” he said again when everyone looked at him. “Not mine to tell.”

“Now he gets how to keep a secret,” Dorian sniffed. “Took him long enough. Half of Thedas knows about how much I loved my wooden duck.”

“I think it’s cute, Kadan,” Bull rumbled. “Don’t let it get to you.”

“So where does that leave us and the Exalted Council?” Asta picked up the slack of the conversation they needed to have versus the conversation they wanted to overhear.

“We are on schedule for the end of August,” the Divine replied. “But I fear with the Qunari threat so recent, there may be… difficulties with the more extreme members of the Council.” She sighed. “And unfortunately, you are still an issue with Arl Teagan. He seems to take you rather personally.” Asta nodded, resigned.

Cullen scowled, “After everything Asta did for his people in the Hinterlands? How dare he even…” Asta tugged his sleeve. “It’s ridiculous!” He insisted. “She fed his people! Found them a healer and took out rebels on both sides! She cleared Alexius out of his village! Spared us all from a horrible future!”

“Love, nobody knows firsthand about the last bit but me and Dorian,” Asta smiled sadly. “Is it any wonder that the Arl is bitter?”

“Josie, you should write to the King,” Cullen persisted. “Tell him how unreasonable his Arl is being and demand…”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “It will work out, Commander. Relax. Asta is very good at the Game. She will bring him around. Probably. He is Fereldan,” she temporized.

“When is he due to arrive?” Asta asked, thinking. “I should really try to return to Skyhold, take care of some business there before the Council starts. I’ve been gone for far too long.” She smiled, a little slyly. “And after all, Bull, I do believe that we have three dragons in the Emprise that need to be shown who really wears the horns? I may not be able to participate, but by the Void, I‘m going to watch! There has to be a place in those stadiums that will give me a good view.” Cullen hummed in worry, “And keep me safe, of course.” She smiled at him, so much less tense. “Shame to die watching dragons after I’ve barely escaped execution for heresy.”

Dorian grumbled. “Honestly, dragons are all you two think about.”

Bull turned and looked sad, “Aren’t you coming, Kadan? You could just stay with me…” his words trailed off. “I get it. You weren’t intending to be around for the Council at all.”

Dorian stared at the ceiling. “I will discuss my plans with you later, Bull. If Cassandra is allowed her secrets than I am allowed to have mine.”

Cole frowned, “You are being very loud. If you want to keep secrets, Dorian, you have to be quiet. Cassandra is far better at it than you.”  He looked sad.  "Oh, it's not a happy secret.  I'm sorry, Dorian.  I'll go find you another duck.  This one will have wheels."

 


	145. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank my amazing husband for taking the kids to his mother's for the day so that I could actually get a chapter out.
> 
> Happy New Year! NSFW - mostly towards the end - assume the usual disclaimers.

Everyone else filed out of the room but the Divine, Cullen making his obeisance numbly, even as his heart soared and threatened to make him start cheering. It was premature, he reminded himself, the book wasn‘t even published, and if it didn‘t sell... But he couldn’t deny the hope that was bubbling over, and from the look on his wife’s face, she was feeling it too.

They walked, silent and stunned back to their room, without saying a word, and upon their arrival Asta immediately grabbed her saddlebags, and started stuffing items it with items from her wardrobe and dresser. “Asta, what are you doing?” Cullen felt like laughing, like dancing, like he could conquer the entire empire of Orlais without a sword.

“I’m getting the fuck out of the Cathedral!” She beamed without looking at him. “I’m leaving this place and I’m _never_ coming back. Not even to use the library. Make a note, Cullen, the Chantry has seen the last of me.”

“Isn’t that a little… premature? To leave so abruptly…” he laughed aloud. “I can’t even think about packing, I’m so relieved.  I wouldn't be able to find anything when we stop for the night.”

“I already said ‘Thank you’,” Asta snorted a laugh, “And I doubt Leliana expects me to linger! She’s been my jailer for far too long to truly expect a polite leave-taking.” Cullen stepped a little closer, and traced a line down the back of her neck, making her stop packing long enough to shiver.

“Don’t you think we could wait one more night before leaving?” His mouth was almost against her ear, and he wrapped his arm around her stomach gently.

Asta spun around and leaned up against the bed. “No. I want out of here. Now. We can stop elsewhere before we leave Val Royeaux. But start packing, Cullen. Please?” Cullen leaned in and kissed her, his lips fitting with hers in perfect symmetry, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and sweeping his tongue inside to mate with hers, and she whimpered, returning the kiss and grabbing the back of his neck to pull him in deeper, rocking them both back against the mattress.

But Cullen pulled away, listening to what she said rather than her body language. “All right, I’ll just get my bags.” Asta narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you want, right, Asta?” He leaned in again, and kissed her lightly again, and then, unable to resist, just once more. “After all, you’re right, we can wait for other things until we reach an… appropriate place?”

“This is looking pretty damn appropriate,” Asta muttered against his mouth. “I hate it here, but… maybe…” Cullen smiled hugely. “You know I can’t resist it when you smile like that,” she grumbled. “Let’s just clear off the bed and…”

“Don’t bother,” Cullen replied, and Asta leaned back onto the bed, swinging up her legs and scooting back and he climbed over her, following her down, meeting her mouth again and letting her arch against him eagerly.

A knock came at the door and Asta groaned. “Fuck, just go away! We’re busy!” Cullen started to laugh, and Asta swatted him with her bad arm, knowing it wouldn't hurt. “Honestly! I must know all the people in Thedas with the worst timing! Go… find something else to do rather than bother us!”

Cullen pulled back, still chuckling. “Aren’t you going to ask who it is?”

“I don’t fucking _care_ ,” Asta grumbled, but Cullen shook his head and went to answer, Asta making her way awkwardly to the side of the bed.

“Good,” Sera shoved her way inside. “I was afraid you two would be doing… stuff. I have to talk to her precious Lady Bits.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Cullen asked politely, glad that they hadn’t removed any clothing yet, as Sera eyed the mess that was their room, and Asta sitting on the bed, a distinctly disgruntled look on her face.

“Nah, stick around, Cully Wully,” Sera seemed awkward. “Thom will be here in a moment. He’s got to talk at you both. Shouldn’t take long. The point for me is, I’m not leavin‘ with you. Her Divinity or whatever I’m supposed to call her Holy Lady of the Ravens has asked me to be her Left Hand and… I’m gonna do it. She needs a firm hand holding the daggers back or she gets out of control. And I can rein in the jumped up prissy pants far easier than she can. So… I’m gonna do it,” Sera repeated, seeming more than a little surprised at her determination.

Asta stood up abruptly and took a few steps, just to sit down hard in a chair. “Sera…” she swallowed, “You’re leaving the Inquisition?”

“Yeah, suppose,” Sera shrugged. “You lot are going to get all political, now, anyway. And I’ll still let you know what’s what. Not gonna leave you blind in the dark. I owe you that, despite the whole Andraste thing.” Her eyes were suspiciously wet. “Crap, Quizzy, if you make me cry, I’m going to punch Cullen in the face and break his bloody perfect nose. I’m sure he’s done something to deserve it. But I got to find my own answers, don’t I?” She sighed. “Figured you'd understand.  You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

Asta surged up and held her, tightly. “Sera… we never made Cullen cookies.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Thom muttered from the doorway, “Commander, Inquisitor, may I enter?”

“Of course,” Asta let Sera go and stepped away, wiping her eyes. “You’re leaving too, aren’t you?”

“For Val Chevin,” Thom admitted. “Found a few Wardens in the city that will let me travel with them when they go back in a few days. They think I’d fit in fine, even once I explained the situation.”  The man shifted back and forth awkwardly.

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Guilt shadows played across Asta’s face. “You are more than your past choices, Thom. Won’t you reconsider?”

“No,” he replied, “This suits me fine, Inquisitor. And I’ll see you at the Exalted Council. I’m sure they’ll need someone from the Wardens to show and keep track of the decisions. I’ll make sure I get to travel with them. Assuming I survive the… Joining, anyway. In any case, it’ll be good to make a difference with the time I have left.” He sighed, “But I wanted to let you know that I appreciate the chances you both gave me. It hurt when I knew I had lost your approval, Commander. You're a good man, and a better Commander.”

Cullen nodded, and slapped him on the shoulder. “Likewise, Rainier. Next time I see you, we’ll get an ale?”

“Deal,” Thom nodded. “Alright, I’m moving out. Have to hire a horse. It’ll be rough to go back to hired nags after the nice stables at Skyhold.  Tell Dennett I said 'so long'?” He picked up his bags. “I’ll see you all in a few months, Maker-willing.” He paused, “That’s more than a little awkward now to say, isn’t it?  Maker's Balls is even worse.  Nearly choked last night when I heard someone say it at a tavern.”

“See ya,” Sera waved sadly. “You know where I’ll be, Beardy.”

“You take care of yourself in this pit,” he growled back and then grinned, his mouth nearly hidden behind the beard. “Then again, with you in residence, I suspect they’ll make a habit of checking their sheets for lizards. Specially Viv. Make ’em laugh, Sera. They don‘t do enough of that around here.”

“Yeah, and you show ’em how to grow a beard!” Sera sniggered. “Unless you’re going to shave it off now that you don’t have to hide?”

“There is only one beard,” Thom growled, saluted and left them chuckling.

Asta immediately hugged Sera again. “Keep in touch. I want all the drawings of asses and Chantry sisters you can manage, the more ridiculous the better,” she insisted. “Even the Divine, if you don’t think it will get you killed.”

“As if she could touch me,” Sera scoffed. “I can always tell her I’m Andraste’s however many greats and she’ll just topple over. Might do that anyway, just for fun. Besides, I’m gonna know all her secrets for once. That’s power, that is.” The elf pulled away and winked. “I’ll let you two get back to packing or whatever it was you were doing. Give me a few minutes to get down the hall before you start with the moaning, alright?”

“Deal,” Asta smiled sadly. “Good-bye, Sera. If it all goes tits-up you have a home in Skyhold, remember.”

Sera audibly sniffed. “Damn it, I’m not gonna cry. Let me get out of here.” And she crossed the room in a hurry and slammed the door.

“Fuck,” Asta sat back down on the bed, all her energy gone. “That just doesn’t get easier. Next it will be Dorian, and… damn it, Cullen, I’m running out of friends.”

“You’ve still got Dorian, for a little while, and Bull,” Cullen comforted. “And me, however small a consolation that is.” He chuckled, “But Sera as the Left Hand? Who saw that coming?”

Asta smiled sweetly, “Well… I did tell Leliana she needed an elf. And Charter didn’t work out, so…”

Cullen shook his head. “Asta, love, are you going to ever stop fiddling in the affairs of nations? And I want to know more about this Archivist group you belong to. Are you organized? That toast that Genitivi made…” he paused, “That seemed awfully… rehearsed.  Is it a password?  Can I join?”

“That would be telling,” Asta twinkled. “And I won’t tell you here. Perhaps back at Skyhold. Or somewhere secure. I don’t have strict permission to tell you everything, after all.” She frowned slightly. “I’m not sure if I can trust you to keep the secrets of ages,” she teased, brow clearing.

“I can be persuasive,” Cullen wheedled, and started stalking back towards her.

“Uh uh, Commander,” Asta murmured coyly, “One of the first things Sister Dorcas taught me was not to talk in bed. Not that I’ve had much chance to put her instructions into practice…” he kissed her neck. “I will remain strong, Commander!” He nibbled her neck slightly and slid his hand up under her shirt to stroke her stomach. “You haven’t even asked any questions,” she breathed in his ear.

“Not particularly interested in answers right now,” Cullen confessed, nipping her ear lobe. “Tell me when you think you can. Right now, I want to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Asta teased. “Celebrate what, pray tell?”

“Your life, your continued existence, all of our plans coming to fruition,” he whispered. “All our dreams, all our hopes… they can still all happen.”

“Except for the lack of a left arm…” Asta pulled away slightly, her face fallen. “How soon you forget how useless I am.”

“Varric has Dagna working on it,” Cullen told her bluntly. “Do you really think I’d let you think you are helpless? And I think Bull has some ideas about how you can use your evident weakness to your advantage in hand to hand combat, much like he does with his missing eye.” Asta stared at him, a breath away, eyes wide in shock at the news. “We’ve all got your back, Inquisitor,” he breathed into her mouth and leaned forward to touch her lips with his own. “We’ll keep your secrets. Whenever you choose to share them.” His hand traveled further upward, slipping under the breastband and he squeezed, always gentle.

Asta swallowed, “You’re right, you are persuasive… but just… not here.” He backed off immediately. “Not that! That’s fine, but…” she smiled, nervous, “You probably are going to be a bit upset with me. Even though there really isn‘t much else that I kept secret, I swear. I think we should save the explanation for the road, at least. Someplace with no one else around for miles. So that you can get any disappointment with me out of your system before we get back to Skyhold.”

“Whenever you like,” Cullen repeated, hardly worried. “Now… where were we?” He aligned his lips with hers again and she met him this time, soft and tender contrasting with his more demanding mouth, and letting him take control for once, letting him push her down into the softness of the Orlesian bed, while she fiddled with the buckles on his breastplate ineffectually. “Do you think Dagna could make me something like a hand? That could manage removing your armor? More than anything, I miss being able to…” Cullen stopped her mouth again, and wouldn’t let her finish her sentence, standing up and stripping off his own coat and his breastplate handily, pulling off his pants and tossing them aside.

“I’m assuming that was a request to make this easier,” he sighed once safely back against her body. “Perhaps someday we’ll live in a place where I don’t have to wear armor all the time. Where we can relax, and wear what we want instead of what we must.” He slipped his hand under her shirt again, and pulled her breastband loose and cupped her again, running a thumb over the peak.

“That would be nice,” Asta murmured. “Somewhere I won’t have to worry about only having one hand and no weapons.” He pulled the laces at her breeches loose and slid his hand inside against her stomach, glancing at her face for permission even while she rocked up in welcome against the first tentative touch. “Does such a place even exist in Thedas?” He traced the outline of runes against her gently, spelling out her name and making her catch her breath.

“It does in your Thedas, perhaps,” he whispered. “I would die to make your Thedas happen.” He kissed her again, but sat back up almost immediately to help her slide out of her boots and breeches, taking immediate advantage of her awkward position to bury his head between her legs to taste her.

“Cullen, that isn’t necessary,” Asta grabbed his hair, and he pulled back, looking confused. “Not that… the… fuck. Just… quit talking,” she declared, and raked her fingernails against his scalp, sending tingles down his spine. “I couldn’t live in any version of Thedas without you,” she confessed, and arched up against his mouth as he bent back down and pressed the advantage of his tongue inside her, curling within as high as he could manage. “Cullen, oh, Cullen,” she whimpered, her fingers tightening in his hair. She started to rock against him, still holding on too tightly, and he swirled up and against her nerves briefly, just to leave himself room for his hand to take the place of his tongue.

For some time, he muttered words of adoration against her, pouring out the weeks, months, years of worry and stress, dispersed with kisses and nips just above her pelvis, leaving little strawberry red marks that he was entirely too proud of in a curvy line that copied the line of her stomach. Relishing her noises, he pressed his fingers against her walls and held her down with his arm across, but gave up in favor of allowing her to buck against him wildly, pushing him harder against her most sensitive place, even as he tried desperately not to rut against the too soft mattress beneath him, knowing it would result in embarrassment.

“I ache for you,“ he said at the end of a long string of moaned endearments on both sides, punctuated by kisses and gentle strokes and she shuddered and whimpered at his admission. He slid his hand away from her center, kissing up her body to the edge of her bunched up shirt around her breasts. She stared at him, panting desperately, and he smiled in anticipation, seeing the need that reflected his own.

She took her shaking hand, and guided him between her shaking knees, never looking away from his face, an elation there that he knew he had as well. “We can’t have that,” she said at last, finding her words again, grabbing his thigh and shifting up to seat him inside. He shoved in deeper, with an almost embarrassing grunt, and she cried out in surprise as he bumped her cervix.

With that impetus their lovemaking devolved into kisses and moans, hands grasping and bodies pumping, as they climbed and sank to their mutual release. She started to vibrate around him, just on the verge of abandon, and the sensation made him swell, stretching her even tighter. Groaning, she flung her head back and ground against him, and he lost control entirely with her release, shouting against her neck even as her skin absorbed the meaning of the words he didn’t, and couldn’t, articulate.

They moved against each other gently afterwards, feeling each other’s aftershocks, and not wanting to pull away, even to adjust to hold each other better, kissing and stroking and holding until Cullen finally flopped sideways, spent and chuckling slightly.

“What’s the joke?” Asta asked, tracing his smiling lips with a single finger, with her own happiness dancing around her mouth.

“We could still leave today,” he laughed, and pulled her tighter against him. “We don’t have to wait. We don’t have to wait for _anything._ Asta, you’re all but free.”

“Then let’s not wait,” Asta murmured in turn, and laughed aloud when he pulled her over on top of him. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Commander. Help me find my pants?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera would make a killer (pun intended) Left Hand. Concerned with justice (and only rarely vengeance) and involving herself with the common people. :D
> 
> And yeah, she knows that Leliana is trying to weaken the Inquisition, but she's still got Asta's back.


	146. Defeating Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain things are made apparent...

Dorian stared out the window of the room at the Cathedral, not seeing the skyline of Val Royeaux, and clutching a well-read letter while Bull watched him carefully, trying to figure out the best way to break him out of his shell.

“What’s this about, Kadan?” Bull folded his arms and took the iniative and stared at his mage, his face blank. “Why not just tell everyone what your plans are, already? What are you hiding?”

“It’s not what I’m hiding,” Dorian’s hand shook while he handed him the letter. “I… didn’t want everyone to know before I told you. I only received it just before Varric came to get all of us. It was all I could do to… hold it together for Asta‘s sake. I didn‘t want her to worry. You know how she worries…” the mage’s words trailed off. “It’s not good news.”

Bull read the letter swiftly and cursed, “Well, shit, Dorian. You know I hated your father, but… I know you’re all messed up over him,” he crumpled the letter in his fist. “What can I do?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, well,” Dorian looked as if he had aged ten years overnight. “On top of his… assassination, I… I have been appointed to his seat in the Magisterium. Years before I should have expected… it‘s too soon. I thought… I thought he would appoint someone else as his successor, quite honestly. It‘s not unusual, in cases like mine.”

“Even that bastard had some sense, I guess,” Bull grunted, and put his hands on Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian sagged instead of stiffening, leaning into the Qunari’s chest, taking the offered comfort. “But there’s more, isn’t there?” Dorian nodded, and pulled back, looking pained and reluctant.

“I received another letter as well - if I hadn't already been completely off balance..." Dorian laughed, shakily, "Apparently, I’ve been offered the position of official observer of the Exalted Council for the Tevinter Empire. I suspect it’s Maevaris’ doing, and I doubt that the timing is coincidental.” Dorian stared at his feet, his hands shaking slightly. “They want me to report on whatever happens, and I admit, I see why they are concerned. Let’s face it, after Corypheus, the Exalted Council could decide to march on Tevinter, again. And Maevaris probably wants to keep me out of the Empire until she gets a chance to find my father‘s assassin and... well, there‘s a dozen reasons for her to try to keep me here instead of there, good and bad.”

“Yeah, they could try and smash themselves to pieces against Minrathous, for what, the fifth time?” Bull guffawed. “I’m pretty sure that city isn’t going to be taken without a massive siege, and maybe not then. You ’Vints built it right.” He stopped and shrugged. “Don’t let it get around that I said that.”

“Past Exalted Councils have not been remembered for their logical minds,” Dorian tried to put his nose in the air, and then let his head droop back to Bull‘s chest. “I can’t believe he’s dead, Bull. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.” His voice wavered slightly, and he swallowed.

“But at least the Boss didn’t let you leave it alone, back in Redcliffe,” Bull rumbled, rubbing Dorian’s back, still a little surprised that Dorian allowed him the liberty. “You going to be okay, Kadan?”

Dorian just shrugged and failed to answer the question. “I’m going to take the position. I’m in no hurry to get back to Tevinter, Magisterium or no. And since Asta’s little visit looks like it’s going to be put off, I…” his words trailed off.

“I’m going to be real lonely,” Bull admitted. “I wish I could come with you, Kadan.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to ask,” Dorian’s voice sounded constricted. “But if it was… I would, Bull. I want…” He swallowed hard. “I want you there. I want you with me, always. I don’t ever want to go back to being alone.” The words came out in a rush, almost in a panic. “There’s no one there. An entire empty country, full of empty people, Amatus.”

Bull froze his hand, mid-rub, “Dorian, are you saying…”

“Come with me,” Dorian whispered. He lifted his eyes to Bull, damp with unshed tears. And then he left the room in a literal flurry, slamming the door, and left Bull alone, staring at the space the mage had stood in, snowflakes melting on the suddenly icy tile.

“Well, shit,” the man said at last, blinking in shock. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He reached up a hand to scratch around his horns, and then let it fall. “Shit,” he repeated, and fell into a chair, head in his hands and lost in thought.

***

Varric tried to pin Cassandra down for the rest of the day, all his senses yelling at him that she wasn't being entirely upfront with him. He found her, rather predictably, yelling at Bran in the training yard, vivisecting a training dummy with more force than precision. “You do not get to define where and what I do! I am a Seeker, and my relationship with your Viscount is just a part of my life, Serah,” she bellowed, stabbing the dummy in lieu of stabbing a Seneschal instead. “Now leave me,” she demanded imperiously, “I have work to do.”

Bran backed away slowly, shaking his head in admiration and defeat, never seeing Varric standing in the shadows of the stone archway, much to the dwarf’s relief.

“Hey, Cass,” Varric approached her cautiously. Cassandra in one of her moods was a beautiful but vicious thing, and he had been on the wrong side of that anger a few too many times to be anything but timid. But surprisingly, she dropped her practice sword on the ground, as if weary, and sighed, closing her eyes, instead of turning her anger on him. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I suppose I must,” she said, after a significant pause. “It will affect you, after all. It is just… I am too old for this shit.”

“I doubt you are too old for anything, Cass,” Varric puzzled. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Let’s go elsewhere,” she replied. “I… should have told you before, but I…” She broke off her sentence and grabbed him by the arm, and marched him out to their room, with an epic level of determination, raising eyebrows and snickers the entire way, and making Sisters, Brothers and Clerics jump out of the way or be run over.

“Not that I mind the scrutiny, Cassandra,” Varric drawled at last, once they were in their room, and Cassandra had pulled the curtains shut after suspiciously peering out of them, as if looking for spies. “After all, I’d love to embellish on the reason why you just drug me through the Cathedral like you couldn’t wait to get your hands on me. But perhaps you’d rather just tell me why you are acting like the hero in a cheap spy novel? I’m pretty sure I could write better, given the opportunity. Have you been threatened? Do I need to call out a hit?”

“Me? Threatened?” Cassandra blinked, surprised. “No. I…”

Varric relaxed. “Good. When you said you were going to be dealing with personal issues, I thought maybe Bianca…”

Cassandra started to laugh, the laugh like a rusty gate. “No,” she managed at last. “No. But when you understand… Oh, Varric.” She smiled, a small frightened smile. “I’m…” the smile erased itself. “This is very difficult. You are not going to be happy. I remember your fears in the Fade, and now I… I have put you in a difficult position. Completely unintentionally, I assure you.”

“She tried to explain, stiffly and without making a lick of sense,” Varric finished on her behalf. “Cass, what sort of position am I in? I drug you into a Clan War… maybe. They do seem to be taking their time, strangely enough. Nothing could be worse than that, babe.”

Cassandra turned white with the simple endearment. “Yes, well, you say that now. You aren’t the one who should have…” she threw herself down on the bed. “I’m pregnant, Varric. I failed to take into account certain… issues,” she finished, as rigid as the bed on which she sat. “And I am sorry.”

“You’re…” Varric shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not…”

“It is,” she assured him. “It’s extremely uncommon, but not impossible. I have… asked,” she stared at her feet. “I consulted a healer here, under an assumed name, since I didn’t want your reputation to be damaged when it came out that I was… expecting.”

Varric stifled his reaction at the unlikely fact that an assumed name had fooled anyone that had ever heard of the Seeker, as well as her assumption that he had a favorable reputation to be damaged, and tried to concentrate on more pertinent issues. “You’re saying… it’s… mine?” Varric swallowed. “You’re sure?”

“Who else?” Cassandra glared at him. “I assure you I have not… been with anyone. Do you doubt me?!” She half stood, hands clenched.

“No, I didn’t mean…” Varric threw his hands up between them in case she decided to charge in defense of her honor. “I just… do you know how rare even pure dwarf births are? Our birth rates have been declining for ages, Seeker! Since the First Blight! It doesn’t just happen, Cass! And now you say…” he swallowed. “How far along are you?” He ran numbers in his head and cursed.

“A few months,” she replied, awkwardly. “I am told that dwarf pregnancies are longer, which seems exceedingly cruel to your women, but… this is exceedingly rare. And there are complications, given my age…” she refocused her attention to her lap. “I am muscular, and am not likely to show for some time. So there is time for you to break… this off, and get back to Kirkwall before it is obvious what has occurred.”  She crossed her arms over her stomach defensively.

“So wait, you went through the Crossroads and... all while..." Varric breathed deep, and tried to get a grip on himself, aiming for humor, "Well, we did all the right things,” Varric snickered and then sobered, when she sniffled a little, her words finally registering in his dizzy mind. “Are you okay? I mean, this is going to play rough and loose with your life for the next few months, before things get back to normal,” he asked gently.

“Normal? What normal?” Cassandra stood up and started pacing, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I will be a… mother. I can’t just gallivant all over Thedas as a Seeker whenever I please! I will have further responsibilities…”

“Whoa,” Varric risked putting his hand on her arm. “Stop right there, Seeker. You aren’t alone, and I’m not going to let you give up what you love. I have a desk job, Cass. Squirt can come with me.”

“Squirt?” Cassandra squinted at him suspiciously.

“It’s got to have a name, right?” Varric took a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m kind of freaking out here. I never expected…” His mind whirled. “I mean, dwarves don’t even bother trying to prevent this sort of thing. There are whole groups of people in Orzamaar who make it their life’s goal to get pregnant by a higher caste. It’s a job for them. I’m… babbling,” he concluded randomly. “I never expected this.”

“Neither did I,” Cassandra bit off. “I would have taken… precautions. And now I have ruined your life.” She sat back down heavily and drew a hand over her eyes. Varric cursed mentally. Was she crying again? His heart stuttered and he knew he had to get control of himself.

“Ruined? Hardly.” He laughed, strangely elated, “Damn it, Cass, my heart is beating so fast… you’re sure everything is fine? Maybe we should go see that healer again, this time as ourselves. She might have different answers for the Viscount of Kirkwall and the Hero of Orlais.”

“All is well,” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “She even magically amplified the heartbeat so I could hear it. The… infant is fine.” Her eyes searched his face, visibly suppressing her hope. “You said ‘we’.”

“Yes, I did, and fuck, Cass,” Varric slid his hand down her arm to her hand. “You heard a heartbeat? This isn’t some kind of elaborate practical joke, right? You did say I’m going to be a…” he couldn’t spit out the word.

“Not unless you want to be,” she replied. “If you are horrified, then I will leave you here and go elsewhere. I do not want to be a burden. This was unplanned, and I would understand…” Varric cut her off, needing to know something crucial.

“Why were you fighting with Bran? Not that I don’t sympathize, I often feel like tearing him a new one, but…”

She rolled her eyes and looked away from Varric who was still holding her hand. “He wants us to get married here, now. And I… reacted poorly, given the situation. My emotions are a trifle unbalanced. But I don’t want our marriage, if it happens, to be about… Squirt.” Her mouth twisted with a touch of dry humor. “I want you to marry me because of us, not… it.”

Varric cursed, “Maker fucking Andraste in the Fade, Cass, he doesn’t _know_ does he?”  His heart sped up still faster.

Cassandra looked horrified, “Of course not! No one knows but Cole! And that was an accident! You know what he’s like!”

Varric grinned rakishly in relief. “Good, because I want to tell Bran. And if you don’t want to marry me, why did you accept my proposal?”

“I do want to marry you!” Cassandra started to argue and then stopped. “You… dwarf. I’m not falling into your trap. Not this time. That‘s how we ended up engaged after climbing the Sundermount.”

“Trap? What trap?” Varric smiled innocently _,_ but he couldn’t hide the wicked look in his eyes. “The Divine did say she wanted to…”

“No,” Cassandra turned her back to him. “I won’t do it. Not now. You don’t want to be a parent, it’s your greatest fear. You cannot lie to me about this, Varric.”

Varric snorted inelegantly, “Cass, I don’t fear being a parent. I just don’t want to be _my_ parents. My ancestors were banished from Orzamaar after fixing Provings, ’denying the Stone’ and various other… dishonest behaviors. My parents still cling to the lineage of ‘House Tethras’ despite the fact that their ‘paragon’ ancestors were the worst sort of criminals! At least I’m an honest thief. Well, sort of. Politicians traditionally are assholes, and authors are liars, so I have that going for me. But I hate that, hate the whole thing. Why the fuck do you think I’m Andrastian? I converted to piss them off! The fact that it makes more sense than worshipping a rock is just a side benefit!”

“But Bianca was…” Cassandra’s face was blank with shock. “Varric, her family… you said before that they were…”

“So right-wing that they would probably fly in circles,” Varric concluded. “Their daughter was too good for the House Tethras dwarf, despite the fact that they are pure blood Carta. They’re so deep in shit that their eyes are brown.” He sighed. “Once I would I have loved to have a family with her. But not like mine. Never like mine. You and I… we could make something different.” He looked up at her hopefully.  "Damn it, Cass, let's make something different," he nearly begged.

“It would have to be different,” Cassandra stared at him, still in denial. “My family is a mess. Unless you’d like to see a child devoting itself to the royal tombs in Nevarra and competing for the right to rule once Markus dies. In that case, my uncle might be a good connection, but you and I will be having a lot of fights. Even more than usual.  I‘m personally hoping the Markhams will just take over again. Surely they are due a turn?”

“Sounds like an Orzamaar succession,“ Varric joked, and then swallowed. “Shit, Cass,” Varric stared right back. “You’re going to make me a father.” The word was awkward on his tongue, almost furry and soft.

“Hardly,” she bit out. “You have made yourself a father. Or the child will. I’m just the carrier.” She pulled her eyes away from his reluctantly. “Assuming you don’t hate the idea. If you do, the offer stands. I won’t go back to Kirkwall at all. I’m sure Asta would let me stay at Skyhold until the… infant is born. After that, I will figure something out.”

Varric snorted, “If I were to send you away she’d slit my throat in my sleep. Kirkwall is full of Inquisition scouts, at our own request. I’d never see it coming. For that matter, Cole would probably help. And I‘d deserve it.” He grinned even wider at the thought that occurred next. “Fuck, my parents are going to have a half-breed grandchild. Merrill and Isabela are going to be aunts. Hawke…” he swallowed hard. “Um, Cass, you aren’t going to make me keep Squirt away from my friends, right?”

“What, the elven blood mage, the notorious pirate and the Champion of Kirkwall?” Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “I was surprised you hadn’t introduced me to Merrill yet. Honestly, I have been a little offended.  I wondered if you didn't trust me.  My impression from Aveline is that you spend a lot of effort and time keeping her safe and comfortable. That said, perhaps you could drop hints to Isabela that perhaps her language and more colorful stories can wait until… Squirt is older. And is Hawke even coming back to Kirkwall?” She sighed, and closed her eyes. “I believe that everyone in Thedas is going to have to get far more comfortable with associating with mages. It would behoove us to set a good example, even if I’m… scared.” She swallowed hard. “My brother was killed by mages, Varric. In front of me. For years before I met Galyan, I fought my anger and hatred. I… am not rational, quite often, where magic is concerned. But I will try,” she promised.

“Magic…” Varric swallowed, “Cass, your uncle is a Mortalitasi, right? Could the healer tell you whether…”

“She could not,” Cassandra looked down. “Our situation is not common.”

Varric gulped, but seeing how shook up his girl was about the question, bluffed his way through, “Well, no point borrowing trouble, right? And if Squirt is a mage, well, I’m sure Hawke has some tips about growing up apostate.” Cassandra paled visibly. “A mage can be a good friend, Cass. I’m sure they’d make a good kid, too, given the opportunity to spend quality time with their parents.”

“Yes, well,” she took a deep breath. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Varric came over and sat next to her on the bed. “You said ‘we’,” he echoed. “Does that mean you’ll come back with me to Kirkwall after all?”

Cassandra opened her eyes, looked at him tenderly, and nodded. “If you would like,” she sighed. “If you are sure. And I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Varric covered her mouth with his hand. “Never for this. Not ever again.” The tears started to leak out of her eyes and he reached up with a wide thumb and wiped them away. “Shit, I did make you cry again. I’ve got some kind of a record going.” He wrapped his other arm around her back, and just sat with her a minute, while she fought her tears. “We’re going to be a family.”

“A very strange family,” Cassandra stated dryly. “With mage and pirate aunts, and a lyrium-tattooed uncle that kills slavers.  Thank the Maker for Aveline.  Blessedly normal Aveline.” Varric chuckled and they fell silent for some time before she broke the silence once more. “Should we tell the Inquisitor?”

“Let’s keep it a secret,” Varric smiled, and Cassandra echoed it in a small way, relaxing against him and leaning down to place her head on his shoulder. “Just for a bit. While we both get used to the idea.  But damn it, Cass, why won‘t you marry me?” She hit his stomach and he grunted slightly at the impact.

“Quit pushing, dwarf. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”  She took a deep breath, "Engagement will have to be enough for now."

"I mean, I know it's not exactly the fairy tale wedding you've longed for," Varric continued, "Complete with a handsome prince at the altar, waiting to declare his undying love..." she hit him again, "But Cass, I'll love you forever," he said, much quieter.  "Squirt or no Squirt."

"If that is true, then you will wait," Cass sighed.  "Bran will hate this."

"Ain't it great?"  Varric grinned.  "I can't wait to tell him.  At least that is an excellent reason not to get married before Squirt arrives."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to Frankenmouse for calling Cassandra's pregnancy. I'm sure most of you saw it coming a mile away! Again, I almost didn't include this chapter of their story (because hello, trite and corny...), but well, I should be posting my (not quite a one-off) of Hawke in Starkhaven this week, and since the pregnancy shows up in that story... I figured I should go ahead and slip it in. ;) And for heaven's sake, if anyone is still reading that doesn't like corniness... well, you're in the wrong place, probably?
> 
> I'm calling it 'Demands of the Champion', for those of you who are interested. It takes place a few months after the Exalted Council, but I don't think there are any other spoilers for Asta in it besides Squirt. :D


	147. Don't Say 'Katoh'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More depression triggers.

Asta found Dorian pacing by a fountain in a walled courtyard, her bags slung over her shoulder and walking lighter than she had in weeks. “Taking off already,” Dorian’s voice hitched and snagged on his emotions. “That was even quicker than I expected.”

“Dorian,” Asta alarmed, dropped her bags, and went to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “What’s happened?”

“I…” Dorian cleared his throat. “I stand before you the most foolish man on the planet. Oh, yes, love makes fools of us all, Inquisitor, but I, in my infinite supply of idiocy - because, my dear, I never do things by halves - asked Bull to come with me to Tevinter.” His normally confident voice broke and crumbled away with the admission, like a cliff into the ocean. “Fasta Vass, I am a colossal imbecile.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Asta hugged him, stiff and unresponsive. “I’m so sorry. And he said no.” It wasn’t a question, the answer being so patently obvious.

“He didn’t give me a chance to reply,” Bull rumbled behind her, and Dorian jerked back, prepared to flee. “He just made it snow and left.” The man huffed, “Kind of rude, I thought.” He tilted his eye back to the Inquisitor. “Can you give us a minute, Boss? I’ve packed our stuff, and I think we’ll all be going back with you, but… I need to clarify something with Kadan here.”

Asta nodded. “Cullen and I will be out by the front steps of the Cathedral. He was tracking down Dane. I hope he’s been digging up more flowerbeds. I’d love to leave my mark on this place…” the humor fell flat in the tension between the two men. “I’ll just wait there, then.” She patted Dorian’s arm and walked away, sadly.

Bull watched her go, scanned the other people in the small courtyard and sighed, satisfied that while people were going to hear what he had to say, they probably didn’t have anyone but the Nightingale to report it to. “Hey, Kadan,” he started.

“You need to stop calling me that,” Dorian replied uncomfortably. “I can’t… I can’t hear it anymore, Bull. Please. It hurts.”

“Not gonna stop,” Bull drew closer. “Hurting like that means you are alive, Kadan. And I want you alive. But we gotta talk about this.” He took a deep breath, “Kadan, have you been fighting demons in your sleep?”

“What?” Dorian jerked back, “That wasn’t what… I expected you to ask, Bull.” He bit his lips, hard. “But, yes, I have. And as you heard, I’m a moron for even thinking this was possible,” Dorian turned away. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“No you aren’t. You just don‘t like the answer,” Bull replied easily, turning the mage back around, “And I know I’m not sorry. You… if it was possible I’d go.” The Qunari looked uncomfortable for just a minute. “Despite the Chargers, despite Krem probably trying to kill me, I’d go with you, Kadan. The thought of being without you, it…” he sighed heavily. “I’m all cut up.”

“Well, I’m a crap healer,” Dorian tried some bravado. “You should see someone else about it. I can’t help you. Maybe if you were dead…”

“No one else can heal this,” Bull stepped forward again, and Dorian backed against the stone wall, and Bull leaned in, one hand over his head. “Don’t think there is a cure, not for this poison, Kadan. You’re in my fucking veins,” he hissed.

Dorian whimpered, and squeezed his eyes shut, his man nearly too close to resist the temptation to kiss him, even in a Chantry courtyard. “I can’t do this anymore, Amatus. It’s not enough, to have you when I can, how I can.”

“On that we fucking agree,” Bull was trying to whisper, but his voice didn’t lend itself to the quiet sounds, grumbling over the burbling of the little fountain. “So what are we going to do about it?  Say 'Katoh'?”

Dorian shook his head. “I… I don’t know.  But not that, anything but that.”

“Something that the clever ‘Vint doesn’t know?” Bull laughed, a gentle rumble that traveled into the mage he was pressed up against so familiarly. “Never thought you’d admit that, Dorian.” He shifted back. “Well, we’ve got the ride back to Skyhold to think about it. Assuming you are coming, instead of staying here and letting Chantry Sisters whisper about you before you can arrange travel back home.”

“I’ll come,” Dorian whispered. “I won’t leave you alone.”

Bull chuckled. “It’s a day of firsts. Never thought I’d hear you admit that I care just as much about you as you about me.” He stopped, and thought better of making a comment on Dorian’s phrasing.

“Yes, I’m self-centered,” Dorian balled his hands into fists, and the air started frosting, little particles of ice forming in mid-air. “I’m conceited and cruel and…deviant… and…”

“And generous,” Bull rumbled, bending back in, and fighting Dorian‘s demons the best way he could. “And the best lover I’ve ever had, because of how you give yourself. So you think about your life in terms of yourself…” Bull shrugged, “Most people do. Those of us that know you best, Dorian, know that your selfishness is just a box. We know that inside it you’re just a soft squishy chocolate waiting to be eaten.”

The silly metaphor made Dorian raise his eyebrows, and the air started to warm and the frost dissipated back into the late spring sunshine. “I’m a chocolate?”

Bull shrugged again, and chuckled, “I like chocolate,” he smiled, his eyes shining. “I’m not really good at imagery, Kadan.”

“Yes, well, that was obvious,” Dorian sniffed. “But I’m not adverse to being… eaten. If that means what I think it does.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Bull guffawed, and Dorian slapped his chest, and then let his fingers catch in the larger man‘s harness. “Fine, Kadan, let’s go find Cullen and Asta and get the fuck out of here. At least in Skyhold I’m not constantly wondering if a Sister is going to try to convert me.” He shuddered. “We’ll talk about it on the way. In the meantime,” he furrowed his eyebrows, “just keep fighting the demons, all right? Promise me you won’t give up. Despair isn‘t the answer, it's just the easy way to check out.”

“I’ll fight,” Dorian whispered. “I’ll fight forever.” He wrapped his fingers around the harness tighter and pulled the Qunari in towards him, and kissed him, lovingly. Bull’s surprise gave way slowly to something far more welcome, and he returned it eagerly, slanting his larger mouth across the man and moving back to the barely existing stubble along the mage's jaw.

“Well!” A voice huffed in the background. “That’s… just unnecessary!” Bull and Dorian casually flipped the nosy biddy of a Sister the bird in unison and kept going. “I will complain to the Divine!” The voice announced, and soon the noisy steps disappeared into the distance.

“We ought to get going,” Bull finally grunted as Dorian bit his neck. “We’ll have to find a place to stop, and you know Asta wants to get the fuck out of Val Royeaux. She was practically twitching during her meeting with the Divine.”

“Fine,” breathed Dorian, and pulled back, running his fingers through his slightly disheveled hair, and straightening his robes. “Some place that is not a tent would be preferable, I admit.”

Bull laughed and stepped back towards his partner, pulling him back in again, and wrapping his arms around his lower back, “Dorian, you’ve traveled with Josie. Do you honestly think we’ll be tenting it? As far as the Ambassador is concerned, any inn, no matter how dirty, is better than the ground.”

“Well, she’s not entirely wrong,” Dorian sighed and looked off into the distance. “Someday, I will live in a place where I will not have to wonder where I’m going to sleep that night.” He pushed Bull off of him, but gently. “And when it happens, I will miss this.” He looked at his lover, “You said you packed for me?” A look of horror passed over his face. “I will never be able to find anything.”

“Love you, too, Kadan.”

***

Instead of going straight to the gates, Asta stopped by Cassandra and Varric’s room, to say goodbye, her hand hesitating on the door, reluctant to disturb them. She sighed and knocked, only to hear two voices say ‘Enter,” without hesitation. She pushed the door open to find the odd couple moving around and packing their own belongings.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra stiffened, “We’re almost done, I assure you.”

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” Asta smiled. “You two are heading back to Kirkwall, I assume.”

“Actually, would you care for some company?” Varric replied confidently.

Asta looked confused, “Why? Don’t you have a city to run?”

Varric snorted, “I’m sending Bran back without me. He’s been running the city on his own for years, with Aveline’s help. I’m just the guy that signs the papers. And Cass isn’t ready to leave, so I’m not leaving either.”

Cassandra smiled shyly at the man’s confession. “He is very thoughtful.”

Asta resisted taking a step back, more than a little confused at the new dynamic in their relationship. “That is sweet, Varric,” she said at last. “But why aren’t you ready to leave, Cassandra?”

Cassandra’s face instantly became more serious. “I have a proposition for you and the Commander, and I will discuss it with you once we are out of Val Royeaux.” Varric hoisted their bags, and shouldered them, and she grabbed one away from him.

“Cass,” the dwarf started, and she stared him down, shifting her eyes to the Inquisitor. “Oh, right. You’re not glass. How quickly I forget,” he rolled his eyes. “Maker forbid a dwarf should try to emulate a chevalier.”

“You are nothing like a chevalier,” Asta teased, and Varric recoiled, his hand against his breast.

“That wounds me, Inquisitor,” he laughed. “But yeah, we’re going back with you. Cassandra thinks she’s got an idea that will help the Inquisition, and we could hardly show our entire hand to the Divine, could we? We’re hardly out of the woods yet,” he pointed out blithely.

“We will never be out of the woods until we leave this blighted city,” Cassandra growled impatiently.

“Come on, Cass,” Varric teased, “You shouldn’t mix your metaphors like that. Are we in the woods or the city?”

“You were the one who mentioned woods!” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Can we just leave?”

Asta nodded and gave up trying to read either of them. “Very well,” she turned and lead the way out of the room. “I’m so ready to be back at Skyhold. I do wish we weren’t traveling with Josie, though.” The other two groaned.

“This trip will take forever,” Cassandra muttered. “Six hour days, and only inns.”

“And she‘s trying to hire a carriage,” Asta expostulated. “Though Cullen is trying to convince her otherwise for the sake of expediency.”

“I pray he is successful,” Cassandra drawled. “Otherwise those six hours are going to be interminable. But we can hardly request that she travel alone…” the small group sighed in resignation. “She is an excellent equestrian,” Cassandra mused. “Perhaps we can appeal to her vanity?”

Varric brightened, “We can always try!” Cassandra eyed him suspiciously, “What, Cass? I’m not even allowed to compliment other women?”

“No,” Cassandra said bluntly. “Not right now, anyway.” Asta eyed them both, confuddled, and desperately wanting to know what was going on. “Do not ask, Inquisitor,” Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. “You will know soon enough.”

 


	148. Josie Takes It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day!

They stopped at a charming inn, that Josephine declared ‘rustic and delightful,’ even as she brushed off the table with her glove and inspected the dirt that remained, with a critical eye, and then sat down, gathering her split riding skirts around her imperially.

Asta sighed and let her gaze rest on each of her companions in turn, watching them squirm, avoid eye contact, grin, stare at the ceiling with a smile on their face, and stare right back in at her in turn. “All right, who’s going first?” she asked at last, impatient with the amount of secrets and hidden information around the table. “Cassandra? Varric? Dorian?”

“I’ll go first,” the mage replied, and opened his mouth to begin, and then closed it again. “I hardly know where to start.”

“His father is dead,” Josephine supplied, tearing her bread into manageable bites before she placed it in her mouth and chewed. Everyone sat back abruptly, including Dorian. She finished chewing and swallowed politely, and continued, “It was assassination, then? A private contract or an individual acting alone?”

“Dorian?” Asta’s face was white and drawn, with the shock, “Is that true?”

“It is,” Dorian answered, surprised, even in the midst of his grief, his voice thick. “Josie, I would like to know how you knew…”

She frowned at him, “You all forget that I play Wicked Grace better than all of you. Your distress has been apparent since our appointment with Most Holy.  Would you like me to finish?  Would it be easier?” Dorian nodded.  She looked directly at him, “Personal matters aside, you are going to join the Magisterium, but not until after the Exalted Council. I believe that is wise, as you and I can speak at length this way about how to present ourselves to the magisters to make the best impressions. Also, I would like an introduction to your friend in Qarinus at some point. Maevaris would be invaluable as a contact.” Her gaze shifted to Varric. “Varric is harder to read, but Cassandra is not. Cassandra…” her eyes got wide. “You aren’t!” She squealed happily, “Oh, this is delightful! Just let me know however I can help.” She beamed and Cole smiled hugely.

“I kept the secret!” He proclaimed proudly. “Did I do well, Cassandra?”

“Yes,” Cassandra admitted grudgingly. “You did.”

“Well, I knew, but fuck, Cass, you look hot when you’re knocked up. You‘re gonna have some time stuffing those bigger tits behind your breastplate,” Bull lifted his tankard. “Congratulations.” Varric frowned slightly, and then smiled.

“You’re right, she does and will,” he grinned. “She’s glowing.”

“The next person who claims I am ‘glowing’ is dead,” Cassandra declared, glowering at him. “There is more news, Inquisitor, but perhaps we could let the Ambassador finish her parlor trick?” The Seeker hid her face in her sweet cider and tried to ignore the fact that she was blushing.

Josephine smiled kindly, “You want the Inquisition to join with the Seekers, as separate we are both weak - especially the Seekers given their small numbers - but I’m not sure under what guidelines,” the woman tapped her fingers against her cheek. “Well, I will want to be in on the planning of any such alliance,” she concluded. “So we can leave it there for now.” Her gaze shifted to Cole. “Cole is in love,” she declared.

Cole blinked rapidly, his gaze shifting from the ceiling, and his smile turning into awe. “How did you know?” He breathed. “Can you read my mind?”

Josephine laughed and took his hand. “No, you are just less present than ever, with a dreamy look on your face. Anyone who has been in love knows that look.” She paused and slyly asked, “Is it Maryden?”

“Yes…” Cole confirmed in surprise. “Do you love her too?” Asta burst out laughing. “Well, she makes everyone so happy,” he said in confusion. “Everyone should love her.”

“Oh, he has it bad,” Dorian drawled. “Does the lady in question return your affections?”

“I… don’t know if she sees me,” Cole replied in confusion. “It is difficult to tell.”

“We’ll help you out, Cole,” Asta patted his other hand. “It is hard to tell, sometimes, if the person you care about cares about you,” she slanted a devious glance at the Commander, trying not to laugh. “Sometimes it’s best just to ask.”

“Right,” Cullen did laugh. “That’s very tricky. Many people often need a helping hand.” He raised his ale at Dorian and took a sip.

“It shouldn’t be,” Cole insisted. “I should just know! I always have before…” His face clouded, and then he dug in his belt pouch. “That reminds me,” he said, “Dorian, I found you another duck!” He handed it over, delight all over his face, and Dorian took it gently, his face softening and with a single finger he spun the small wheels. “I helped,” Cole whispered joyfully.

“It’s because you’re more human, kid,” Varric winked. “Don’t worry, I have it on reliable witness that I’m the most romantic man alive.” Cassandra snorted and smiled at the same time. “By the time I’m done, she won’t be able to resist you.”

Josephine turned to the Bull, “You, as always, are impossible to read,” and eyed the Commander directly, not even hiding her scrutiny. “The Commander, however,” she smiled. “The Commander is going to resign. In favor of… Rylen,” she concluded triumphantly, and had the satisfaction of seeing him frown. “Not until after the Exalted Council, I hope,” she frowned in turn, very attractively. “But he is looking forward to it immeasurably,” she said slowly, and looked at Asta, not quite stone-faced. “But the Inquisitor… is not.” She looked confused. “I will need an explanation for that,” she sighed. “I’m sure there is a good one.”

“It can wait,” Asta announced firmly, and turned back to Cassandra. “When were you going to tell us, Cassandra? Why didn’t you take advantage of the Cathedral? When…” her questions trailed off with Cassandra’s glare. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “But I’m very happy for you? I suppose you wouldn’t be, however,” she said softly.  "That would be an enormous shock."

“On the contrary,” Cassandra replied stiffly. “I never expected to be a mother, and am elated. I cannot wait to buy little fluffy objects and fill an entire nursery with silly items that will never be used or touched for an infant that will be largely unappreciative.” Her sarcasm was so thick it could have been cleaved with a butcher knife.

“Krem’ll want to make you a stuffed nug,” Bull grunted. “Can I tell him?”

“Yes,” Cassandra sighed. “But no one else, please.”

“And Squirt won’t arrive until considerably after the Exalted Council,” Varric said, puffing up slightly with pride. “So no showering us with presents until we‘re safely back in Kirkwall.” He wrapped his arm around the Seeker’s shoulders, who allowed it, a trifle begrudgingly. “I, for one, would like to hear Asta’s thoughts on the Seeker order.”

Asta swallowed, “I’d like to hear Cassandra’s thoughts first,” she said slowly. “I have a million questions.” She slipped her hand under the table to grab Cullen’s, holding it tighter than was strictly necessary.

The Seeker sighed. “There are not many of us left,” she stressed. “And the last Inquisitor was not a Seeker, he was a mage. And yet he is remembered as the head of the Seeker order. So I thought…” she trailed off, and then stiffened. “I wanted to ask you to become the next Lady Seeker.”

Asta scooted her chair back in alarm. “Cassandra, you know a spirit of Faith would never find me. We‘ve talked about this.”

“The last Inquisitor was not a Seeker, I said,” Cassandra scowled. “You would not go through the vigil. You would just… lead us. As you have been leading.” She looked unsure. “It will be different, as we are not part of the Chantry any longer. We will be more independent, freer to do what must be done, not just what would please the Divine,” she stressed. “The mages still with the Inquisition would be welcome. We would be trying to return the Order back to what it was originally meant to be!” Her face began to glow with excitement, but Asta elected not to make the observation. “But I cannot lead. I will be… busy,” she smiled shyly, “for reasons already revealed.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Varric reminded her. “I’m taking Squirt. You shouldn’t have to give up what you love, what you’ve spent your life doing.”

“We’ll argue later,” Cassandra hissed. “These decisions don’t have to made all at once.”

“Cassandra,” Asta hesitated, “Would we have to live in Kirkwall?” Cullen started at the question, and Asta calmed him, rubbing his hand. “I don’t think…” she swallowed. “Cassandra, Cullen and I aren’t planning to be around forever,” she informed her gently. “How will that work?”

Cassandra shrugged, “There is no reason that the head of the Seekers needs to be a lifetime position,” she insisted. “We are rebuilding from the ground up, making it better,” she smiled at her friend, “As you have told me more than once to do. As for living in Kirkwall, you would be welcome, I’m sure,” her lips twisted, “despite the disagreeable Viscount you‘d have to deal with regularly.”

“Hey,” Varric protested, grinning. “I did give them a manor. They could always lock me out.”

“But I don’t see that it would be necessary,” she concluded. “I know you have plans, and with the Inquisition’s more than adequate infrastructure, I think that you could live just about anywhere and manage to keep in touch.” She sighed, “Even from Minrathous, if that’s what you desired. Though we would by necessity need to be apolitical during your time there. Josephine would be able to guide you most effectively, if that‘s what you decided.”

Dorian snorted. “We don’t have Seekers in Tevinter. They wouldn‘t know what to do with any of you, but they would likely decide you were political anyway and just call out the hits.”

Asta watched him for a minute, considering the price, and then swallowed her doubt and lifted her glass of wine, “To knowledge, Dorian,” she toasted quietly.

Dorian shifted abruptly, “To fact,” he breathed, leaning forward. “I did wonder,” he laughed delightedly and Cullen started to chuckle. “How many of us have you found?!” Asta looked around her, pointedly. “Oh please, all that cloak and dagger stuff is just silly. I‘ve been making contacts almost since I arrived in Redcliffe. Not all of them were horrified that we are in Tevinter.”

“We’re not supposed to be aware of more than a handful,” Asta hissed. “It’s not safe!”

Dorian scoffed, “Oh please, there are more of us in the Inquisition than you have any idea. Helisma, Dagna, several former Circle mages, that elf from that clan that starts with an R… - why can’t I remember their name? - I even had my suspicions about Valta, but there was no privacy to gently make the necessary inquiries.”

“Secrecy isn’t stopping you now,” Asta observed. “I did find a Templar archivist, and there is Professor Kenrick, of course, but mostly I’ve been afraid to ask. I was sure about Helisma, but she approached me, surprisingly enough. I didn‘t think Tranquil would take initiative that way.” She sighed, “Alexius was one of us, too, wasn’t he?”

Dorian swallowed and nodded, eyes shut against his remembered pain. “When we lost him, we lost more than knowledge.”

Cullen leaned forward eagerly, “Can I join?”

“No,” Dorian refused, and Cullen’s face fell. “Well, not now, anyway,” Dorian sighed. “Asta, if you join the Inquisition with the Seekers, we should all be approached about the possibility. Even Genitivi would admit it makes sense, and you know the man is in love with the limelight, bless his dear little conceited heart. Admittedly, he did write the definitive work of the Dragon Age... so possibly his pride is justified.  Perhaps it‘s past time for our little organization to have a leader and an official name.”

“Rather, perhaps the remaining Seekers should formally join the Inquisition,” Asta thought quickly and spoke slowly. “We have people, staffing and infrastructure. The Seekers - and the remaining Templars that wish to serve - any mages that wish to stay rather than rejoin the College of Enchanters… if the cure for Tranquility is proved viable, then it would be easier to offer it with the backing of an independent institution, rather than through a feared Order.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said assuredly, “That would be excellent! The Seeker order would have it’s own headquarters in Kirkwall, whether under my command or not… but the Inquisition would be over all of us, mages, former Templars, and the Seekers and… whatever your organization of researchers is. United at last.”

Asta shook her head, scared, “Cassandra, I don’t want to be up against the Divine! What you are describing - this is the size of all Thedas!”

“Too late, Boss,” Bull barked a laugh. “You’re the single greatest threat to the Chantry. You need this alliance.” Cassandra scowled again at his choice of words, “The Chantry would be where they are supposed to be - limited in power and reduced to a charity and religious organization largely led by the faithful and the nobles. They wouldn’t be able to so much as spit without your permission - the permission of a group that is based on something other than mutual worship of a god, who your daddy was, or money. You‘ve said it time and again that they shouldn‘t wield that kind of power.”

Asta swallowed, tempted. “I want to travel and study,” she whispered, trying to remind herself.

“You could still do that,” Josephine broke in, sighing. “You’ve spent more time in the field as the Inquisitor than in Skyhold,” she pointed out. “I’m eventually going to return to Antiva, but it is part of my job to ensure that things in Skyhold run smoothly in your absence. And if the Commander is going to retire, then don’t you think that it would be best if he were out of Skyhold, lest the lines of command get too visibly confused?” She hummed thoughtfully. “Also, continuing like this would help you identify new agents and locate one to train as your replacement for when you no longer wish to be at the helm.”

“As Lady Seeker or Inquisitor or whatever they call you,” Dorian pointed out, “I could use my newfound Magister status to arrange a formal visit to Minrathous, complete with regularly scheduled assassination attempts and access to the rarer parts of the library,” he bribed. “You would need a bodyguard,” he pointed out. “Absolutely necessary, wouldn’t you say, Amatus, to have a retinue when visiting Minrathous?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely necessary,” grinned Bull with visible excitement. “And I add a nice mix of - what didja call it - diversity? Take me, Cullen, a Templar, a mage, maybe Dagna…” his voice trailed off. “Talk to Sera and see if she can find you a contact there with the Jennies. That‘ll make a few ‘Vints sit up and take notice.”

Asta laughed. “One at least,” and she winked at Dorian, “We can discuss this further at Skyhold, Cassandra. I admit, everyone is painting a most attractive picture for me…” she bit her lips, “but Cullen and I need to discuss our plans before we make any decisions. Also, I need to consult with Josie and Harding and Cullen about what they believe the Divine will demand of the Inquisition at the Exalted Council, and what we are willing to relinquish. I cannot believe that they would just let us make something entirely different from the ashes of what these groups used to be, without having some evidence showing that it is necessary.” She nodded positively. “But I thank you for the invitation, and would definitely like to discuss it further.”

“Preferably with paper, ink and about a million reference volumes,” Cullen laughed, and squeezed her hand. “This could work, love.”

Asta swallowed, “It could also make us targets,” she whispered. “Something smaller,” she sighed. “Smaller is more controllable. If we get too big… what we are discussing goes beyond balance and leans towards a takeover.”

“We are already big, Inquisitor,” Josie assured her. “We have drawn the eyes of nations. One of the things that the Council will likely demand is a reduction of our army - and we were taking steps to that end already, though I would suggest we not do anything final of that sort before the Council. Let them think it’s their idea. This way we do not allow the Council to insist we surrender our cause back to the Chantry. We’d have more power than even they…”

“Power corrupts,” Asta insisted.

“But without sufficient leverage, what can we accomplish?” stressed the Ambassador, and then sighed. “You must make the decision, and it doesn’t have to be tonight. It is an important one, and you should sleep on it and discuss it in depth. I, for one, am going to go find my bed,” she rose elegantly. “Goodnight, Inquisitor, Commander, all.” She left for the stairs, drawing eyes from the patrons, as out of place as a starfish at high tide.

Varric summed up everyone’s opinion as she disappeared up the steps, “Well, I’m never playing Wicked Grace with her again. She’s just scary.” They all nodded in silent agreement, as they watched the almighty Ambassador leave.

“Never bet against an Antivan,” Cole whispered quietly, but turned back to the table. “How can you make me irresistible, Varric?”

"I'll get out the Wicked Grace cards and tell you, kid," Varric twinkled.  "It's all about being yourself."

"I have a million things to do," Cullen stood with alacrity.  "Pray, excuse me."

 


	149. Love and Logic

Varric straightened the lapels on Cole’s new jacket, delivered just that morning by Asta, in the teal color that brought out the young man’s eyes. “Now remember what I told you, kid,” the dwarf said, quietly. “Tell her you love her songs, that they make you happy, that they make everyone happy, and ask her, politely, if you can buy her a drink.”

Cole nodded, a little frightened. “But I can’t hear her, Varric. How will I know if she says yes?”

“You’ll have to listen to what she says,” Asta butted in. “Trust her words.”

Cole frowned, “But Cassandra often does not say what she means. It’s all backwards in her head. What if Maryden is like the Seeker?”

Varric sighed, “I understand because I know Cassandra. I can tell when she means what she says, most of the time. It’s part of building a relationship, getting to know a person.” Cole leaned over the rail of the third floor, watching Maryden chat idly to Cabot.

“She’s talking to Cabot,” Cole breathed a little faster. “Varric, do you think she loves Cabot? I am not ready to get my heart broken. It would hurt.”

Asta laughed, “I can almost guarantee that she doesn’t like Cabot that way. She just works with him. Just remember, Cole, that if she turns you down, you smile and leave gracefully. Don’t push the issue. Maybe she’ll say yes another day, maybe she won’t. But if she says ‘no’, accept it.”

Cole nodded eagerly. “All right. I can do that. I don’t want to make her sad.”

“Time to go, kid,” Varric slapped the side of his shoulder in encouragement. “If you don’t go now, she’ll start another set. Distract her. We’ve all heard that horrible Grey Warden song enough times by now.”

“But don’t tell her we hate it,” Asta blurted out. “Sometimes, when you are getting to know a person you have to… be picky about what you say at first.”

“I like that song,” Cole replied, confused. “I like all her songs.  Even the ones she doesn't sing yet.”

“Perfect, tell her that,” Varric said, and shoved him towards the stairs. “Go get her, tiger.”

Cole sighed, “Varric, she doesn’t have a tiger.” But he moved gently down the stairs to approach the bard, all the same.

Asta and Varric watched from the third floor, kneeling down between the railings to see better, and Cullen entered from the battlements door to see them trying to eavesdrop. “What are you two up to now?”

“Shhhh,” Asta waved him over, and he took a chair and followed their gaze to the first floor. “Cole’s going for it.”

“Hello, Maryden,” Cole said shyly, and shifted back and forth on his feet slightly awkwardly. The excellent acoustics in the tavern let the three listeners hear him clearly, even from so far below.

The normally extroverted bard smiled softly, “Hello, Cole, isn’t it?” She tucked a fallen strand of hair up into her complex braid. Her speaking voice was slightly less enunciated and pitched higher than the last time Asta had spoken to her, Asta noticed, and she wondered whether the bard was scared of her.

“Yes, that is my name,” Cole said excitedly. “I wasn’t sure you could see me.”

“When you’re in Skyhold you always listen to me, even when no one else does,” Maryden actually blushed. “You’re a good audience. I always know when you‘re there.”

“I can talk to you,” Cole sighed happily. “That’s… that’s wonderful.” The two stared at each other for a minute before Cole jumped, remembering, “I wanted to ask if you were thirsty, before you started singing again. Your throat gets dry sometimes,” he offered, even more shy. “Can I buy you a drink?” The bard blinked at him and smiled wide in surprise.

Asta chirped happily, “He’s doing so well!” Her hand found Cullen’s knee and she squeezed it in her excitement.

Varric snorted, “Of course you’d root for the shy type, eh, Curly?”

Cullen hushed him. “What did she say?” The two people were moving towards the bar together, and Cole fumbled to find the right coins, but managed, as Maryden laughed kindly at his nervousness and Cabot rolled his eyes and gathered their orders.

“She must have said yes,” Asta beamed. “Way to go, Cole!” Cole picked up the drinks and carried them to a side table, stared blankly at it for a minute, and then pulled out her chair, and settled himself next to her. “Oh, good choice, to sit next to her, instead of across. It‘s more companionable. And he remembered his manners!”

Cullen nodded, “Very good,” they smiled at each other.

“Very chivalric, and not too pushy,” Varric grinned. “Next phase of the plan.” He stood up and pulled Asta up with him.

“What’s the next phase of the plan?” Cullen asked curiously.

“We leave them alone to get to know each other,” Asta said, slipping her hand into his. “It’s important.” She pulled him up and out of his chair and to the battlements door. “I’m sure we all have places to be,” she reminded him quietly. “And Cole doesn’t need an audience.  He needs to be himself.” The man smiled slightly below and nodded to something the bard said.

Varric nodded, “Besides, I have a Seeker that probably needs to eat something. Interesting cravings, that woman.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Think twice before having unprotected sex, kids,” he winked.

“No worries, Varric,” Asta drawled. “You, however, are enjoying every minute of this.”

“You said it, Asta,” Varric smiled hugely. “Sometimes thinking too much gets in the way of everything that could be.” He slipped past them to the door and walked out, whistling a song, and then he stopped, frowning, and picked a different song entirely.

Asta tucked herself against Cullen as they made their own way out onto the battlements, staring up at the night sky, speckled with diamond-like stars. “What are you thinking?” Cullen asked finally, watching her lean back and up.

“How happy I am to be home,” Asta said simply. “Debating with myself about whether blending the Inquisition with the Seekers is the best idea. Mourning the loss of my arm. Thinking about writing Sister Dorcas and Brother Genitivi for advice, and knowing that they’ll just tell me to do what I think is best. Wondering what is best for the most people.” She curled back into Cullen, trying to protect herself with his body. “Wondering what is best for us,” she murmured.

“We are people,” Cullen reminded her. “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

“If we join up with the Seekers,” Asta started, “Will we be able to control the direction the institution goes? Solas is literally immortal, at least that’s what the stories claim. With that kind of longevity… the Inquisition’s goals are going to be clouded as soon as we hand the reins over to the next generation,” she sighed. “They will change with my replacement, because he will bring his own questions.”

“But our decisions do not have to be about the Inquisition. What do you want, Asta?” Cullen asked her, as she had asked him so many times before.

“I want you,” she replied. “On a lesser scale, I want a unified Thedas with ages of restored knowledge. But most of all, I want you, and me, together.” She pushed away slightly and turned to face him. “That’s what I’ve always wanted. I thought you knew.”

“Where you go, I will be,” Cullen reminded her. “You know that. If you decide to ally with the Chantry, I admit I will balk…” Asta shoved him, “But mainly because you’re the one always insisting that we learn from history,” he continued. “If you tell me we’re moving to Kirkwall,” he sighed deeply, “I’ll face some more demons. I never really want to go back, gifted manor or no gifted manor. Plus, I don’t like the way Kirkwall is laid out, though it’s very defensible. It’s a maze, really.” Asta giggled.

“I don’t want to live in Kirkwall,” she murmured. “I’ve been to Kirkwall. I don’t want to go anywhere in the Free Marches. I want to go somewhere new.” Her face lit up with the possibility of novelty.

“Minrathous?” Cullen smiled, “Dorian is eager to have us visit.”

“Perhaps,” Asta took a deep breath. “Cullen, we aren’t getting any younger.” Her hand traced the stone of the merlon next to her, and she leaned away from him slightly.

“Ah,” Cullen turned to face her, slightly grumpy with the reminder. “Where is this going?”

“Did you realize that Thedas’ birth rates compared to their death rates are ridiculously out of proportion?” Asta blurted out. “It’s absurd, how many people die compared to those that are born. And those that survive to adulthood are even less. And do you know how many children were orphaned in the last Blight? And during the Orlesian Civil War? And in Kirkwall when the Qun…”

“Asta, get to the point,” Cullen ordered, and then, all at once, understood, but crossed his arms against the knowledge, “Asta, are you saying…”

“Cassandra’s situation got me thinking,” Asta admitted. “Her and Varric are different. This will be their only child, almost certainly, given their age and other issues. But given Thedas’ declining population density, even in civilized places like Val Royeaux…”

“Debatable, calling Val Royeaux civilized,” Cullen snorted, and then grinned at her glare at the interruption, “Continue, Inquisitor,” he requested. “I’m all ears.”

“You said before you’d like a family,” Asta finally said, bluntly. “If we started now, we could manage to have several, perhaps. Assuming no issues with conception, which is a big assumption - we‘ve both been subjected to red lyrium, and Helisma is fairly certain that it affects fertility rates in animals, even just being in close proximity. If we adopted, it would likely have less impact on our ability to travel, however. Though an older child might have psychological scars that might, in the long term, be just as difficult to handle as raising an infant and toddler.”

“Asta, are you trying to tell me you want to have a baby?” Cullen head spun. “Because it’s really hard to tell when you put it like this.”

“I’ve read several books on the subjects of both adoption and birth,” Asta continued, without quite answering, “And I can’t see that either would be preferable to another. I’m not vain enough to care whether I get fat when I’m pregnant, though something called ‘baby-brain’ gives me significant pause… and I was raised in a Chantry home. Those children without families were…” she swallowed, “They had it rough,” she whispered. “I was fortunate, in comparison. To be able to help even just one, give them a place to belong… a family…”

Cullen sighed, accepting that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer, “Inquisitor, you want to travel and study.”

“Hard to cross the Hissing Wastes with an infant,” Asta whispered, looking out across Skyhold. “But if we don’t disband the Inquisition, and I start training a replacement Inquisitor…” she stopped talking abruptly. “It’s craziness,” she concluded all at once. “Forget I said anything, Commander.” She started to pull away, walking out across the battlements, heading for Cullen’s office.

“No, I won‘t forget,” Cullen pulled her back against him, a little harder than strictly necessary. “But we need to discuss this as husband and wife, not Inquisitor and Commander,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s go up to our rooms and hash this out. I should read your books,” he chuckled softly. “Is the declining birth rate really a consideration in whether or not we personally start a family, Asta?”

“Yes,” Asta insisted. “At the rate the population is declining, the Anderfels alone will likely disappear as a civilized country - it already is a country only in name, with the villages scattered, rather than united.” She paused, “If I’m going to try to not only rebuild the Chantry as it should have been, but Thedas as well, I have to take into account all of it. Helisma…”

Cullen cursed, “Andraste’s Ass, Asta, you didn’t consult Helisma about whether or not you should get pregnant, did you?”

Asta gave him a dirty look. “No. This is private. But I did talk to her about population growth ratios for humans and for wild and domesticated animals.” She started for the stairs to the courtyard with determination, Cullen rushing to catch up. “She would have said ‘yes’,” she whispered quietly, just loud enough for Cullen to hear and stop him in his tracks. “All the research and logic points in that direction.”

He took a deep shuddery breath, scared beyond reason, and followed her to their room, where Asta sat down at her desk, pulling out books from her shelf and stacking them on top of each other. There were a lot. He wasn’t surprised. “I don’t want to have a child if you don’t want to have a child,” he started, trying to be just as logical. “An unwanted child…”

“Who says it would be unwanted?” Asta looked at him in surprise. “I love my work, Cullen, but ever since you brought it up, years ago, the thought comes back to me every time my cycle is slightly late. If it happened accidentally, I would be… scared,” she admitted, “and thrilled, and…” she shook her head. “It would be _yours_ ,” she stressed suddenly. “It would be frightening and amazing. I don‘t think Cassandra planned anything, but I imagine she is in similar straits.”

Cullen clenched his fists. “Having a child in a time of war…”

“Currently we are between wars,” Asta rolled her eyes, dismissing his argument, “And look at where we live! Another Blight could start tomorrow, love! Trying to time these things is absolutely ridiculous! If all the Inquisition’s plans go tits up and Fen’Harel wipes us all out while tearing down the Veil do you really think that we’re going to say ‘Whew! Well, at least we didn’t have children?! Dodged an arrow there!’”

Cullen stood up straighter, “No.” He answered simply. “We wouldn’t. We would be happy that we lived the time we had well.”

“There are other factors,” Asta continued. “My arm, for one. Breastfeeding would be difficult, though in some of these books I have seen a sling - I think Mireille has one - that can support an infant while you feed them. That may work in lieu of a second full arm.” She started to flip through her books looking for a picture.

Cullen sat down on the couch, staring at his overly practical wife. “Asta… are you arguing in favor of or against?”

“I could ask you the same,” Asta countered, mask in place, and then relaxed. “I’m just trying to provide you with all the information I‘ve gleaned.” She paused, “There is also the consideration that since you are probably going to retire from the Inquisition before me, you would be responsible for most of the childcare.”

Cullen chuckled, “Probably better that way. I was raised with my siblings.”

“I was around all ages for most of my time at the Chantry,” Asta pointed out. “I have helped care for countless infants, helped out in times of illness, and taught many, many children how to read.” She swallowed, “If we adopt, we would have to admit the possibility that the child might be a mage. Dorian says the trait runs in families, and a significant portion of Chantry kids are mage-born. How would that make you feel?”

Cullen rolled his eyes, “Asta, anyone that has a child has to admit the possibility that their progeny might turn out to be a mage. It does happen. Have you forgotten I was a Templar? I’ve taken babies away from mages, taken children from their parents,” he swallowed. “It was awful,” he admitted. “I have nightmares about it.”

Asta nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “I imagine so,” she whispered. “Is that an issue about having our own? When a baby cries at night, will you…”

Cullen shrugged, “I have no idea.” His brow wrinkled, deep lines that made him look far older than his true age. “I am more worried about my physical fitness,” he admitted. “It’s not much of a life for a child that has to be quiet all the time because their Da has a headache.”

“Having a child while we are still primarily at Skyhold would be easier, then, “ Asta sighed, “At least then we would be able to find someone suitable to watch a child easily and at short notice.” They were both quiet for a few minutes, thinking.

Cullen sighed, “We should visit my family.” Asta raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “I’m serious. If anyone is likely to have loud children that won’t be quiet when they need to be, it’s my brother,” he insisted. “One night in their home, with two children under the age of five, and I’ll know,” he laughed suddenly. “My older sister doesn’t have children - probably never will. You should tell Mia about the declining population rates and watch her cuss at you,” he pulled his lips up halfway and his eyes shone.

“Determined to be childless?” Asta asked, amused and thoughtful.

“She says she already raised two,” he laughed, “and has had enough of that, thank you very much. Even while she tells me to get a move on and procreate already.  Hypocrite.”

“When your parents died,” Asta sighed, “I had forgotten about that.” Her mouth twisted, “Let’s plan a trip, then,” Asta braced herself one handed against her desk. “South Reach, right?” Cullen nodded, wary. “We have a little under four months before we have to be at Halamshiral,” she observed. “And we have time right now. Let’s plan it and go, quickly, before you chicken out.”

Cullen burst out laughing, “You know me too well.”

“You confessed to me that you hadn’t written to your sister since before Kirkwall,” Asta reminded him. “You are extremely intimidated by her. Time to man up and visit your sister, Commander.” She grinned. “That alone may tell you everything about whether you dare become a father. You could end up with a child like Mia.”

Cullen paled and didn’t say a word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the more I write about Cole the more I adore him.


	150. Family Ties

South Reach was a prosperous village with a mill on the Drakon River, a large well-kept keep, with rolling hills that eventually blended away into the Brecilian Forest. Asta and Cullen paused their horse on top of the hill, watching the inhabitants of the village move around beneath them, and trying to be brave enough to actually descend and find his family.

“Well, isn’t that quaint?” Dorian sniggered, coming up behind them.  "I have the sudden urge to paint a picture."

“You knew it would be provincial, Dorian,” Cullen reminded him. “You didn’t have to come with us.”

“I’m not leaving Bull alone until I have to,” Dorian told him bluntly. “We don’t have much time left. But please, tell me that the keep belongs to your family?”

Cullen snorted, “Hardly. That belongs to the Arl. My family comes from peasant stock,” he teased Dorian. “They probably all sleep in the same room, on the floor. With the livestock. In a hovel.”

Dorian blanched in horror. “Is there an inn?”

“Cullen,” Asta reprimanded him. “That’s hardly fair.” She turned her horse to face Dorian, “He’s teasing you. But it probably would be best for you to get a room at the inn. We might end up there as well, depending…” she bit her lips.

“Asta, we can’t refuse my family’s hospitality,” Cullen said gently. “Both Mia and Branson have offered their homes to us.  All of us.”

“Yes, well, I think it’s best to have a back up plan,” Asta stressed, “Just in case they hate me,” she said softly.

“If they hate you on first sight, we can go to the inn,” Cullen allowed. “I won’t subject you to that. But Asta, my family is…” he smiled hugely, seeing a tall man step out, staring in their general direction. “That’s Branson. Holy Maker,” he breathed in wonder, "he got tall." He swung himself down from his horse and took their horse’s reins. “You might want to climb down, Dorian,” he said quietly. “I doubt they’re familiar with mages here, much less ‘Vints.”

“Make yourself look less intimidating, Kadan,” Bull advised drily. “Maybe do some magic tricks?”

“Maker’s Breath, no!” Cullen paled. “Look, South Reach is probably a bit…” but then his brother was there, and Cullen surged forward to meet him. “Branson?”

“Cullen! It is you!” The dark haired man embraced his brother, eying Asta warily, and the mage and Qunari even more so. “It’s been too long, man!” They thumped each other on the shoulder, and Asta couldn’t help but smile. They didn’t look much alike, except for their build and relative heights, and Branson had a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once.

“What happened there?” Cullen nodded at the appendage.

Branson fingered it, “Wife broke my nose,” he admitted, laughing. “It was an accident, I assure you. She’s been cooking all day, Maker save us all from death by overeating.” Bull brightened up at the news of food. “Do I get to meet your friends?” He leaned in conspiratorially, “Which one is my sister in law? Is it the pretty one?” And he nodded at Dorian, who preened slightly.

Cullen just laughed, “Branson, knock it off. I should…” he laughed again, “Allow me to introduce The Iron Bull, the leader of the mercenary group the Bull’s Chargers, and Asta's bodyguard.”

“How ya doin’,” Bull grunted, and climbed down from his dracolisk.

“How do you do," Branson said politely, eyes wide.  "I wasn't expecting... and what is that thing?” asked Branson loudly, indicating the dracolisk, “Will it eat the kids?”

“Probably not,” Cullen answered after a pause. “But maybe it’s own paddock? Maybe we can rent one if you don’t have the room?”

“Eh, Asuna won’t hurt a fly,” Bull assured the man. “She’s a vegetarian. Most of the time.”  He smiled wide, trying to be charming, but just coming off as slightly less intimidating.

“This is Altus Dorian Pavus,” Cullen continued, giving up Bull as a lost cause. “He’s from Tevinter.”

“Are you a Magister?” Branson marveled.

Dorian opened his mouth to deny it, and then shut it again. “Actually, yes, I am,” he admitted.

“That’s a first,” Asta smirked at the mage and he waved her down irritably.

“So this must be the missus,” Branson smiled, a little more stiffly. “Inquisitor,” he bowed politely.

“Branson, I told you to knock it off,” Cullen said mildly. “She’s scared enough.”

“ _She’s_ scared?” Branson laughed, but it was a little warmer. “We heard about Redcliffe, Cullen. Our Arl and Arl Teagan are close. Our entire family has been questioned, and until now we were safe enough because we’d never met the Inquisitor, sister in law or not, and hadn't seen you in twenty years.”

“I’m sorry,” Asta began, alarmed. “I didn’t mean for you…”

“Nonsense,” Cullen told his brother, cutting him off. “She did amazing things for Teagan’s people. Whatever you heard, we can refute or explain.”

“Is she really the Herald of Andraste?” Branson asked his brother outright. “Because we’ve managed to keep it quiet that you two were coming. You’re going to make a big enough splash, dragging a Qunari warrior and a Magister through town. Add the Herald of Andraste and they’ll throw a parade.”

“No!” Asta cut in. “I’m not. Please…” she caught Cullen’s eye and sighed. “Please, I’m not here in an official capacity,” she whispered, feeling incredibly shy and intimidated. “I’m sure it’s too much to ask that the Arl not find out, but…” she stared down at the horse in front of her and decided on honesty. “I just wanted to meet you,” she admitted. “Cullen talks about his family, and I…” she smiled slightly and let her words trail off instead of finishing.

“Huh,” Branson shook his head. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Mia had us all expecting flaming swords and massive illuminated copies of the Chant for the kids.”

Cullen barked a laugh. “Asta can’t use a sword. She fought with knives before her arm was… lost.”

“Yes, and that’s a story in itself,” Branson marveled, “You wouldn’t believe the tales we’ve heard about that! Elvhen gods and invasions from the Qun?” He shook his head with disbelief.  "You won't believe what people will make up."

“Hmmm,” Cullen exchanged a look with Asta and let it pass. “Yes, well, where are we staying?” He reached up and took Asta down, gently, grabbing her hand before she could slip away and hide, trying to reassure her with the pressure of his hand on hers, tight with worry.

“You’re with Grace and I, for the first few days,” his brother said, “And I am sorry about the inevitable mess. You remember how we used to trash the house two minutes after Mam managed to get it clean? That’s happened three times in the last day and a half, and Grace is having a fit.” He turned to Asta, a little embarrassed, and rubbing the back of his neck, just like his brother. “You might mention how lovely it all is. She’s been incredibly busy lately.”

“Of course,” Asta murmured. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“I don’t know about that,” Branson replied, “But it’s home.” They walked into the village proper, and Bull nodded at a few children who watched him with huge eyes. One brave one walked right up to him.

“’Scuse me, but are you a ‘Nari?”

“Something like that,” Bull laughed. “Why? Want to join the Qun?” The child shook their head quickly in denial. “Good to know,” he smiled, showing all his teeth. “Ever seen a dracolisk before?” He asked kindly. The child shook their head again. “Wanna ride?”

“I’d have to ask me Mam,” the child said in wonder. “Are you staying with the Rutherfords?”

Bull tilted his head, “Branson? Are Dorian and I getting a room at the inn?”

“Nope! You two are with Mia until we switch in a few days,” Branson grinned. “She’s looking forward to interrogating you two about her sister in law. Maker help you both.”

“Oh, I could tell her stories,” Dorian chuckled and Asta closed her eyes.

"Dorian," she started, "please don't prejudice my sister in law against me."

“I think that true stories are exactly what she wants,” Branson admitted. “She needs a better idea of what to expect. Mia doesn’t like to be off-balance and uninformed. I’ll show you there, as soon as I get these two safely to Grace. She’d never forgive me if Mia gets to meet you first. Not after the work she’s put in.”

“I wish she hadn’t,” Asta tried to break in, “Honestly, I’m used to tents! Just a bed is a luxury.”

“Grace would have fussed whether you were an innkeeper’s daughter or the queen,” Branson admitted. “It’s her nature. Don’t worry, Inquisitor. She’s kind, and won’t be overwhelmed long. Not after she realizes you aren’t six feet tall with a regal bearing, sneering at flannel sheets and goosedown comforters.”

Asta giggled, “Definitely not.  I love my goosedown comforters.”

“And the Inquisitor giggles,” Branson said under his breath to his brother, “Yep, she’s an actual woman. Had my doubts, from the stuff we hear out here.”

“The only thing dangerous about her is her mind,” Cullen warned him. “Mia won‘t know what hit her.”

“That I’d like to see,” Branson gritted his teeth. “Though she’ll come around. She’s just… worried about you. Like always. Bossy and easily irritated.”

“Sounds like Mia,” Cullen agreed. “Will we see her tonight?”

“Wild Mabari couldn’t keep her away,” Branson allowed. “Speaking of which, is that fine beast yours, Inquisitor?”

“No, Dane looks to Cullen,” Asta said softly, and Branson looked at his brother with more than a little respect.

“You have a Mabari?”

“Well, he has me,” Cullen laughed. “Where are your manners, Dane?” Dane barked and lifted a paw, which Branson stopped to shake gently.

“Mia’s gonna love that,” Branson marveled. “A Mabari in the family. She’ll be bragging about that for years. Forget being related by marriage to the Inquisitor. This is huge,” he beamed. “Well done, Cull!”

Asta leaned over to Cullen, “Is it that big of a deal?”

“In Ferelden it is,” Cullen admitted. “I had nearly forgotten.” He looked at the entire village, “I’ve been gone a long time,” he muttered. “My perspectives have changed. I didn‘t realize how much.”

Asta looked at her boots. “I don’t think I’ll fit in here,” she said quietly. “It’s not like Redcliffe or Crestwood, even. This is…”

“You’ll be fine,” Branson reassured her. “Grace will see to that. You just need some of the mystique knocked off you. Showing up in hunting leathers helps. If you had worn shiny gold armor, or something, they’d be throwing a parade as we speak, and the Arl would already be greeting you. But as it is…” he grinned, “Relax, Asta,” he used her name for the first time. “We’re going to have to convince people you are who we say you are.”

Asta tried to breathe easier. “Thank you,” she offered at last. “I’m not usually so…”

“Demure,” Dorian supplied. “Sweet Maker, Asta, relax! You met the Empress of Orlais with less trepidation!”

“I don’t want to play the Game with these people,” Asta hissed. “They could be my family.”

“We are your family, whether we end up liking you or not,” Branson teased. “You’re doing fine. And we are here!” He stood proudly at in front of the modest house.

“It looks like Master Dennet’s!” Asta smiled, instantly more at home. “Branson, did you design it yourself?”

“Yes, I did,” Branson grinned, flattered. “I’m a carpenter by trade. Grace wanted a house before she’d agree to marry me. Said she wasn’t going to risk living with Mia for the rest of her life. Maker preserve me, I didn’t want that either. So I built one. Took a year and a half, working after hours. Luckily she didn‘t find someone else, and instead hung around and handed me nails and lumber. That‘s how she broke my nose.”  He rubbed the back of his neck again, sheepishly.

Cullen smiled appreciatively. “I guess we think alike. Remind me to show you the plans I’ve made for our place,” he told his brother. “You’ll have a good laugh.”

Branson looked surprised, “Don’t you have an entire castle? And three keeps, scattered across Thedas?”

Asta blushed, “Skyhold, Suledin, Griffon Wing and Caer Bronach are for the use of the Inquisition. They do not belong to me personally.”

Branson nodded, looking confused. “Well, crap, people are going to have to adjust their idea of how wealthy you two are.” He shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”

“Which people?” Cullen asked warily.

“Rosalie, mainly,” Branson grinned. “She’ll tackle you both with her charity of the week.”

“Charity,” Asta blanched, “Branson, is your younger sister a Sister?”

“Not yet,” Branson said slowly. “Why do I get the idea that’s a surprise?”

“Because Mia didn’t tell us,” Cullen confessed. “Maker's Breath, that complicates things.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Branson, you did hear that Asta is excommunicated?”

Branson shook his head, paling, “For the Maker’s Sake, Cullen, that is…” he took a deep breath. “It is what it is.”

“You said it,” Bull mumbled.

“It’s not too late to just leave, is it?” Asta asked them both quietly, staring at the front door, which then opened with a slam and two children tumbled out, shrieking with laughter.

“Da!” They both yelled, and the larger one threw himself at his father, who braced himself just in time and flipped him upside down as the younger one toddled over and sat on his boot.

“This is your UnCull,” Branson introduced Cullen. “And this lady is your Auntie Asta.” He put the larger child down gently. “Where’s your Mam?”

“Honestly, Bran,” grumbled Cullen. “UnCull? Really?”

“Hey, they remember you this way,” Branson replied. “Considering you’re not around, be grateful they know who you are at all.” The smaller one stood up and toddled over to him, staring at him with round blue eyes, and then wrapped both arms around one leg, and stared up further without saying a single word.  Cullen stared back, his mouth twitching.

"UnCull, do you have a sword?!" The older demanded.  "Can I see it?  Can I try it?  How many bad guys have you killed?  Da says you lived in Kirkwall.  Was it nice there?"

His constant questions were interrupted by a round woman coming out the door, stripping off the apron that covered her rust colored dress. “Branson Rutherford! Why are you letting them just hang out in the doorway like that? Where are your manners?” She patted her hair nervously, staring at Asta. “You’re the Inquisitor,” she beamed. “I have family in Crestwood. You saved their business. I’m supposed to tell you how grateful they are, and that you’re welcome any time to drop in to the Rusted Horn and have a drink…” the woman's eyes were wide in awe, “They tried to tell me how you got drunk there on an entire bottle of strawberry wine and that the Commander had to carry you back to Bronach, but I know better than to believe every three bit tale my cousin tells me.”

“Actually, that one would be true,” Asta admitted, blushing. “I had just killed a dragon. It was a celebration, of sorts.” She carefully did not look at Cullen, remembering what else had happened that night.

“YOU KILLED A DRAGON?!” The oldest of the children - perhaps five - lunged at her, abandoning his quest to have a good look at his uncle's weapon. “Auntie Asta killed a dragon, Da! Did it breathe fire?”

“Lightening, actually,” Asta said, a trifle alarmed, but squatted down to meet the child's eyes. “And really, the Iron Bull had more to do with it, and Dorian was there. And your uncle, and another friend of ours. They were all far more useful than I.”

“Holy Maker,” Branson said, in awe. “It's all true then? Cullen?”

“Depends on what you’ve heard,” Asta took a deep breath, “but if you’d like, I could tell you and your brother some stories before bedtime?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” the boy said, exhilarated and the younger one lurched towards her shakily and grabbed onto her ankle and calf, staring up at her now instead.

“Peas,” he said, politely.

“Nothing too scary,” warned their mother, glaring at her husband. “Branson, do I have to pay you to get an introduction?”

“Inquisitor,” Branson promptly obliged, “This is my wife and the light of my life,” the woman snorted, “Grace Rutherford.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Asta held out her hand shyly, and the woman swatted her hand away and hugged her instead.

“You’re scared stiff,” she laughed. “We aren’t that bad, whatever tales Branson has been telling. Come inside, I’ll pour you some wine - my cousin sends us a bottle every now and then - and you can tell _me_ about why you aren’t six feet tall, red headed and glowing green.”

Asta burst out laughing and returned the hug, relaxing a bit. “It’s a very long story.”

“Eh, we’ll have time,” Grace grinned.

“I’m just going to see the lads over to Mia’s, Grace,” Branson called.

“Get out of here,” she called back. “You aren’t wanted. Not now, anyway.  Bring them back for dinner, or all that food will be wasted.” She glared back at her children, “You two stay here,” she demanded. “Your Auntie isn’t going to appreciate urchins hanging around while she’s trying to get her answers.” She sighed, resigned, looking around her home in despair. “The house is already a mess again.”

“It’s lovely,” Asta said obediently and appreciatively, watching Cullen leave with his brother, a little nervously.  She took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold, her head held high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I personally think that Rutherfords are hard workers, people that get the job done at any cost. Mia had to raise her siblings while they were teenagers, probably - the poor woman. After the blight, they all had to get jobs, even Rosalie, because (at least in my story) they went from farmers to living in town, and had nothing to fall back on. Refugees from the Blight.
> 
> But Cullen would have sent them money, even if he didn't write when he did it - probably arranging it through his commanding officers to be taken out of his wages for expedience. And she would have used it to provide a future for them - because she's just as much of a strategist as her younger brother. She's older than her years, probably married for expedience rather than love - because she's always worried whether there will be enough, whether they'll survive, even though her siblings can take care of themselves. Her husband (who isn't going to show up) admires her greatly, and isn't henpecked. Though most of South Reach thinks he is.
> 
> She negotiated for the land that Branson's house was built on, to make sure that his limited funds went far enough. She's a very good older sister, if too bossy and inclined to criticize. She hasn't had many opportunities, because her life has been hard, but she has tried to educate herself, and make sure that her younger siblings had more chances than she did as a young woman. She isn't unhappy, but she's very aware that the world is larger than what she knows.
> 
> All the Rutherfords are very intelligent people, but especially Mia.
> 
> Just wanted to share some of the character notes that I wrote up for her, because I think it's interesting. :) Feel free to ignore them!


	151. Mia

“Don’t worry,” Grace had turned around to watch her. “We won’t bite. Even Mia’s bark is worse. She’ll come around. She’s just been worried about Cullen since he was assigned to Kinloch. And then he disappeared during the Blight, and she barely managed to track him down to Kirkwall… only to have him finally write and tell her he wasn’t a Templar any more and that he had joined a heretical organization, and was leading it‘s armies, of all the crazy things. Mia’s… the Blight hit her hard. She had to grow up fast. It hit all of us hard,” she admitted, “though we have a good Arl, here, who takes care of his people and lets them take care of themselves.” Dane pushed himself through the doorway to twine about Asta’s ankles, which barely worked, even as the youngest child toddled off in the direction of the garden. “And you have a Mabari?!” Her face shone.

“No, Dane looks to Cullen,” Asta laughed a little, sensing a theme.

“Oh,” Grace stared at the dog in wonder. “Mia’s going to love that. You might not believe it, but she‘s so proud of Cullen that she‘s liable to burst. And now he has a Mabari… she's going to be unlivable.” Dane sat down and offered his paw without prompting. “Don’t you have fine manners, then,” she smiled and took the paw.

“This is Dane,” Asta introduced and the dog barked softly. “Dane, this is Grace. The kids are…” she looked up.

“Loren and Peter,” Grace supplied, “And if you want to play with them, feel free. Maker knows it might keep them out of trouble for a few minutes while your mistress and I get to know each other,” she conversed with the dog easily. The dog stood up immediately and went back outside to find the kids. “Well, that solves that,” she beamed. “I don’t know the last time I got to sit down for a cup of anything trusting that the kids weren’t going to fall into the millpond or the like. Even when Bran is watching them they get into trouble. Maybe more trouble. He eggs them on.” She took a bottle out of a cabinet, and two glasses.

“Dane isn’t very old…” Asta worried slightly.

“Phtt,” Grace waved aside her objections and led the way into the backyard garden, waving Asta into a seat at a wooden table, meticulously carved with vines. “He’s a Mabari. Trust me, they’ll be fine. Probably better than if I were watching them. They say that the King himself was practically raised by Mabari!” She leaned forward and poured Asta and herself a glass of something that smelled strongly of strawberries. “Now, tell me about my brother in law.”

Asta was cautious, “What do you want to know?”

“The sort of stuff you’ll never tell Mia or Rosalie,” Grace smirked. “Rosalie’s a bit prissy lately, and Mia’s Mia. She'll ask you a ton of questions, but I want to know everything. You and I, Asta, are going to bond, and it’s going to start now. This family has its quirks, but you and I? We’re a bit on the outside, looking in. There are things only I’ll understand, trust me.”

Asta was a little taken aback with the woman’s easy familiarity. “Ask me questions, then,” she said at last. “Because I don’t know where I’d begin.”

“First time you saw him,” the woman answered promptly.

“I thought he was a knight in shining armor,” Asta laughed. “I was a Chantry Sister at the time - long story. He killed a demon for me.”

“So love at first sight?” Grace looked skeptical.

“Not quite, though he definitely caught my eye,” she giggled, and the other woman joined in. “It took a little while, honestly. He’s a bit shy.”

That surprised Grace, “What, really? He didn’t come in all singing and declaring his devotion? Maker‘s Mercy, I guess I got the forward one!  I barely had an option before everyone else knew to stay away.  What were their parents like, I wonder?”

“There was singing,” Asta admitted, “But it was months later.  After he was sure that I actually cared about him.  He was... hesitant.” Grace nodded at this thoughtfully.

“Right outside my window, it was, two days after I met him.” Grace sighed, “Pissed off my father and brother, but he was perfectly in key, and he wasn’t even drunk. Just had a wild hairbrained idea that singing, of all the Maker forsaken things, was exactly what the situation needed.”

“He sang in the middle of a tavern,” Asta confessed, “In front of a good portion of the Inquisition at the time.  We weren't as large, then.”

“Well, that hardly sounds shy!” Grace laughed. “I think you’re pulling my leg.”

“He said he didn’t want his intentions to be misunderstood,” Asta shrugged. “It was lovely.”

Grace snorted, “That’s better than Branson. He just said he wanted to chase off any other men getting ideas when I went out to tell him off. The whole village heard him. My Da threw something at him.” She leaned back, relaxed. “What’s your family like?”

“I don’t really have one, except for a brother I see occasionally. Another part of that long story. I was raised in the Chantry. I was supposed to be a Templar, but I was terrible with weapons,” Asta confessed, “So I took vows instead.” She hesitated to tell the whole story, but Grace raised her eyebrows.

“You don’t seem the sort,” the other woman admitted. “I mean, Rosalie thinks she wants to go that route, and sure, she’s a do gooder, but truly, I can’t see her swearing herself to the Maker. I think the local Mother knows it, and that’s why she hasn’t had her take her vows yet.”

“That’s probably a blessing,” Asta bit her lips too late. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Oh, love,” Grace said, covering her hand, “it’s all right. I knew it. You hear all sorts of crazy things that nobles do with their extra children, shipping them off to fancy schools and the Chantry. You were one of them, I take it.”

“The youngest of three,” Asta said, looking at her lap. “I wasn’t happy there. But Grace, I’m not sure how Cullen’s family will take all that, honestly. It’s hardly common knowledge. I was excommunicated when we were still back at Haven. That hasn’t changed. Aren’t you all… devout?” Her worried eyes scanned Grace’s nervously.

Grace blew a raspberry, “Is that what you think? Look, according to Mia, Cullen was the goody-two shoes. Gold stars from the Sisters, singing the Chant like Andraste herself.  Rosalie… tries. But the rest of us are lucky to get to Chantry services once a month. A little extra sleep seems more important than reciting part of the Chant to a Maker that it says isn‘t listening. I think half of what Mia’s so afraid of is that Cullen sees you as something… other than a person. Though at least since you got engaged he’s been calling you Asta instead of Inquisitor or the Herald of Andraste in his letters. Made a bit of difference to Mia. Thawed out a bit. She worries all the time, not that she doesn‘t have reason.” Grace peered over her glass. “You should keep that in mind.”

Asta relaxed a bit. “That is good news. I’ve been petrified.” She took a sip of wine, smiling.

“Good,” Grace leaned in, “Now, what’s he like in bed?” Asta sputtered and started to laugh. “Come now, don’t hold back! Never in my life had I ever had such sex, I swear by the Maker! He built me a house, sure, but if he hadn’t, after the first time he kept me up all night I would have drug him before the Mother and lived in a tent just to have him constantly. We‘ve been married five years and have two kids! There‘s a reason for that! There'll be more, trust me - pregnancy riles me up and he can't get any work done.  So ‘fess up, Asta… he’s good, isn’t he?  It's a Rutherford thing, I'm sure of it.”

“I have nothing to compare him to,” Asta confessed, and Grace was visibly stunned. “But I’m very happy with him, yes.”

“What, you’d never…”

“I was raised in the Chantry, Grace! I’m sure that some managed, especially after they were full initiates and had more freedom, but… I wasn’t exactly chased.” Asta’s face fell.  "And I was terrible at sneaking out."

“And now I’ve put my foot in it,” Grace fumed. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’ve never met someone who actually managed to wait… I‘m rather impressed…”

Asta burst out laughing, “Oh no, you’ve got completely the wrong idea! We didn’t wait!” She got a wicked look. “Actually, he took me to Honnleath, to a pond there.  And we pitched a tent.” She leaned in, “Want to hear about it?”

“Maker, yes,” Grace got giddy, and scooted closer. “Don’t skimp on the details.”

***

Cullen braced himself before he followed his brother into his sister’s shop, the bell on the door jangling harshly as the door swung shut, wishing Dane hadn’t decided to stay with Asta. He could use the support, and Mia would at least be impressed with the dog. He didn’t deceive himself that she would be impressed with him. There was so much she didn’t know, and he didn’t know how to tell her.

Branson had similar thoughts, “Remember, brother, you command an army and married the woman the army serves. What’s Mia to that, right?”

Cullen snorted and muttered back, “That’s all you know. Asta lets me do my job. Do you really think Mia will…”

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford!” The shrill voice echoed from beneath the back room‘s floor. “We expected you yesterday! Were you dragging your feet on purpose? Doesn’t the Inquisition have a good enough stable to not have lame horses?  I thought you said Horsemaster Dennett was in charge?!” A thundering sound came from feet hitting wooden stairs at a run, getting louder as she came closer.

“That’s not true,” Branson whispered, “We knew it wasn’t going to be earlier than today. Just Mia.”

A small, wiry woman, sandy hair twisted up in a messy corona with curls flying out braced herself, arms spread in the doorway. “But you’re here,” she confirmed, and then she lunged at him, pulling him in tight against her small body, completely unaware of how small she looked against his larger frame. “Maker’s Breath, you worried me, brother,” she muttered into his coat, and then shoved him back as abruptly as she had pulled him in. “You look all right. Like you’re getting some sleep, if not enough, like you’re eating what they put in front of you, if you aren‘t actually going out to find something to eat on your own.” Her eyes narrowed. “I have a list of things that you should be doing better. But I’ll save them for when your _wife_ ,” and the word was almost poisonous, “is here to protect you. You’ll just justify your behavior. But why didn’t you wait to get married until we could be there?” She slammed her hand into the shop counter. “You’re so secretive! Sneaking off to Kirkwall, coming back to Ferelden and not even writing, much less stopping by! And then slinking off to some palace in bloody Orlais rather than coming home and saying your vows where your _family_ could see you! You haven‘t changed since you were six, always running off to that pond and then sullenly claiming you liked the quiet after Mam and I had hunted for you for hours! When will you grow up?!”

“Mia,” Cullen greeted her drily, and did not attempt to defend himself, as there really was no point in beating his head against a wall. “You are looking well.” He looked around the spacious and well-stocked store, surprised. “Is all this yours?”

“Well, mine and Owen’s,” she sighed, “though I run things and he does the buying. It works better that way, so we don’t kill each other.” Branson rolled his eyes at Cullen. “He is not henpecked,” Mia insisted. “He just agrees that I’m a better manager! Unfortunately he‘s in Denerim on a purchasing trip - special stocks from Starkhaven are arriving this month, and I have preorders from the Arl‘s family for their winter wardrobes coming with that shipment. We agreed it was more important for him to make sure those arrived safely - that's half our summer's income - than greet a recalcitrant brother that he‘s never met because I haven‘t seen him in twenty Maker-damned years!”

“Right,” Branson grinned. “Mia, your guests are outside. You’d better come meet them. I think you’ll be surprised.”

A few seconds later Mia was gobsmacked. “You’re a kossith,” she said bluntly.

“Uh, yeah,” Bull looked at Cullen, surprised. “Most people don’t realize the difference,” he admitted.

“Most people are fools,” Mia narrowed her eyes, “I am not a fool. You Tal-Vashoth? Or still a member? People around here aren‘t likely to take kindly to being ‘reeducated‘. We do our own education, lacking as it may be.”

“Not part of the Qun, Ma’am,” Bull assured her without a wince. “Got kicked out while serving the Inquisition. It‘s better this way.”  He looked at Dorian, his eye mild.

“And you…” Mia's gaze shifted, and she eyed Dorian’s staff, topped with a massive skull. “You’re a mage. And you’re lovers.” She sighed loudly, “I prepared two beds, but one of them’s probably large enough for both of you. Even with the horns. Honestly, Cullen, you might have said something. It‘s not nice to leave me unprepared.  But I suppose that it was too much to ask that your letters be more than a few sentences. 'We're finally coming to visit, Mia,'" she quoted mockingly, "'Expect us soon.'"

Cullen’s eyebrows raised, and Dorian’s echoed his. “Mia, how did…”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes. “That lovebite isn’t old enough to date from Skyhold,” Bull slapped his hand over his neck and actually blushed. “It’s obvious, Cullen. It’s better to have it all out in the open anyway, I don’t want one or the other trying to sneak around. The floors creak, and I don’t want to be up all night worrying whether it’s my guests or burglars. There’s discretion and then there’s discretion. And unless you or your new wife are already…”

“Thank you,” Dorian replied stiffly, cutting her off. “Bull and I appreciate it.” He bowed elaborately. “Magister Dorian Pavus, at your service. And may I say, Mistress, that…”

“Andraste’s Flaming Knickers, Cullen, you brought a kossith and a magister to _South Reach_?  We're one of the most conservative Arlings!  This isn't fucking Denerim!”

“The Iron Bull is Asta’s bodyguard, under contract,” Cullen answered defensively.

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Mia eyed him closely, “No, you’re just worried about her. Isn’t she supposed to have killed a darkspawn magister from the dawn of time? And what about the Magister?  Doesn't seem like she should be exactly popular in Tevinter, of all places.  Not if she's really the Herald of...”

“Asta is like family to me,” Dorian answered charmingly, breaking in once more. “And you, Madam, are hardly the most… approachable person in Cullen’s family. It might surprise you that Asta has been… concerned about meeting you.”

“Just don’t set fire to anything,” Mia said gruffly, deflecting the issue of Asta‘s fears. “Not sure if that’s just gossip or not, but if you need a bucket handy, I’ll fetch you one.”

“That’s very kind, Ma’am,” Bull offered, all humble. “I’m sorry if we’re putting you out.”

“Not at all,“ Mia waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ll show you where to put your things,” and then she smiled, ever so slightly. “And then, my brother, I’m getting some answers. From you and from your friends.”

***

Cullen stared at his sister blankly.  "You want to know why I left?  I told you why I left..."

"I know what you said," Mia emphasized.  "I want to know the real reason.  I wrote to your Knight-Commander at Kinloch.  He said you had been sent to Greenfell.  A monastery, Cullen.  To recuperate.  Recuperate?!  What happened at the Fereldan Circle?  Were you hurt?  No, he said."  His sister braced herself against the counter in her kitchen.  "He said you'd been... imprisoned and tortured, but that there weren't physical wounds."  Her face was troubled, looking him over.  "When I didn't hear from you, I wrote again.  And he said you had been transferred to Kirkwall.  An entire sea away.  And still, no letters."  She scrubbed her face with the palm of her hand.  "So I wrote to you there, begging you to let me know you were okay.  Four lines.  That's all I got.  "I'm fine.  I'm doing the Maker's work.  I was promoted to Knight-Captain.  Here's some money."  She took a deep breath, and let it out.  "I could have cared less about the money, Cullen," she said gently.  "Yeah, it made things easier.  We were in rough straits for a while.  We were refugees, and you helped us dig out of that hole.  But Cullen, I was worried about you."

Cullen was quiet, overly quiet.

"Are you still not going to tell me what happened?"  She asked more gently.  "You were doing well, and then next thing we heard, Kirkwall had literally blown up and that you had killed your Commander.  And then that book came out, as big a pack of lies that I've ever read, making you out to be some sort of villain. That wasn't the Cullen I knew.  He wanted to protect people."

Branson listened in the background, and finally got a word in edgewise.  "Mind you, a lot of people around here thought you had the right of it.  We weren't getting in fights.  But it sounded nothing like you."

"You aren't wrong," Cullen said, calm. "I wasn't myself.  Not until the end.  I was... compromised."

"Possessed?" Mia voice was shrill.  "Because I wondered, for a while.  I didn't know how to reconcile..."

"Addicted," Cullen said lowly, "though my behavior is not the lyrium's fault.  I..." he rubbed the back of his neck.  "I don't take it any more.  I quit when I joined the Inquisition.  I don't want to tell you why I..." he closed his eyes.  "Damn it, Mia.  This is hard enough, coming home, after all this time."

"All I want to know," Mia started, "Is if you are really home, Cull.  Are you?"  She searched his face, urgently.

"I'm trying to be," he replied.  "Can that be enough for now?"

"Leave him alone, Mia," Branson interrupted again.  "He'll tell us when he's ready."

"Thanks," Cullen muttered.

"I'm not done with you," Mia replied, "but I do have some manners, I suppose.  I can wait.  And perhaps your friends and your wife will have more information for me."  She shifted back, making an effort to calm herself down.  "We should get back over to Bran's.  Grace is a bit flighty to be left alone with your Inquisitor."

"No she isn't," Bran muttered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually made myself cry, writing Mia. According to the Wiki, if you make Cullen take lyrium, she writes begging letters to him during Trespasser, and Josie leaves notes for him asking him to reply to at least one of them, because she writes so many. I can't imagine that it was any different when he was in Kirkwall. And yeah, he writes rarely enough that she memorizes his letters. "Don't pry," indeed.


	152. A Meeting of Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering why I've been managing to update two fics so often, I've been sick all week. Hours and hours of editing and writing are possible when all you want to do is lay and sit around and drink hot tea and use Kleenex.
> 
> I should be sick more often. It's been kind of fun.

An hour later, the wine was gone, and both women were giggling in the garden while Dane slumped in a massive pile, covered with sleeping children and a long suffering look on his face.

At that moment, Mia arrived, and took in the sight with disgust. “Oh, Grace,” she was horrified. “You got the Inquisitor drunk? In the middle of the afternoon? In front of your _children?_ ”

Asta stood up imperiously, somewhat insulated from her trepidation by the alcohol. “I am not drunk.” She walked over to Mia and held out her hand. “You must be Mia.”

“I am,” Mia replied cautiously and scanned her from head to toe. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Strawberry Wine in the garden? I thought you’d be dry sherry and tea biscuits in the parlor, while you sneered over Branson‘s crazy collections. And you have freckles.”

“You shouldn’t judge people by their freckles,” Grace muttered, “Maker knows you have them, and you‘re scary enough. She’s lovely, Mia. She was a Chantry kid, for the Maker’s sake. Hardly high society, whatever titles she was born with and earned since.”

“But you’ve met the _King_ ,” Mia stressed. “And the Empress of Orlais! And an Elvhen god, if the stories can be believed.” Her tone indicated she didn’t want to believe them.

“I’m not actually sure he is a god,” a slightly inebriated Asta mused. “He certainly didn’t claim godhood…” Cullen turned the corner and saw his wife still holding out her hand to his sister and scowled. “Fen’Harel is something different, I think.”

But in the next minute Mia took her hand and clasped it gently. “Obviously I‘m misinformed,” she said slowly. “So, what did happen to your arm?”

Asta turned and eyed the sleeping children, and looked at Grace. “They’ll be out for a while, Asta,” she answered gently. “Dane wore them out, bless him.”

So Asta sighed, and said, “It’s a very long story. But if we have time, I will tell it.” She swallowed. “Just keep in mind it’s still a little… fresh. I…”

“Grace! Grace! I heard they’re here!” A tall woman in her mid-twenties in breeches and a loose tunic came flying around the corner. “And I saw a Qunari and a mage walking up towards your house! Is that…”

“For the Maker’s sake, Rosalie,” Mia hissed, “The kids are sleeping.”

The woman straightened at the sight of Asta. “You’re the Inquisitor,” she said reverently. “The Herald of…”

“Don’t say it,” Cullen broke in before she could make the mistake. “Rosalie. You’ve grown.”

“I hope so,” the girl grinned back at him. “It’s been 20 years, Cullen. If I hadn’t, I’m sure you would have heard about it.”

“Or maybe not considering how often he writes,” Mia grumbled. “Rosalie, the Inquisitor was just going to tell us how she lost her arm.”

Rosalie frowned, “You don’t really believe that it was an Elvhen god?”

“Sweet Maker,” Grace muttered, “Here we go.” She stood up and walked pointedly into the house.

“Sort of,” Asta challenged. “It was Fen’Harel. I know it sounds unbelievable. He saved my life.”

“I heard a book was coming out,” Mia said, “by the author of ‘The Tale of the Champion‘. I‘ve ordered 50 copies for the store.”

“Varric,” Asta smiled wide. “Yes, that’s right. I’ll have him send you an advance copy, if you like. But there are certain… differences,” she admitted, looking at her husband in sudden panic. Cullen shrugged. “Well, shit,” she cursed, and all three siblings reacted in shock. “I’m sorry,” she apologized at once, “It’s just… I didn’t think when I gave him permission to change the story about the people who know us. They’re going to be confused. A bit.”

“So you’ll answer any question we have?” Mia’s face grew calculating. “Before the book comes out?”

“Shit is right,” Branson muttered. “Mia, have pity on the poor girl.”

“Shut up, Bran,” Mia interrupted, “I had to read the ‘Tale of the Champion’ to figure out what happened to my brother in Kirkwall, because he never bothered to tell me. I’m going to get this directly from the source, and Asta, I just bet, knows more about my brother’s last twenty years than anyone.” Mia was suppressing tears, Asta realized, and she nodded in answer.

“I’ll tell you anything I have permission to tell,” she said slowly, looking at her husband, who closed his eyes and nodded.

Rosalie just turned to her brother, eyes wide, “Cullen, did your wife, the Herald of…”

“Don’t say it,” Cullen advised. “And yes. She has a filthy mouth.” He grinned. “She used to be a Chantry Sister, Ros. But it didn’t stick too well.”

“She does your cussing for you, does she?” Branson burst out laughing. “Oh, Cullen, that just figures.”

Rosalie swallowed with difficulty. “I see.”

“Don’t worry,” Asta told her, “I will try not to in front of the children. It’s just…” she sighed. “This is exhausting. Cullen, how do I explain?”

“Don’t bother,” Mia took her arm. “Frankly, this is better, for everyone. We had a lot of misconceptions, and we were all prepared to mind our manners and sip tea genteely. Cullen tells me you play chess. I want a game.”

“You’re supposed to be a holy person,” Rosalie frowned. “Surely that should mean…”

“Even when I was a Sister, I was an archivist, not a Chanter,” Asta said gently. “I’m sorry if that disappoints you. You really don‘t want to hear me sing.”

“Nobody is disappointed,” Mia ordered, quite loudly. “Ros, you are being rude to our guest.”

The younger girl shook herself slightly, and nodded, “You’re right, Mia. I’ll just help Grace with the food, shall I?” And dazed, she walked back into the house.

“That’s trouble,” Mia watched her go. “Oh, Asta, you’ve upset at least one apple cart there.”

“I’m sorry,” Asta looked worried. “Grace said she was interested in taking vows?”

“Not really,” Mia scoffed. “But Ros has had trouble finding a place here. People think she’s prissy and standoffish and… odd. It’s only gotten worse since word got out that Cullen was commanding the Inquisition. People think she puts on airs over a brother she barely remembers. She thought maybe the Chantry…” Mia sighed deeply. “It’s not the right place either. We all know that but her.” She set up the game precisely on the table, with the ease of many years of practice. “You go first,” she ordered, and Asta obliged.

“Has she thought of the Inquisition?” Cullen asked bluntly.

“She doesn’t know how to fight, Cullen,” Mia criticized. “After we left Honnleath, there wasn’t much point of keeping up with archery and the like. We were living in town, and all three of us were working to keep ourselves going. Even Branson doesn‘t hunt anymore.”

Cullen winced with guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” he started. “I sent you money, though!”

“Money that had to be stretched three ways,” Mia reminded him softly. “We were grateful, brother, but there were a few years there where things were hard. We used most of that money to buy Branson‘s apprenticeship. It got better after that, once I married Owen and Branson learned a trade.”

“She doesn’t need to be a fighter,” Asta pointed out. “I’m not.” She stared at the board for a long moment, and smiling, moved a knight.

Mia looked worried, “You’d take her away.”

“Only if she wants to go,” Cullen said firmly. “And while one of us can discuss it with Ros, it’s wrong to discuss it without her here.” They tacitly dropped the conversation, and Grace and Rosalie came out, with platters of food, just in time for Dorian and Bull to push their way in through the gate.

Mia snorted after a minute of quiet thought, “So uptight.”

“That’s the Commander,” Dorian observed. “What have you been saying to your adoring sister, Cullen? Haven‘t you caused her enough pain and worry?” He smirked at the Commander. “And Asta, already trying to back your sister in law into a corner? Let’s hope that this game ends differently than the last?”

Cullen growled, “Nothing at all. As if an hour’s worth of questioning, criticism and demands wasn’t enough to make anyone uptight.” He stood over the board, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Mia took one look at his face and studied the game again, scowling.

“Cullen, I believe your lack of discretion is ruining Asta’s game,” Bull rumbled. “You might not want to watch.” Cullen blushed and walked around to the bench.

Mia turned back to Asta, ignoring her brother. “My dear brother says you read. What do you read?”

“Everything?” Asta stammered. “No, really, everything. I was reading the history of the Brecilian Forest on my way here. But I study ancient scrolls and texts, when I have time…” She moved a pawn subtly, while Mia was watching her stammer.

“And she loves Swords and Shields,” Dorian supplied, breaking the ice effortlessly, with another smirk.

“Oh, I love them!” Grace perked up. “I was so upset when they killed the Count! He was my favorite!”

Rosalie blushed, “I liked the archer in the latest chapter. She’s sweet. I hope they bring her back in the next one.”

Asta shook her head, “It’s the Templar,” she smiled, looking at her husband. “But Grace, I know a certain Seeker that would agree with you.”

“With the vows? Ugh!” Grace waved her opinion aside. “Any man that would decide that Andraste’s… parts are worth saving himself for isn’t worth the time of day. Even if he decided to change his mind later after he met the mage.” Asta took advantage of the group’s preoccupation to move her pawn further into enemy territory. Mia looked at the board briefly and moved her queen, taking the knight in its path.

Asta very carefully did not smile, and moved a bishop. Mia blinked, and smirked, disdainfully, and took a pawn, seemingly at random.

“Most Templars don’t make those kind of vows,” Cullen started to protest. “It’s a common misconception that…”

Branson started to laugh, “Get that a lot, Cull? Read the books yourself?”

Cullen looked up at the sky, already darkening. “Maybe,” he admitted. Mia started to laugh, loudly, and then Branson and the rest joined in, even Rosalie laughing at his expense. Asta moved her pawn again, and Mia moved a pawn, still laughing. Asta studied the board carefully, and moved her queen, taking Mia’s recently moved pawn.

“Oh, Cullen,” Mia gasped, “She got you to read dirty books?” She turned to Asta, “Obviously you are a wonderful influence. How did you manage to get Cullen “We shouldn‘t be doing this” Rutherford to read such things?” She turned her attention back to the board, and moved her knight to threaten Asta’s queen, and Asta moved it to safety. Mia chose to keep her knight in play, but Asta moved a pawn to take the knight. Mia looked up at her in alarm, and then narrowed her eyes to concentrate.

“I try,” Asta smiled brightly, almost at ease. She shifted back, staging her other knight to threaten Mia’s queen. Mia grinned and moved the queen. Asta moved the pawn one more time. Mia castled, and Asta clenched her jaw, thinking for a moment.

“I read most of them when Asta was in the field,” Cullen said stiffly. “I had nothing else to do in the middle of the night.” Finally Asta shifted another pawn, setting it firmly in the path of Mia’s queen. Mia squinted, and took the pawn. Asta took a deep breath and shifted the knight again, into the path of Mia’s queen. Mia studied the board, and then cautiously took the knight. Asta instantly moved the pawn, and then, grinning, said, “Consider it a second queen. I still have both my rooks, but if you take one, I‘ll flip it over and replace it.” Mia sat back, very alarmed now, but shifted back immediately, and studied the board seriously.

Branson snickered louder, “That doesn’t make it better, brother. Now you’ve admitted that you read dirty books when your wife isn’t around in the middle of the night.”

Cullen turned very, very red, but kept protesting. “She wasn’t my wife then!” And then he stopped, absolutely horrified. “Nevermind,” he muttered, even as Grace and Mia nearly collapsed onto the ground from laughing at him, and Branson slapped him on the back, and Rosalie‘s mouth dropped open in shock. “Asta, can we go home now?” he asked rather loudly. “I think I’ve had enough of my family.”

“Not until I finish this game, love. And as for your reading material, it’s fine with me,” Asta smiled. “He can read whatever he likes. We’ve both read this fantastic book by a Dracologist named Serault. It helped him immeasurably when he had to fight a dragon at the Storm Coast.” She changed the subject deftly and he relaxed fully, the conversation back on comfortable ground. Mia finally moved, but Asta was on the offensive now. “Check,” she announced.

“You’ve killed more than one dragon,” Branson stopped laughing. “That’s…” he shook his head in wonder. “I never would have thought you’d end up a hero, Cull. Not when we were kids.“

“I did,“ Mia muttered. “Saw it coming from a mile away.” She was absorbed in the board, however, and moved her king irritably. Cullen stood up and surveyed the board curiously. “Where in the Void did you learn that trick, anyway?” Mia sniffed.

“My mentor in the Chantry is very, very good at chess,” Asta replied. She moved the pawn-turned-queen. “Check.” Cullen’s eyes widened, realizing what she had done.

Mia sat back. “I can’t win. You haven’t won, but… I can’t win. You’ll repeatedly check me and chase me all over the board. I could manage to take your second queen, but eventually you’ll win anyway.” She tipped over her king, scowling. “I forfeit.”

“It’s the sort of trick you can only use once,” Asta smiled humbly, “Trust me, I’m not that good at chess.” Mia shook her head, surveying her new sister in law with a little more respect and much less suspicion, and Grace and Rosalie stifled giggles.

Branson’s oldest son, possibly roused by the word ‘dragon’ stretched and walked over to Asta, “It’s night,” he announced, “and I want a story. You said you‘d tell me one.”

Asta frowned thoughtfully, and then pulled him into her lap. “Hmm, I could tell you about the archer who met the Nug King in the Deep Roads? Cullen, do you think that’s age appropriate?”

“Mostly,” Cullen agreed, “Just leave out the part of why she was actually in the roads.  That's the stuff of nightmares.” Asta began, "Once upon a time in Ferelden, there was an archer who traveled deep into the Deep Roads," weaving a simple story around the facts.

“It ate the cheese?” Loren’s eyes were wide. “It really ate it?”

“And then he judged her,” Asta confirmed. “And after that, the archer never shot a nug again, knowing that the Nug King was watching.” Cullen snorted. “She hasn’t, Cullen,” Asta said softly.

“Now one about a dragon!”

“That should be told by the Iron Bull,” Asta told him. “You should go ask.” She met Bull’s eye, “but do try to keep it… juvenile, Bull? Less blood and a bit more swordplay, perhaps? And NOT the Avvar dragon. He isn‘t ready to hear about… the wings. However gripping the melting ice situation was.”

“I got this,” Bull said, and broke into the story of the dragon at the Storm Coast. “This one has your uncle and me in it, but your Auntie was in the Deep Roads,” he said gruffly.

“Auntie Asta went to the Deep Roads? With the archer who met the Nug King?” The child’s neck swiveled. “Auntie Asta, you can’t leave until you tell me more about the Deep Roads!” He demanded, and then turned back to Bull. “Go on,” he urged regally. “I’m listening.”

“Merciful Maker,” Grace sighed. “Auntie Asta needs to move to South Reach with her wonderful friends to keep my children occupied. I might actually get a half hour to myself.” She stood up and relieved Dane of the smaller Peter, and lifted him to her shoulder, a dead weight, rocking gently to keep him asleep. “Such adventures,” she wondered aloud to her husband. “We’re so boring.”

“We’re just people, Grace,” Asta replied, and leaned back against Cullen to listen to Bull tell the story, with voices for Krem and the other Chargers. The story ended, Loren sighed with contentment and leaned against the massive man, getting sleepy again.

“I find I rather wish I had siblings, Bull,” Dorian said softly. “This is… different from what I think of when I think of family.” He walked around the small garden and lit the citronella torches one by one, as Rosalie’s eyes got wider and wider as she watched him throw them all into brighter light.

Bull grunted, “Yeah, this is different, Kadan.” Mia overheard him and tilted her head curiously, but didn’t ask. “This is better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been doing chess research online for weeks for this part. I really hope I got it right.


	153. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of the day!

The next day, Asta lost to Mia at chess. Completely trounced, she smiled, “I would love to see you play Sister Dorcas.” Mia smirked at the compliment, ego restored.

“I’ve got the next game,” Bull grunted.

“You play?” Mia asked, surprised.

“Fuck yeah,” Bull growled, and Dorian hit him and indicated the boys, playing with Dane again. “Sorry,” the man grumbled.

“They’ve heard it before,” Grace grinned, setting down a plate of chocolate cookies. Bull took two, with rumbled thanks. “Every time I burn myself lighting the oven.”

“Our Lady Full of Grace,” Dorian had nicknamed her as soon as he had been properly introduced, “I would be happy to do that chore for you as long as I am in residence.”

Grace laughed in his face, “You’re going to wake up at the crack of dawn to stumble over to my house to light my fire? Oh, Dorian, I don’t believe you.”

Dorian thought twice, “Well, I could stumble downstairs once Asta and I switch places,” he corrected himself, “and then stumble back up. But such precious hands shouldn’t sport burns.”

“I don’t suppose you could just do something useful and just heal them,” Mia grumbled in the mage’s direction.

“Unfortunately, no,” Dorian sighed, “such things eclipse my basic skills. However, if you would like…” he pulled out a healing potion and flourished it in front of Grace, who nearly fell over.

“Andraste’s Mercy, that’s a healing potion,” she gasped. “I’ve never even seen one before.”

“Put that away,” Mia ordered. “Or you’ll get robbed. In the store, we keep them locked up for emergencies. Don’t you realize how much those things cost?”

Dorian was startled, “Really?” He looked at Asta. “Asta, don’t you make these by the dozens?”

Asta blushed, “Yes,” she admitted.

“Don’t they only take a few elfroot to make the basic version? I mean, we won‘t find spindleweed here, I assume…”

“Yes,” Asta smiled, realizing what he was doing. “But we might find spindleweed down by the River.”

“Aren’t you incapable of passing a single stalk of elfroot without plucking it?!” The mage waved his hands regally. “That’s it,” he sighed. “Lady Grace, while your amiable sister trounces my Amatus at chess…”

“Hey, I might win,” Bull argued.

“I am going to steal you, Cullen and Asta - and your darling urchins - off to the woods for a hike. There we will collect all the elfroot Asta can find - and she is very good at finding elfroot - and come back here and brew them up for this provincial village’s general consumption.” Dorian pulled the woman up with his hands, and gestured grandly.

Two hours later, Dorian was triumphant, and both Asta, Cullen, Grace and Dane were weighed down with the most elfroot Asta had ever managed to gather. He, naturally, wasn’t carrying a thing.

“You realize it’s going to stink to high heaven when we prepare this,” Asta wheezed, swinging her pack off her back.

“All in a good cause, Inquisitor,” Dorian smiled. “You, my dear, are going to arrive in the local Chantry quite soon, with a crate, and accompanied, hopefully, by your family, your devastatingly handsome Magister friend and his Amatus, and your possibly equally attractive Commander, and make a lovely speech. Start writing it.”

Asta laughed, “And what should this speech say, Magister Pavus?”

“Some platitude about the Inquisition not forgetting about Ferelden and how much they’ve recently overcome, perhaps?”

“Dorian, she’s not trying to take over the world,” Cullen observed, swinging his own bag down. “She’s here to visit family, not play the Game.”

“Cullen’s right,” Asta sighed. “But if I give it as a Fereldan - if only by marriage - to Fereldans?” She met Cullen’s eyes. “It might help with Teagan,” she said quietly.

“Arl Teagan is an asshole,” Mia came out of the house, eyebrows raised. “Merciful Maker, did you leave any to regrow?”

“Enough,” Asta laughed, “How do you know Teagan, Mia?”

“Causing you trouble?” Mia sniffed, “He was here, visiting our Arl, and left town without paying his bill. Still hasn’t been settled. It’s not enough to go clear over to Redcliffe for, and when I wrote to ask him to settle up, I never heard back.”

Asta sat back. “Mia, I think I love you,” she said slowly. “You’ve just single-handedly solved my issues with Teagan in the Exalted Council.” She stepped over the bags. “Dorian, why don’t you get started,” she smiled wickedly, “I have to write to Josie.”

***

_Dearest Josie,_

_Don’t say you don’t love me, because I know you will, if you don‘t already. I want you to have a glimpse at the attached bill - still outstanding, and note the date, and then the name on the receipt. My adorable, fantastic sister in law has provided me with this, and I assure you, it’s real. She owns the store. I can almost hear Sera cackling, can’t you?_

_Our lovely Arl Teagan is dodging his debts. Perhaps you’d like to have a look at what else he hasn’t settled? And perhaps the Inquisition can offer… assistance? Ever so gently, of course. I know you’ll handle it with tact and grace, since that’s what you do best._

_Somehow I’m not quite dreading the Exalted Council any longer, my dearest Josie._

_Cullen’s family is a treat. Mia has beaten Bull at chess six times in a row, and he’s so mad he had to go out and fell trees for the lumber mill to get it out of his system. Turns out he’s quite the lumberjack. Dorian is in the messy process of making a million and one elfroot potions to donate, to all things, the local Chantry. Cullen is working with his brother, occasionally, and otherwise I have never seen him so relaxed. Dane is exhausted - my nephews are keeping him far too busy to be destructive._

_We’re still doing good work, Josie, even while in South Reach. And I’m… feeling a little better about things in general, as I’m sure you’re relieved to hear._

_Please feel free to send on any information I need to know about the Exalted Council while I’m here. We’ve been here for two days, and I know I won’t be able to dodge the Arl for much longer, despite my ‘low’ connections. I’m sure he’s informed, and I won’t be caught unprepared. I’m coming back into focus, Josie. I just need a little more time._

_I feel like I have all the time in the world, here._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta_

***

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_I am delighted with your latest report from South Reach. This is exactly what we needed, and I already have Harding looking into the connections. She looked giddy - if I remember correctly, she grew up near Redcliffe, yes?_

_By all means continue with your charity work - South Reach is a larger settlement, is it not, with a local Arl? I’m sure your good works will spread, and it will build our influence, rather weak southeast of Denerim._

_Empress Celene has inquired about an advance copy of Viscount Tethras’ work, and he has promised me to provide her with one. As for the Viscount and his Lady - Cassandra is starting to show, I believe, and since she can no longer wear her normal clothes breastplate, she is destroying more of the training dummies than ever. Please have the Commander sign the attached requisition form for more materials? I think we should go with iron, personally. The Viscount seems to be the only one who can calm her, and apparently that is taking an unusual amount of pineapple, of all things. Luckily, my family has a pineapple plantation in the North of Antiva, and I have taken advantage of it. You know what Cassandra is like in one of her moods. It’s far easier to just keep Skyhold stocked with pineapple than try to argue with her in such a state._

_She will not allow me to throw her a party in celebration and told me to stop pouting. I am fairly certain I do not pout._

_Cole and Maryden are the talk of the Keep. He brings her flowers every day. I believe our resident Viscount is keeping book on when they will first kiss. I’m down for several days next month, during the Summersday celebration. It would be lovely if you have returned by then, as up until this point you’ve managed to be out_ _of the Keep for every single holiday due to prior commitments, but obviously your rest is serving you well, and I would urge you to remain as long as you need to, as things are well in hand. Harding is a treasure, and Rylen is… more than adequate, since strictly speaking, we are no longer at war._

_Do you happen to know where he got the tattoos? He will not tell me._

_I have attached 40 pages of information on the Exalted Council and it’s members. You may want to look it over and memorize it at your convenience. Let me know if I should forward a box of candles. And some pineapple._

_That was not a hint, Inquisitor. I just want you to know that I am very happy that you are feeling better. We’ve all been so worried._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Josephine Montilyet_

_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

The letter accompanies an entire crate of pineapple and two boxes of candles.

***

_Dear Asta,_

_I am getting fat. This is completely… unfair. I am training harder than ever and yet every day I have to lace my pants looser. If this continues I will have to wear a dress. I asked Josie to find out where I could buy pants for pregnant women and she said that they do not make them._ They do not make them, Inquisitor.

_I may have thrown something at her wall. It may have been her inkwell. I apologized, and offered to clean it up and then promptly burst into tears. I am going insane._

_Asta, I have seven months more of this, unless this… thing taking over my body comes early. I will be huge. Like a dragon. And I keep bursting into tears, and Varric thinks it’s his fault!_

_Well, some of it is his fault. He can’t dodge all the blame. I didn’t do this to myself. But he doesn’t deserve to be in this position. He is wonderful. Mostly._

_I told Josie to send you some of this lovely pineapple from her family‘s estates in Antiva. I have never tasted anything better, I swear. I can eat nothing else._

_Varric informs me that we need to start thinking about names, and asked me how I feel about the name ‘Bob’. I threw something at the fire. It may have been a book. I need to be stopped, Asta. Perhaps you should have Rylen lock me in the dungeon until this is over? Ellandra could visit me there, so that we know that Squirt will be fine._

_He doesn’t deserve such a mercurial mother. I am going to be shit at this._

_Your friend,_

_Cassandra_

***

_Your Inquisitorialness,_

_I know Cass wrote you a letter, but she’s been a bit… more unpredictable than usual, lately. So I am here to tell you that she is fine, Squirt is fine, she’s really glowing, and absolutely svelte. As far from fat as a woman can get, I swear._

_I’ve asked Dagna to look into a design for pants for pregnant women, though. I don’t think Skyhold will survive the rage demon that will appear if Cassandra has to wear a dress when her pants won’t fit. Corypheus has nothing on her. Maker’s Breath, she’s beautiful when she’s angry._

_Speaking of Dagna, she says she’s just about done tweaking her project for you. Should be done when you get back. She needs to run some tests, though, and you’re going to have to train with it. Sorry, Inquisitor, when you get back you’re going to have to stop reading everyday and start exercising again._

_Josie indicates that you are feeling better about life in general, and I’m relieved, along with the rest of us. Rest assured that I’ll send Curly’s family several copies of the book. They’ll know the real version, but hey, it’s a good read anyway, even if their honored son doesn’t have much of a role._

_I do regret that, but since it’s gonna save your life, it’s worth it. They might even agree with me, now they’ve gotten to know you a bit. I regret that I couldn’t include the wedding, either. But I think, once you read the title, you’ll understand why._

_Since they seem to be big fans of mine, tell them I’m writing up a book of dwarven children’s tales. I’ll send a copy of that for your nephews too. I’m glad they liked the Nug King. That even made Cass smile._

_Take care, Quiz, and come back soon, but not too soon,_

_Varric Tethras_

_Author of the upcoming ‘This Shit is Weird: the Evelyn Trevelyan Story’ and ‘Tales for Squirt’ (Title to be changed)_

_P.S. Purveyor of Pineapple for Pregnant Seekers is still a better job than Viscount._

_P.P.S. The name of the book is my real wedding gift to you and Curly. Cass said you wanted to escape. This might help._

***

Asta dropped the letters, several still unread, into her lap, shock being released with quick breaths.

“Love, what’s wrong?” Cullen took the letter from her limp hand and then started laughing, and then choked. “He’s written…”

“He’s written me out of the story,” Asta’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Cullen, I’m not even in the book. I’m Asta Rutherford. I barely know Evelyn Trevelyan. Cullen, thanks to Varric, I’m not even the Herald of Andraste. Even if I am the Inquisitor. I _like_ being the Inquisitor!” She started sobbing, her hand covering her face. “Cullen, it’s the best gift anyone has ever given me. I’m just… so grateful.” She reached out blindly, and pulled Cullen down to her on their bed, weeping into his shirt.

A little worried, Cullen rubbed her back as she cried, great ugly tears with sobs so loud that brought Mia up the stairs to check on them.

“Cullen, what have you done…” Cullen handed his sister the letter, and she read it and shifted back on her heels. “He’s…” she grinned. “I want to play chess against _him_.”

“Varric doesn’t play chess,” Cullen laughed, “But he’s stripped me naked in Wicked Grace.”

“Josie… helped…” Asta sobbed, and wrapped her arm around her husband further. “Cullen…”

“Yes?” He asked gently, wrapping his arms around her entirely, as Mia slipped the letter back into Asta’s lap and made her way back downstairs to the shop. “What did you need?”

“Say my name,” Asta choked. “I need to hear it. Not the title. Just my name.”

“Asta Rutherford,” Cullen said, laughing. “Not Evelyn Trevelyan.”

Asta nodded, suddenly far more confident. “That’s it. Inquisitor Asta Rutherford.” Her face shone brilliantly. “It doesn’t sound wrong any longer.” She stroked the letter in her lap. “Bless you, Varric.”

***

_Dear Varric,_

_My name isn’t Evelyn Trevelyan! I don’t even have any right to the name Trevelyan!_

_You’ve written a book that isn’t about me, haven’t you?! You marvelous dwarf! I adore you, and I swear, I’m going to make sure that Cassandra gets all the pants that will fit pregnant women. There has to be way. Somehow. Perhaps a massive panel in front and laces directly over the hips? Drawstrings?_

_Cullen is in awe of your skills, and tells me to thank you. I do believe he has tears in his eyes. I know I do. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Because of you, I’m not going to be the Herald of Andraste forever. They can even amend the blighted Chant and it will never matter. I can live anywhere as Asta Rutherford and no one will know who I am. I can write anything I fucking please and it won’t matter!_

_You have no idea what this means to me, but if I can ever do anything for you, for Cassandra, for Squirt, for Kirkwall, I will do it. I don’t care about foolish promises or the Game. Whatever you need, I swear it now, in front of Cullen as a witness._

_Varric, I owe my life to you. You are the hero of this story, not me._

_Tell Josie we’ll be on our way home in a week. I have a ton of elfroot potions to deliver with Dorian, for shipment to the next Arling over, and my sister in law Grace is trying to teach me to cook, the poor woman. Have Cass chant for her. I haven’t poisoned anyone yet, but I caught Cullen sneaking the cookies to Dane last night rather than eat them himself. I’m trying shortbread tomorrow. Grace says that it’s incredibly easy. It had better be._

_Again, I adore you. (Don’t be jealous, Cass. It’s platonic adoration.)_

_Asta Rutherford_

 


	154. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um... NSFW? Probably over about halfway, if you want to skip it and move on.

Cullen looked at the plate in front of him, where he sat in Grace’s favorite wide pink chair in her parlor, and then at his wife, his sister in law and then at his sister with the look of a cornered stray.

“Oh, suck it up,” Mia snapped, “I’ve eaten four. They were perfect. Just like Mam used to make.”

Cullen reached out a shaking hand and picked one up, bringing it to his lips, and then took a small bite. The buttery texture spread over his tongue, and then the sweetness hit, and then the vanilla. He moaned, not realizing what he was doing, and swallowed hurriedly in order to take a larger bite. “Grace, these are fantastic,” he confessed. “Exactly like Mam’s.”

“Thank your wife,” Grace smiled triumphantly. “She made them all by herself, from start to finish. I sat in the kitchen and drank tea and made fun of you while she cooked, to keep her mind otherwise occupied.”

“All this time she was trying too hard,” Mia squinted her eyes menacingly at her brother. “You lot back at Skyhold are far too hard on her. Treat her better, or I swear to the Maker, I’ll do something drastic. I don‘t know how or why but that amazing woman fell for you, brother. By Andraste’s Apples, shape up.” Her bitter words were tinged with affection, however, for both her brother and sister in law. “Or Maker forbid she’ll leave you, and you’ll fall completely to pieces without her to hold you together.”

Cullen’s eyes were wide, and he looked at Asta, beaming. “You made these?”

“I did!” Asta grinned. “Mia took them out of the oven, so I wouldn’t drop the dish, but otherwise… yes!” She laughed with delight. “They’re actually good?”

“They’re the best,” Cullen beamed and took two more. “And yes, Mia, I am well aware that I am lost without her. You don’t need to lecture me on how… incredibly lucky I am.” His gaze softened when he looked at his wife.

“Watch it, Cull,” Mia took the plate away. “You’ve been putting on too much weight while you’ve been here. You’d better start teaching Loren how to use a sword or something, or you’ll get fat.” She poked him cruelly in his still flat stomach and walked away laughing while he blushed.

“You’re not fat,” Asta climbed into his lap. “You’re perfect, like always.” Grace grinned and left the room via the swinging door. “Far too perfect for the likes of me.”

“You’re beautiful,” Cullen said softly, a breath away from her lips, his own still covered with crumbs. “I didn’t care that you couldn’t cook, you know.”

“I know,” Asta smiled, “but I cared. I did this for me, Cullen. I needed this.” She leaned against him and stared up at his jaw, still chewing shortbread. “I needed to know that I could do something different. And I have a whole box waiting in the kitchen to send to Sera. We didn‘t get to make them together, but she‘ll have her cookies, all the same. Pride cookies, but this time, the right kind of pride.”

“Is that what that’s about?” Cullen finished chewing hastily and swallowed before continuing. “About overcoming obstacles in your way?”

Asta snorted, “Hardly. Sera hates cookies. Has hated them ever since her Lady Emmauld lied to her about making her own instead of buying them. She told her the baker hated elves, so that Sera would stay away from him and never find out. We wanted to make cookies together to prove that we were more than our past, more than the people we hated for trying to keep us in a little labeled box. And I’ve done it.” Asta’s voice was firm. “I know who I am. And she knows who she is. I’m Asta, nothing to do with Andraste, and the Inquisitor. She’s Sera, not just another elf, and she’s the Left Hand of the Divine. We’re people, Cullen.”

“So you’re going to send her a box of cookies and she’s just going to know all of that, automatically?” Cullen was skeptical.

“Of course!” Asta laughed, and pressed her thumb against a crumb at the corner of his mouth and licked it off, and watched his eyes grow dark looking at her. “This is Sera, the queen of subtext,” she teased, and leveraged herself up in his lap to kiss the rest of the crumbs off, straddling him in the wide pink chair.

“Asta,” he muttered, “the kids could walk in.” She kissed him again, tasting vanilla.

“Who cares?” she whispered.

“Branson could come home early,” Cullen argued, and Asta kissed him again. He couldn’t resist and slid his hands around her back, under her loose shirt and his tongue into her mouth as she hooked her arm around his neck. She moved up and closer against him, still on her knees.

“Let him,” Asta grinned against his lips impatiently, pressing down and dragging up again, slowly.

“We have a room, you know,” Cullen moved away from her mouth and breathed in her ear. “With a door that locks.”

“Don’t want it,” Asta replied. “Want you. Here. Now,” she emphasized. “How about it, Cullen ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’ Rutherford?” She challenged, less tease than dare.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, and pulled her tighter into him and thrust up slightly, letting her feel him. “But for once, I don’t bloody care.” He dropped his hand and pressed against her through her breeches, and then pulled the laces loose impatiently, and slid a hand down inside. “Do you?” He raised an eyebrow at her heat and slickness. “Don’t answer that,” he said and kissed her again with a growing urgency. “I know the answer,” he panted slightly. “Let’s get these off.”

Asta stood up, and shimmied out of them, still awkward, but improving, while Cullen pulled his own loose, and down slightly, not bothering to remove them entirely before reaching for her and pulling her back into the chair to cover him again. She slid against him gently, coating him slightly and he cupped her backside to hold her still and pushed up and pulled her down, firmly and stunned at how quickly he was responding.

“Not going to last,” he groaned and tried to stop her. “Damn it, Asta, quit moving. It‘ll be over too fast for you.”

“Then don’t last,” Asta shook over him. “Ever since I saw this damn chair I’ve been thinking about this. I bet I beat you to the finish. It looks too much like my throne.”

“Your _throne_ ,” Cullen hissed, and groaned as she sunk down on him brutally slow. “Mercy, Asta,” he choked. “You’ve been thinking of your _throne?!_ ”

“Mmmhmm,” she laughed quietly, and threw her head back. “Right in front of the windows. Stained glass shadows over your body, and not an ounce of privacy to be had, even just before dawn.” She moved much faster. “What do you think about that?”

“When do we leave for Skyhold?” Cullen managed, and pushed up harder, and faster yet. “Because now I want…”

“I want to flip the chair around to face the windows,” Asta whispered, interrupting his admission, and kept her deliberate rocking. “Is that okay? The sun will come up, and I‘ll see you, illuminated like lit glass.”

“Yes,” Cullen groaned. “A thousand colors… all over you. Even more beautiful.” He rocked up against her, and nearly cursed, seeing stars, still trying to hold back.

“No,” Asta whispered, humming a little in desperation, “I’d be cast in shadow. But you… you’d be glowing. Brighter than me by far,” she moaned and breathed faster as he, in a half-involuntary movement, hit the perfect spot deep inside. “That’s it…” Cullen pulled her mouth to his, and moved against her, limited only by the chair. She cried out into his mouth and he kept going, but breathed in her ear.

“That’s impossible,” he shuddered, and released finally, unable to control himself. “No one is as bright as you.” Asta cried out again and met her own end with his lips back against hers, pulled tight against him and shaking with laughter. “We shouldn’t have done that,” he laughed in turn, and held her against him.  "What would my family think?!"  He collapsed his head onto her chest, blushing.

Outside, Grace stopped both kids, Dane and Branson from going through the swinging door into the parlor. “You don’t want to go in there, Bran,” she said bluntly, and raised both eyebrows and made a rude gesture with her fingers where the kids couldn’t see.

“No way,” Bran sputtered. “Cullen?”

“Mmhmm,” Grace smiled wickedly. “Let them have their fun. Come on, out to the garden, all of you. They‘ll be out when they‘re done.”

***

Cullen confronted Rosalie the next day by the mill, watching her staring at the river sadly, sitting down easily next her in the tall grass, and crossing his arm over his knees. “What’s going on, Ros?”

“I don’t know,” she replied after a pause. “I don’t know why you care, even. I don’t even know you, brother or not. You left, I was tiny. Everyone was so proud of you, off to be a Templar. And they’re still proud of you, even though you quit and moved on. I don’t get that.” She sighed, “No one is proud of me. I fail at everything I try.”

“You don’t fit here,” Asta came around the corner of the mill, nearly silently. “Do you, Rosalie?”

“I suppose not,” she said sullenly. “I’ve tried, but today the Mother told me firmly that she didn’t believe the Chantry was in my future. That I should find another path. I fucking tried,” she cursed and threw a rock into the pond. “I care about people. I did everything I could think of…” she clenched her jaw. “I hate you two. You show up and the town loves you and your… odd friends. All you did was pick elfroot and stink up Grace’s kitchen. I’ve helped out everywhere for years, decades, and what happens? They turn their backs and tell me to find another path.” She bent her head to her arms.

“Want to get out of here?” Asta asked, sinking down next to her. “Do you want to leave South Reach?”

“There’s no where for me to fucking go from here,” Rosalie said angrily. “Honnleath’s dead. I’ve never been anywhere else. I‘ve got no money, I failed my apprenticeship, they kicked me out when their daughter kissed me.” She bit her lip. “Mia was furious, more at them than me, though. Said she should have had more self-control, and I was just a kid.” She threw another rock, further than the last. “I was sixteen. I knew what I was doing.”

“Ah,” Asta mused. “What were you studying?”

“Seamstress,” Rosalie snarled. “I hate clothes, but Mia was sure that…” she sighed, “It’s not Mia’s fault. Really. She did her best for us. It‘s just easier to blame somebody, I suppose.”

“Do you want to be a Chantry sister?” Asta asked her. “Not just for something to do, but because you have real faith, a desire to spread the Chant? If you do, I do know the Divine. I could ask for a favor.” She held her breath and Cullen’s gaze, hoping that she wouldn’t have to.

“I just wanted to do something,” Rosalie sighed, and they sit silently together, looking at the pond. “I’d leave, if I could. There’s no one here, no one besides family, anyway, that I care about. I could leave and they’d forget me,” she said gloomily. “It would be better that way.”

Asta took a breath, “How would you like to leave with us? Join the Inquisition?”

Rosalie scowled. “I don’t know how to fight. I can barely remember how to hold a bow.  I don't know how to do anything.”

Cullen snorted, “Then you are already ahead of most of the recruits we get. They have to be taught everything.” Rosalie blinked and turned to him. “I couldn’t give you preferential treatment,” he said slowly. “In fact, it would have to be the opposite, just to prove that I wasn’t favoring you. You’d have to leave Skyhold after training, you’d be sent to Griffon Wing first, probably, in the middle of the Western Approach. You‘d be just another recruit.”

“And that’s only if you wanted to learn to fight,” Asta said slowly, “if you didn’t… well, there’s the library - it’s getting larger all the time. We always need help there. You could study anything you like.”

“Funny how that happens,” Cullen smirked and Asta scowled and turned back to his sister.

“The point is, you’d have a choice,” Asta said gently. “If you came, you could talk to a few people, our spymaster, or to Knight-Captain Rylen, Cullen’s second in command, or even our Ambassador. If you like helping people, she might be the person to talk to. You could be anything, a scout, a soldier, a scholar or a diplomat.”

Rosalie snorted ungracefully, all prissiness abandoned, “I’m not a diplomat. If I were, I bet I could have convinced the Revered Mother to let me take vows.” Her amber eyes grew big, and she took a deep breath, their offer sinking in. “I could go to Orlais? The Western Approach? That’s about as far from South Reach as it gets.”

“Just… don’t play the Ambassador at Wicked Grace,” Cullen advised. “She’s scary. Never, ever lie to her. Or keep secrets. She knows about them before you do.”

Rosalie shook her head at her brother. “Not all Rutherfords are as bad at Wicked Grace as you, Cull. I’ll go. I‘d be crazy not to.”

“And if it doesn’t work out, you can always come back, or we’ll help you find something different,” Asta assured her. “You don’t have to feel like this is your last chance.” She hesitated, “Do you think Mia will hate me for doing this?”

“Do you honestly care?” Rosalie looked at her, surprised. “Shit, you really do. You want us to like you. You’re the fucking Inquisitor. You push rulers off their thrones, darn holes in the sky, give up your arm to save a country everybody hates, and you care what a single common family in South Reach thinks about you personally.  You make no sense.”

“Actually, I usually save them from being assassinated,” Asta pointed out dryly. “Is it four or five monarchs? Nevarra, Ferelden, Orlais… I can’t remember. I haven’t saved one in a while, not since we took out the last of the Venatori. But I do at least try to be one of the good guys, most of the time. And I‘ve never had a real family,” she shrugged. “I was kind of hoping I’d be part of yours.”

Rosalie shook her head in disbelief. “Why? We’re boring. You fight dragons and dance at fancy parties.”

“Train hard enough and so will you,” Cullen said bluntly. “We have three in the Emprise du Lion that have to be put down. They breathe ice, apparently. And the people there have been more than patient. That‘s a goal for this summer, before the Exalted Council.”

Asta nodded, “And I know of several more that I really think should be eliminated, but… well… Bull takes it personally when he doesn’t get to go along. It hurts his feelings. And we’ve had other things to do,” she said defensively.

“Oh, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you hate being left behind,” Cullen chuckled. “Have you forgiven me for the Storm Coast?”

“Yes,” Asta protested, “Because I was in the fucking Deep Roads, Cullen! You had to come down there and fish me out, and that was after the dragon. I am not holding a grudge,” she muttered. “It needed killing. It hurt a Blade of Hessarian. It was necessary.”  She seemed to be trying to convince herself.

Rosalie watched them, “Well, you’re definitely married,” she said at last. “Only ever seen Grace and Branson bicker like that. Mia and Owen just sort of stare and then he smiles and gives in. Mia hates that he won’t fight with her.”

“Was there any doubt?” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

“Before you got here, yes,” Rosalie said slowly. “We hadn’t met her, yet. Didn’t know that she looked at you like you weren’t our brother, but instead some sort of hero. That’s still a little hard to believe,” she admitted. “I don’t remember much of you, honestly, but Cull, you were dull. At the Chantry pestering the Templars, at the pond staring at the water, and always, always thinking. You barely did fun things, and when you did you complained the whole time that…”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Asta giggled. “I do like that theme.”

 


	155. New Challenges

The letter came from Val Royeaux two days before they left for Skyhold. It was covered, front and back, with expertly drawn Chantry sister asses, neatly labeled with names, and a short note.

_“Thanks for the Pride Cookies. Tell Widdle I miss her, and that none of these are taken from real life. Just using my imagination. You’ve got her Divine Feathers flapping with the stuff back East. Nicely done, People. Wanna be a Jenny? We don’t have one in South Reach, if you lot end up back there. Checked around, just to be certain. Village that size could use one, closest is in Gwaren. Too far to be useful._

_Watch out for snakes. They’re trying to steal your eggs from your nests. Should let them hatch first, I think. Harder to snatch when they’re moving._

_The Left Balzac_

***

Mia scowled at her brother, sister and sister in law. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you all to be careful,” she said at last, sniffing. “I know you all too well.” She swallowed hard and lunged for Rosalie, who embraced her tightly. “Do your best, Ros,” she demanded. “This is an amazing chance, and you shouldn’t take it for granted, or get some stupid sense of entitlement, or start putting on airs because of who you‘re related to. And do me a favor, and write more often than your brother. Once a week isn’t too much to ask, however hard you’re working.”

Rosalie pulled away from her sister’s too tight arms, “I know, Mia,” she said softly. “I’ll make you proud.”

“Oh, Ros, I’ve always been proud of you,” Mia said, very quietly. “Don’t ever think I wasn’t.” She grabbed her again, and then shoved her away fiercely and pulled Asta in instead. “Don’t let her skip meals,” she ordered. “She forgets to eat, when she’s sulking. And when neither of them write, _you_ write. I know you will, you’ve spent half of your time here with ink and parchment. I want to hear everything that they’ll never tell me.” Asta couldn’t get a word out, Mia’s strong arms squeezing her too tightly.

Bull guffawed, “Boss’s problem is knowing when to stop writing. You’re gonna hear things you never wanted to know, Ma‘am.”

Mia glared at the man over Asta‘s shoulder, “I want to know everything. So that shouldn’t be a problem. Every minute little detail. I want to know who Ros flirts with and how Dane barks at the moons. I’ve had twenty years of knowing _nothing_ , and now I have a sister in law who will fill in the gaps.”

“I’ll try, Mia,” Asta managed not to squeak. Mia released her from the torturous hug.

“Good,” she said, voice tight, and then eyed her brother. “As for you…” she closed her eyes. “Just… don’t let it be another twenty years before you come home again?” Her voice was begging now.

Cullen stepped forward and wrapped his sister in his arms. “I won’t, Mia. I won’t. We’ll be back, maybe even just after the Exalted Council. Once we get the future of the Inquisition sorted out.”

“Oh, you make it sound so easy,” Dorian guffawed, and stretched his arms out to the party. “I feel left out,” he announced, “isn’t anyone going to hug me, berate me, and tell me that I had better write upon pain of death?”

Grace laughed, “No. Because if you don’t write, I’ll write to Bull, and he’ll nag you until you do. You know he will.”

The boys got tired of standing still and minding their manners and ran into Bull’s legs, making him flinch with the impact. “Bring back your dracolisk,” Loren ordered, “When you come again. Then we can have more rides.”

“I’ll do that,” Bull grunted. “You be good for your Mam. She works hard, and you shouldn‘t give her so much trouble.”

Branson stared at his brother, wearing his armor for one of the first times since he had arrived, “You almost look like a hero,” he admitted, slapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t get killed by a dragon?”

“Thanks, I think. And I‘ll try not,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll be back,” he promised all of his siblings. “I… I’ll try…”

Mia snorted in derision, “You’ll get busy, or think of an excuse. Don’t try to lie to me. But…” she sniffed and blinked furiously, her face falling.

“I won’t let him,” Asta promised, nearly fiercely, “I won’t let him,” she repeated. This time she pulled Mia in, who stood there, awkwardly, until she wrapped her arms around the Inquisitor, far more gently this time. “I swear it. I won‘t let him not tell you what‘s going on.”

“I… believe you,” Mia said, obviously surprised at the admission. Asta let her go, and turned to Grace.

“Thank you for everything,” she said nearly shyly.

“It was my pleasure, Inquisitor,” Grace curtseyed mockingly, “do come again,” and they both busted up laughing and hugged each other like sisters. “Be careful out there in Orlais?” Grace whispered into her hair. “Don’t get poisoned, or stabbed or anything else? The things you hear coming out of that place…”

Asta nodded, “I’ll be careful.” She pulled back and asked the group, “Is there anything we can send you?”

“Books,” Mia demanded. “Anything you think I’d like.”

Cullen groaned, “Oh no, you’re going to get four crates full by next month.” Asta hit him. “It’s true,” he grumbled. “You’ll empty out Skyhold trying to send books you think she‘ll like.”

Bran shrugged, “Nah. Orlais doesn’t have anything that interesting, unless…” he laughed, “When you kill those dragons, send me something. I’ll add it to my collection.”

Grace groaned, “Great, now we’ll have gory dragon parts in the parlor.” She thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t mind something, but perhaps…” she hesitated. “Just surprise me,” she said at last. “I’m sure you run across all sorts of things out there, and I wouldn’t even know what to ask for. Just not anything kitschy. Bran brings home enough junk, I don’t need more clutter.”

Asta nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do.” The silence grew, neither party wanting to say goodbye.

“We’d better get going,” Cullen sighed, regretfully but practically.

“Say goodbye to your aunties and uncle,” Grace demanded of her children, and Asta swept both boys into a massive embrace.

“I’ll tell you more stories when I come back,” she promised.

“Okay,” Loren said. “Bye.” He let go and hugged Dane, who woofed gently. “Bye, Dane. I’ll miss you.”

Asta laughed, “He’ll miss the dog more than us.”

“He is Fereldan,” Dorian sniffed. “Hardly unusual.”

Peter, however, stared at Dorian and then smiled, with all of his tiny teeth, and toddled over, and wrapped his little arms as far as they could go around the mage. “Bye, D’ran. Be good.”

Dorian froze, and then swallowed, and sunk down to look the little man in the eye. “I will if you will,” he said, and hesitated, “Do you want to see a magic trick?” The little boy nodded. “Watch this…” and Dorian let out a series of sparks into the air that exploded into the morning fog, too low to be observed in the rest of the village. The little boy clapped excitedly, and then Dorian reached into his bag and pulled out the duck that Cole had left for him. “And this, is for you,” he offered.

“Tank you,” the boy took it, grinning. “Mam, look!” His face lit up. “Chicken!”

“A duck,” Dorian corrected, but the boy was already off and running, making bawking sounds. “Grace, do try to fix… that?” He stood, his mouth twisting. “It’s supposed to be a duck.”

“Hmm, I can try,” Grace laughed. “You all should be off. Daylight’s wasting.”

Cullen nodded. “We’ll see you soon,” he said again, and turned to go.

Their family watched them leave. “The house will be very quiet,” Grace sighed.

“You said it,” Bran laughed. “And you’re going to have to get used to not having Dane watch the kids.” she elbowed him in the ribs. “Ouch,” he winced and rubbed his side.

“Back to normal,” Mia’s forehead was creased with worry and tension, “Maker, take care of Ros,” she prayed quietly.

“She’ll be fine,” Bran told her. “Better than here.”

“I know,” Mia wiped a lone tear away, glaring at him. “But I’ll always worry. Look what happened to Cullen because he left home.”

They all three shuddered, and then turned to go back into the house. “I’ll make tea,” Grace said, and Bran went to round up the boys, already arguing over the duck-chicken and who would get to play with it. “I think we need a cup.”

Mia nodded, and turned, just in time to see her brother and sister in law look back and wave. She waved, feeling a little better. “Maybe they will come back,” she said at last, and turned back to the house. “A cup of tea would be wonderful, Grace, thank you."

***

_Dear Mia,_

_We’re back at Skyhold, and I have so much to tell you! Life is going back to our strange version of normal. I’m being quizzed hourly by our Ambassador, who sends cordial greetings (her words, not mine), on the people attending the Exalted Council. We have so much work to do - my head is buzzing with everything I need to remember._

_Varric Tethras says he might write to you, because he’d like some scandalous stories about Cullen’s childhood. I told him that there probably weren’t any, and told him about ‘We shouldn’t be doing this’. He snorted and said, ‘Figures’. He seemed rather disappointed. But I told him you’d love to hear from him anyway, so if you get a letter, probably accompanied by books… well, you know why. He thinks he has a few volumes about the history of Kirkwall that you’d find illuminating. He’s a good correspondent. Very entertaining, as you might imagine._

_Cullen is eating, and sleeping, and his nightmares haven’t bothered him too much lately. They come and go, in any case - sometimes they don’t wake him up, sometimes they leave him shaking until morning. I’m taking care of him, please believe me that I’m doing everything I can. He sends his greetings, tells me to ask Bran to write to him, when he has the time, and to tell Grace that Dane misses the boys, and that he’s rather bored now, without them._

_As for Ros - we barely got through the front gates and Cullen sent Ros to get outfitted for her weapons and armor. Definitely not getting special treatment there. Bull’s Chargers came out of the tavern to meet us, and… well, it’s too soon to tell, but his second in command couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Ros_ blushed. _Krem’s a nice guy, and I think you’d approve. I did hear him asking Bull about her later, and when he heard she was the Commander’s sister… I think he was a little intimidated. Should I interfere or just let it be? Ros will be leaving when her training is done, after all… but… well, I’m a romantic at heart. Cullen says we shouldn’t pry. I imagine you can guess what I told him about that._

_The only ‘special’ treatment she is getting is that we have requested she eats with us at least once every few days. She and Cullen are trying to get to know each other, and they can’t do it during training, Maker knows. I caught her berating her practice opponent the other day, telling him that ‘That’s a shield in your hand, block with it! It‘s like you aren‘t even trying!” I never told all of you about the day Cullen started training me, did I? I think Ros is going to do just fine. Cullen has started_ bragging _about her. Just to me and our friends, though - he knows better than to do such things in front of his officers or even in front of Ros. He hasn’t done that about a recruit for some time. He’ll be sorry to see her leave when it’s time to go. So will I. She has a wicked sense of humor that I wasn’t expecting from her behavior in South Reach. I wish she could have met my friend Sera. Actually, for Skyhold’s sake, it’s probably best that they didn’t meet each other._

_I’d better go - I’m having to have my dress uniform altered for my left arm. Apparently just walking around with my sleeve pinned up isn’t enough. I have to draw attention to it. It makes me feel self-conscious, but… well, our Ambassador has a good point. Orlesians forget everything all too soon if they aren’t reminded in the most obvious ways. At least I don’t have to wear a mask._

_I’ll write again soon. Cullen says to tell Branson that we leave to take care of the dragons in the Emprise in two weeks, and then we will be leaving for Halamshiral immediately for the Council. I’ve never taken on three dragons one after the other. I’m sure it will be all right. Try not to worry. We’ll send you word from the Emprise._

_Love,_

_Asta_

***

“Oh, Dagna,” Asta was at a loss for words, the spread of tools laid out before her on the desk in her room. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start here,” Varric handed her an oddly shaped hook. “Unlike your average stereotypical pirate-y hook, this one is designed to support the weight of a book. Since we knew that you would need such an attachment.” Asta fitted it to her arm, spinning it so that it would face the appropriate direction. “Dagna designed it so that you would be able to fasten the buckles yourself, without needing help.”

“You’ll also probably be able to manage to do and undo your own armor with that one,” Dagna mused cheerfully. “If the angle is wrong, let me know and I’ll pull something else together that will do the job. It’s not sharp, and it’s not going to hurt anyone, but it’s not going to break either,” she assured her. “This one isn’t meant to be a weapon.”

Asta marveled at the prosthetic. “That’s…”

“Next,” Cullen swallowed, “Next we have this one.” The next one was heavily padded at the cuff, with a sandbag on the bottom. “It’s supposed to help you keep the off shoulder strong,” he admitted. “No excuses for not exercising, Inquisitor,” he admitted, wondering if she was going to rip him a new one. “It’s important.”

Asta frowned, and then smiled. “I suppose I have to,” she sighed, teasingly. “As long as you don’t make me start to run stairs.”

“You run enough stairs already,” Cullen smiled in relief at her acceptance.

“And then this,” Dagna chirped, her eyes flashing. “This… well, I haven’t given it a name. But it’s a crossbow, or something like it, and…”

Asta was already pulling it on. “Ugh, it’s fucking heavy!” Her shoulder dragged.

Dagna frowned, “I tried to make it lighter, but…”

“I guess you’ll have to start strengthening your arm immediately,” Cullen announced. “Put on the weight, Inquisitor, and wear it for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Ser,” Asta replied snottily, looking wistfully at the beautiful weapon as she put back on the sand weight. Her eyes blinked and shifted to the author, surprised, “Varric is that… those are Bianca’s parts.”

He shrugged, “I wasn’t using them. This way, Dagna got to play, and you end up with a way to defend yourself.”

“It was great fun,” grinned the Arcanist. “I fooled around with it for months before I finally figured out how to make it work. Smith Davri is… a genius.”

“And an ass,” Varric muttered, as Asta nodded in agreement with Varric, even while she stroked the soft carvings of the crossbow.  "You give her a run for her money in any case."

“I have no idea how to use it,” she mourned.

“And that’s why you have to train,” Cullen announced positively. “Starting today, with the weight, and then tomorrow, you’ll be required to join the other scouts at target practice. I want you to lift your arm when you move your right, every time.”

“I’m going to look like an idiot,” Asta complained.

“And thanks to looking like an idiot, you’ve got a chance to actually accompany us to take care of the dragons,” Cullen pointed out irritatingly. “So…”

“Yes, Ser,” Asta muttered rebelliously. “I could just announce I was going to go anyway.  I am supposed to be in charge.”

“Absolutely not,” Cullen refuted. “It’s this or nothing, Inquisitor. Do you want more adventures or not?”

She looked at him, unamused. “I’m thinking…”

“You aren’t fooling anyone, Inquisitor,” Dagna butted in. “You know you want this. It’s beautiful. I‘ve never made anything so lovely.”

“It’s a Masterwork,” Varric pulled a grin.

“And you’re the only one who can use it,” Cullen finished triumphantly.

“Very well,” Asta grumped. “Why does it have to be so heavy?”

“Because it can also be used in close quarters,” Dagna laughed, “For when you run out of bolts. I had to make sure that you could still use it. You‘ll be the only crossbowman in the Inquisition that can also handle melee combat. Pull a dagger with your right hand and this on your left, and you‘ll be able to hook your opponent around the neck, and stab him on the other side.  You'll be able to utilize the skills you've already built as well as learn new ones.”

“With a great deal of practice,” Cullen qualified.

Asta blinked, and stared at the weapon again, even more impressed, and a lot more hopeful. “Show me how to reload it?” she asked eagerly.

“And I’ll add more hand to hand to your future training regime,” Cullen laughed. “I think we’ll need it.”

Asta stared at her desk and the last prosthetic laying there, an elaborate concoction, studded with jewels on a twist of metal.  "And I take it... that thing is Josie's doing?"

"Um, yeah," Dagna admitted.  "She said it had to be sparkly, and that drawing the eye was more important than functionality.  So it's pretty, and I made it to fit comfortably, but... just don't get in any fights with it.  And... keep it locked up when you aren't using it, because I had to spend a lot of money to make her happy."

"I can't imagine wearing it anywhere but in Orlais," Asta sighed.  "Thank you, Dagna... this... it's overwhelming.  I'm sure it will take practice, and I'll probably never do it justice, but... thank you."  She hugged the Arcanist.  "If there's anything I can do for you, just name it."

"My pleasure, Inquisitor," Dagna said softly.  "Just... don't give up."

 


	156. Bluffing

“So… our agents and contacts are abandoning us,” Asta sighed and ran her hand through her hair, bracing herself with her sandbag weight on the War Table. “Tell me you have some ideas, all of you?”

Harding hesitated. “I think the best thing we can do is continue as we have been. The Divine’s influence is strongest in Val Royeaux, unsurprisingly. If we can manipulate public opinion elsewhere in Orlais, it will help.”

“The dragons in the Emprise,” Cullen stated bluntly. “They’ve been very patient, and three dragons at once would be a major pressure off the Empire, as well as the locals.”

Asta nodded, “Well, we were headed there next in any case. But…” her frustration got the better of her, and she slammed her sandbag into the table. “I’m beginning to wish we hadn’t bothered solving so many of their problems for them! It… this… ugh,” she bent her head. “I shouldn’t have expected the gratitude to last,” she murmured far more quietly. “That was completely unreasonable of me.”

Josie nodded, “In that you are correct, Inquisitor. I have suggestions, and I am working with those that remain loyal, as you would expect. But at this point, we need a firm idea where we are going with the Inquisition next. Are you prepared to discuss it?”

Asta stood up straighter, “Of course. I’d like to bring Cassandra into the discussion, if you don’t mind, and Varric as well. What I have to say will impact them.”

***

Asta faced all five of them, fidgiting a little bit with irritation and nervousness. “As you know, I have no intention of allowing the Inquisition to be commandeered by the Chantry. That is completely off the table - am I clear?” They all nodded.

“You’ve made that obvious, Inquisitor,” Josie confirmed. “What are your plans, may I ask?”

“Well, we have a difficulty,” Asta continued, “Josie, you seem confident that Arl Teagan is going to require us to reduce or eliminate our armies, due to the threat to Ferelden, correct?”

“That is probable, yes,” Josie spread out the applicable notes. “They are far too aware of the possibility of their sovereignty being overwhelmed by an outside force. Memories of such things are long, in Ferelden.”

“Rightly so,” Cullen frowned. “Not that the Inquisition has any such intention, but… I cannot blame them. From the outside, it does look like we are poised to invade both Orlais and Ferelden. Looking at the situation strategically, we hold Caer Bronach. It would be a short march from here, to Crestwood, to Denerim, where we could depose King Alistair and take over entirely. It‘s no wonder they are worried.”

Asta took a deep breath, “So… we need to be prepared to either shift or reduce those armies to a less… problematic location.” She looked at Cassandra, “What I am about to propose is… a little underhanded,” she admitted. “Will you hear it and try not to judge before I finish?”

“I will try,” Cassandra said stiffly.

“I want to shift the bulk of the Inquisition’s forces in the next few years to the Gallows,” Asta said bluntly. “Starting after the Council, and their probable demands, and first allowing those who would rather leave entirely, leave. It would leave you and Rylen the most senior officers in the Inquisition, and, depending on how badly the Council goes, might leave you to reclaim the Inquisition as the Seekers, and put you in a position to have to fight to keep them separate from the Chantry. Even if I‘m left alive, I may end up far, far away.”

“That is…” Cassandra shook her head. “I have no desire to lead the Seekers.”

“That’s why I’m asking,” Asta’s face fell. “I know that’s not what you wanted. I’ve made the mistake in the past of ordering where I should have asked, and I’m trying not to make that mistake again. Thank you for hearing me out.” She braced herself again. “With that option eliminated, the next is what we already discussed - a formal reduction of our forces, and sending people home with a thanks for their service and a pat on their head, whether they wish to serve further or not. Depending on the Council‘s demands, we will either have to take it all the way, or just reduce. It‘s too soon to say.”

“The Inquisition is not just an army,” Josie began, but Asta held up her hand.

“I’m getting to that, Josie, but this is the first demand they are likely to make, correct?” Josie nodded. “So we address this first. Thoughts?”

“There are those among us that wouldn’t mind going home,” Harding mused, “They’ve served for years, and have places to go.”

“Enough of them?” Asta asked bluntly. “I find it incredibly likely we’ll be asked to relinquish - a great deal of people.”

“I’m not sure about that, Inquisitor, and I wouldn’t want to ask around and start rumors,” Harding shook her head. “The entire idea that you would just disband what you’ve started…”

“It tastes of giving up,” Cassandra butted in. “Are you giving up?”

“I’m trying not to,” Asta sighed, brow furrowed, “But nobody, least of all me, is going to get everything that they want out of this situation. Unless I go into the Exalted Council with the intention of assassinating them all and taking over Thedas.” The joke fell flat. “That was a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Varric muttered. “You really have no idea how much you scare them.”

“So… I have to ask myself,” Asta looked at all of them in turn. “What can I get? What will they give me? We need the Inquisition to continue. The most likely way is to split off the armies into a separate entity, and continue the Inquisition as… something more like what I have been involved in until this point - but not underground. Out in the open. Not a formal university, but a group that seeks answers, investigates issues, and tries to remain politically neutral, allied with the Seekers, but not permanently linked.”

“I’ll do it,” Cassandra stated suddenly, and Asta refocused on her intently. “When you put it like that… it makes sense. That sounds like what the Seekers were originally meant to do. And if you maintain a degree of control - even if distant…”

Asta swallowed, “Are you sure?” She asked, trying not sound too eager, “If you do this, it will mean a great deal of pressure. If I’m exiled, Cullen will go with me. You and Rylen, assuming Rylen doesn’t wish to leave…”

“He won’t,” the Commander assured her, “We have spoken, at length. Barring your exile, I should have some months, even a year before formally stepping down, in any case. Enough time to ease him into his new role.” He cleared his throat, “If I can make one observation?”

“Of course.”

“What you are describing sounds suspiciously like the way the Templars came into being,” he warned her. “Only, this is a force without the powers of lyrium, and the Seeker herself is still conflicted about the use of the vigil. And the mages are still locked in arguments about the fate of the College. This, in a short time, could devolve into exactly what you are trying to avoid - several disunited groups vying for power, with no balance at all. Especially if the Inquisition is fully disbanded.”

Asta shrugged sadly, “All I can do is try, and hope that an order outside of the control of the Chantry, will not suffer the same fate.” She bit her lips and tried to explain, “Look, it’s not perfect. There is never going to be a perfect solution outside of one of Varric’s stories. But the Seekers, despite their recent corruption are still respected and… feared. Don’t call them the Seekers, if you like. Give them a different name. Even claim the Inquisition, if you would prefer. That would probably be best - after all, separating our armies physically from the governing order creates a balance in itself. It is going to take months, even once the Gallows are prepared, to…”

“Mages will not want to live in the Gallows,” Cullen interrupted. “No mage would.”

Asta nodded, “So any mage wanting to remain would remain here, in Skyhold, or be posted at one of the other Keeps, if we manage to maintain control of any of them.”

“We will manage to retain Skyhold,” Josie said softly, “But it is unlikely that Ferelden will allow us to keep Caer Bronach. As the Commander indicated, it’s too strategic a location, and near the Storm Coast port, that we control, and our forces just across the Waking Sea. His Majesty will likely demand to have it returned.”

Asta rubbed her head. “Damn. But we’ll have to manage somehow. What about the others?”

“Suledin is remote,” Josie sighed, “But Orlais will likely ignore that in favor of scoring a point against us. Griffon Wing… is a good line of defense against Tevinter.”

“Does that work against us or with us?” Asta’s eyes swiveled back to Cullen. “Can we retain Griffon Wing? Split our forces between there and the Gallows? Surely dividing our forces enough will…”

Harding broke in, thinking hard, “Can’t we make our own list of demands? Why should they be the only ones?” Josie looked thoughtful, and Asta motioned for her to continue. “Like you said, you’ve got an army at the border. March in there, all shiny and pretty, tell them where to get off, point out everything you’ve done, tell them they’d be idiots to start an exalted March, slide a list of what you need in front of their noses, tell off the Divine, and leave.”

Josie looked horrified, and Cullen started to laugh. “Definitely Fereldan,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t all have to be about the Game,” the spymaster insisted. “We have plenty of ammunition to play, and play well, but being up front about not disbanding, whatever they demand…”

“Could start a war,” Josie frowned. “or an Exalted March.”

“With what army?” Harding asked, deadly serious. “No templars. Celene's still trying to rebuild from the Civil War.  They’d be drawing from the common people, who adore us, with a precious few exceptions. All they’ve got is a few chevaliers and the Divine’s Guard. Personally, I don’t believe King Alistair has any intention of interfering with the Inquisition at all, whatever he sends Teagan to say. The Chantry just doesn’t have the people. I know, I’ve been looking into it for months, Inquisitor.” She stood up as tall as her diminutive frame could handle. “You could take them.”

“But I don’t want to,” but Asta’s mind was spinning. “Surely they know…”

“They’re terrified of you,” Varric smiled slowly. “They have no idea. They do know that you have an army.”

“You’re asking me to intimidate the Chantry, Orlais and Ferelden, as well as representatives from across Thedas into…”

“Giving us what we need to keep this continent running smoothly,” Cullen had an admiring look on his face.

“I don’t want to use force,” Asta frowned, staring at the War Map in desperation.

“If you don’t, we may lose,” Cassandra told her softly. “And everything you’ve worked for…”

“What if it doesn’t work and they call my bluff?!” Asta was starting to panic. “We’ll have lost everything!”

Even Josie was starting to come around, “It’s the biggest bluff you’ve ever made,” she smiled brilliantly, “But the winnings, if you manage it… I would be very tempted, Inquisitor. And I will be at your side. You know how good I am.” She leaned forward, almost eager, “I can do this. I can get you everything you need. Just let me try.” Avarice flashed in her eyes. “I’ll get us into Halamshiral and out, and give up nothing we didn’t intend to in the first place.”

“We need a backup plan,” Asta was starting to hyperventilate. “We can’t walk in there without a backup. It‘s a trap. I set off every trap I walk into.”

Cullen looked smug, “You’ve already a backup plan. You do what you discussed with Cassandra. She agreed, correct?” He glanced at the Seeker, who nodded. “If we’re that bad off, you’ll be exiled anyway, and the Inquisition will go underground, and the Seeker and Rylen will take on the forces, dismantling them gradually. We’ll walk in there with a more formal plan, of course, but the structure is there, Inquisitor.” He laughed aloud. “But honestly, in this, I wouldn’t bet against Josie. I’ve learned my lesson.  Let's set our own trap.”

Asta closed her eyes, “Then let’s do it. I’d say Maker help us all, but that seems particularly wrong.” She opened her eyes, resolve shining in them, as well as fear. “Josie… do your worst.  We're in your hands.”

“Absolutely, Inquisitor,” the Ambassador’s face shone with the challenge. “I’ll start work immediately.”

 


	157. Books and Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what the hell. Have a third chapter today. This just hit 9000 hits and I'm a little emotional that people are still reading - 150+ fluff filled chapters later. There may be tears.
> 
> It's mostly fluff that isn't necessary at all, but... hopefully you'll enjoy.
> 
> Thank you, readers. I write because I must - I always have - but I've finished this massive thing even when I was incredibly frustrated with it because people love it. Once again, I am humbled.

“It’s here!” The scout ran up to the War Room, and pounded on the door frantically. “Inquisitor, Viscount Tethras’ book! It’s out! We have word it’s reached Halamshiral and Val Royeaux, and the results of the initial reviews! Inquisitor!”

Cullen opened the door, and grabbed the letter out of his hands. “Thank you, well done,” he said, and closed the door in the scout’s face, canning the contents of the missive. “It’s working,” he smiled hugely, “Inquisitor, it’s working.”

Asta took a deep breath, “That’s one less worry then.”

“We do not have time to relax,” Josie said. “The book arrived far later than it should have, and we…”

“As long as it disseminates enough to turn the tide of Chantry opinion we will be fine,” Asta stressed. “We don’t need every noble in Thedas to read it before the Exalted Council, just… enough. Many people won’t read it at all, and will depend on their information about us from their friends.” She was moving pieces around the War Map frantically. “But at least it came out before, instead of after. Moving on. What is our status in the Free Marches? Can we rely on anyone there besides Varric?”

***

_Our Lady Full of Grace,_

_Bull is nagging me to write to you about Ros. His lieutenant is smitten, I’m afraid, and is afraid to ask the Commander for permission, or something like that. It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown woman, but his lieutenant is rather shy. Anyway, I’m supposed to have you ask Branson whether she’s… otherwise involved. I told him not to my knowledge, but that wasn’t good enough._

_Please write back soon. This is absurd._

_Your breathtaking Magister friend,_

_Dorian Pavus_

***

_Dear Dorian,_

_Of course not. Tell Bull to tell his lieutenant to man up. Ros isn’t going to go for anyone that doesn’t have the balls to talk to her, and Branson told me to tell you so._

_Also, he laughed when he told me that this Krem wanted to ask permission from Cullen. Do you really think that Ros would care what Cullen thought about her love life? Dream on, Pavus._

_Things are normal here. Too normal. You were all a breath of excitement, and even the village kids are sulking without Bull and his dracolisk to give them rides. Loren has told me to tell you all that he’s definitely joining the Inquisition when he grows up, because he wants his own. I didn’t tell him that was extremely unlikely._

_Just… tell him that she likes them forward, to take the first step. She’d rather be pursued. And tell him good luck._

_Your friend,_

_Grace_

***

“Just do it, Krem,” Bull rumbled from his chair. “We leave for the Emprise in a week, and you’ll want to know before the dragons kill you if you’ve got a chance. Give you something to live for.”

Krem gulped, “Easy for you to say, Boss. Didn’t Dorian just show up one night and tell you what was going to happen? Leaving his smallclothes behind as a hint that he wanted it to happen again?”

“Grace says she wants to be pursued,” Bull grumbled, “So get the fuck over there and pursue her. Buy her a drink, slide it in front of her and tell her you’ve been thinking about her constantly for weeks. Be smooth. You won‘t be back until after the Exalted Council, and she‘ll probably be in the Western Approach by then.”

Cole crossed the room and stared at Krem. “She wonders what you would look like naked,” he said bluntly, and smiled. “She also wonders whether your hair would be the same in… places.” He stopped, “Should I help?” He seemed unsure.

“No!” Krem, reached out and held back the man desperately, nearly falling off his chair. “I’ll… I’ll tell her,” he said quietly. “I’ve killed a dragon, I can do this.”

“There you go, Krem de la Krem,” Bull sighed, and rolled his eyes at Dorian. “Koslun’s Ass, if I heard one more thing about her fucking eyes or her hair I was going to be sick. Not since Asta first recruited me on the Storm Coast have I heard so much babble about whiskey colored eyes and curly hair. Should have left the other Rutherford in South Reach. Would have, if I knew this was going to happen.”

“Here I go,” Krem slammed his bottle down onto the table, went over to Cabot, bought two drinks and walked, trying to swagger a little, over to her, and slid the drink in front of her, trying desperately to take his Chief’s advice. “Hi,” he said, trying to sound confident. “I’m Krem.”

“I know,” Ros turned back to her friends, but a smile played around the corner of her mouth.

“I…” Krem lost his confidence. “You know?”

“Yeah,” Ros said bluntly. “You’ve been staring me for weeks. It’s hard to miss.” Her friends rolled their eyes and got up to leave. “You aren’t exactly inconspicuous the way you’re always standing on your chair.”

“Yeah, well,” Krem took another breath. “Can I sit down?”

“Suppose,” her smile finally cracked. “Why would you want to?”

“I’ve been thinking about you for weeks,” Krem blurted out, turning red to his ears.

“Really,” Ros purred, “Well, that is news. I thought something was caught in my hair. Wouldn’t be the first time. By all means, then, Krem. Have a seat. You’re with the Chargers. Tell me about where you’ve been. I haven’t been anywhere. Yet.” Her half-smirk echoed her brother’s, completely unconsciously.

Krem pulled out a chair and leaned forward, babbling in his nervousness, “I’ve killed dragons, an Envy demon, helped tear down Adamant Fortress, baited giants and…”

Ros burst out laughing. “What, all at the same time?” She bit her lips. “Let’s start at the beginning. Where are you from, Krem?”

“I’m a ‘Vint,” he smiled at her look of surprise. “And you have lovely eyes,” he said, far more seductively.

“Way to go, Krem,” Bull muttered. “Just get that out of the way up front. Maybe then you‘ll stop talking about them to everybody else.”

Cole smiled, “They’ll be fine. You should leave them alone.” He looked confused, “But I think they don’t realize that there is anyone else in the room right now anyway.”

“That can happen,” Bull chuckled. “I remember the first time I saw Dorian in Redcliffe I just knew he was going to be trouble. The pretty ones always are. And look what happened.” Dorian hit him, and then leaned against him, forcing Bull to put his arm around him. “Worked out so far,” he admitted, and sighed.

***

_Dear Mia,_

_Yes, I know it’s already been two weeks and I haven’t written, but I’ve been busy. But I’m working hard, and even Captain Rylen is pleased with me, if giving me additional responsibility is any sign. Asta assures me it is. I like this work - it’s physical, and I don’t have to think too hard - and my muscles will eventually just remember and do it automatically, Cullen assures me. That’s really hard to believe. I ache constantly._

I _don’t have too much to add, except that I’ve met someone… nice. His name is Krem, and he’s from Tevinter. You should have seen my face when he told me, all hickish gawking. He has amazing stories. He’s so sweet. He’s the reason that Bull lost his eye - defending him from a bar mob when he was trying to get out of Tevinter. He’s so brave, Mia and… I think I like him._

_I leave for the Western Approach before Cullen and Asta get back from Halamshiral, so try not to worry if my letters are a little far apart?_

_I miss all of you, but I don’t miss South Reach. The Inquisition is amazing, I’ve met wonderful people, and they all seem so positive that we are doing good work - I’ve never been a part of something like this before. I love it here, even though I can barely move when I fall into my cot at the end of the day. I ache in places that I didn’t know had muscles._

_Asta tells me my opinions may change when I’m shaking sand out of my breeches, but… I find that hard to believe. No place has that much sand._

_Tell the boys I love them, and maybe I’ll see lizards in the Approach and try to send them a couple. I bet that would make Grace shriek._

_Love you, Mia._

_Ros_

***

_Dear Mia,_

_I am writing to you, because Asta says I must. I have nothing to say, and, in fact, considering how busy we are trying to mobilize to fight three dragons in short succession and then continue on to the Exalted Council, am rather concerned with the time this is taking out of my schedule._

_But thank you for having us. We had a lovely time, and I am glad you approve of my choice of a wife. Not that it would have made much of a difference if you hadn’t, other than the fact we probably wouldn’t be returning to South Reach. As it is… we are both looking forward to returning._

_I should thank you for being so kind to her - she was in a bad place when we arrived, with the loss of her arm. By the time we left she was far more like herself. I owe that to you and Grace, I know. I… was at a loss to help._

_Asta says I should tell you Ros is fine. So, Ros is fine. She’s a very hard worker and… I am very proud of her. No one, not even Rylen in teasing, can say she is getting any of her privileges because she is my sister. I wish I had thought to ask before. She could have been with us all along._

_Also, apparently she has met someone. Asta is giddy about it. We’ll see. I see no point in butting into her personal affairs and the man in question is a nice sort. I’m keeping my eye on him all the same. If he takes liberties… I will be there, not that Ros isn‘t capable of handling herself. We’ve been doing a lot of hand to hand combat lately, and she excels at self-defense._

_Don’t tell her I said so. I can’t be seen having favorites._

_Quit asking when we are planning on having children. It is none of your business, and won‘t be anytime soon. So stop prying._

_And now I really must go. Take care, sister. I… will try to write again soon._

_Love,_

_Cullen_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, for those of you who are interested, my not-so-short as it turns out story about what happened when Hawke threw fireballs at Starkhaven is being posted, though irregularly until I finish posting Asta. It's called "Demands of the Champion", and I think I'm six chapters in? I was sick last week, so I got quite a lot of writing and editing done.
> 
> I'd also like to hear about whether people want to hear all the epilogues. Because there is a ton of epilogue material, most of it one shot type stuff. Some of Cassandra and Varric's is already in 'Demands', however, and more will be revealed, probably. Because I can't resist them.
> 
> I'm sorry, I'm so weak...
> 
> But if anyone has a specific person that they want to know what happens to, let me know and I'll make sure their sort-of end story gets posted - probably under a separate fic, title to be determined.


	158. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death by Maraas-Lok, fire and bees is courtesy of MarlenaWatches, who suggested a few chapters back that Leliana needs to die that way. She won't... but I loved the creativity, so I used it here. Thank you for letting me!

The Emprise du Lion was putting itself back into order, slowly, with the melting of their river, and reestablishment of their trading routes, but it was still cold, far too cold for the month of August. The Judacael Crossing, expertly repaired after more than a year of work, much to Cullen’s satisfaction, stretched out ahead of them, an icy pathway to their possible deaths.

And Bull was positively giddy. “This is going to be awesome,” he grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet to stay limber and warm. “Which one are we taking out first, Boss?”

Asta sighed, consulting her notes. “I think we should go either left or right, not the middle. There’s a chance that if we go that route, the other two would dive in and…”

“That. Would. Be. Awesome,” Bull’s face lit up. “Why can’t we do that?”

“Because we don’t want to die here,” Dorian contradicted. “We all have to get to the Exalted Council. This is just a pit stop.”

Asta was strapping on her crossbow. “Exactly,” she agreed. “We kill the dragons. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long. And then we get out of here, because Josie has threatened me with death by Maraas-Lok, fire and bees…”

“How does that work?” Cullen asked, confused.

“Alcohol is an accelerant,” Bull told him. “That’s creative. I need to spend more time with the Ambassador. She‘s scary and has _really_ good ideas.”

“Yes, well, creative or not, that is my fate if I don’t make it to Halamshiral _early_ ,” Asta stressed. “She told me about a thousand times that I cannot be late or even just on time, that I must be early, and then informed me, just to be sure, that she had booked all the advisors tickets to the Orlesian opera…”

Cullen groaned, “Not the opera…”

“You’re going to love it,” Asta reassured him, tightening the straps on the left arm of her new armor, designed to allow her access to change her prosthetics. “There are explosions, sometimes.”

“I thought opera was supposed to be singing in high pitched voices…” Cullen frowned.

“Not in Orlais,” Asta finished, matter of factly. “Are we doing this or not? Because if not, we should hit the road. But if we leave these people without killing their dragons again, they may kill us on the way out of town.” She surveyed her team, plus the Chargers, to accommodate their smaller group, and the possibility that the other dragons would feel threatened and join in. “Are we forgetting anything?”

“No,” Varric fitted his helm as he walked up. “But I have a very upset Seeker on my hands back at the village. So if we could just get this first one over with, I’d appreciate it. She’s not dealing with my refusal to let her participate well. That village is a mess, and she‘s trying to find something to throw.”

Asta rolled her eyes. “She’s pregnant. How would that be a good idea?”

“She’s not exactly rational right now, Quiz,” Varric sighed. “She hates not being able to do everything she used to, however exceptional she is. She is only acquiescing because she knows that if something happened to Squirt she would never forgive herself. Ellandra is keeping her company, and pointing that out at every opportunity, thank the Maker. She‘d kill me if I said it.”

“Did you bring enough pineapple?” Krem asked him.

“It doesn’t work every time,” Varric shifted his shoulders. “Let’s do this. Please. My future as a tolerated husband and resented father and somewhat disliked Viscount is riding on us getting out of here, fast.”

Asta double checked her gear, pulled on her helm and gritted her teeth. “Let’s go kill a dragon. Cullen, did we forget anything?”

“I have the bees,” Cullen shrugged. “Don’t hit your head and we’re good.”

The group marched across the bridge, listening to the screaming of the dragons. “Koslun’s Ass, that’s… that’s beautiful,” Bull sniffed, teary eyed. “Do we have to kill ‘em, Boss? Couldn’t we leave just one?” He leaned back, tracking a massive purple dragon through the sky.

“Don’t look at it like that,” Dorian grumped. Bull didn’t even flinch.

“I’m afraid not,” Asta sighed. “They’re too close to a village. You know that, Bull. Their young will take over too quickly. Just the fact that there are three right here…”

“Yeah, yeah, but nature needs predators,” Bull grumped, “so why can’t we leave one… just one…”

“Not these ones,” Asta was firm. “Not here.” Their armor made crunching sounds against the stone coated with crispy snow, leaving small footprints behind their path. “Is everyone sure they have everything? Did everyone wee?”

“Yes, mother,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “We’re ready. One would think you don’t want to…” Asta bit her lips. “Not you too,” he narrowed his eyes.

“They are pretty,” Asta admitted. “And nature does need predators.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “We have to kill them though. Really.”

“I know,” Asta sighed, resigned. “Let’s just do it.” They reached the edge of the bridge. “Left or right?” She asked, indecisive.

“Right,” Cullen replied positively, “It’s closer, and then we can take out the middle before the left side.”

Asta looked at him sadly. “We have to kill them, Inquisitor,” he reminded her again. “We can’t relocate them. There is no crate large enough to hold… no way to bait them…”

“I know,” she threw back. “But Cullen… we’ve been killing a lot of dragons… what if… what if we kill all the dragons? What if there are never any more dragons?! People thought they were extinct before! What if..”

“You left the one alive at the Darvaarad,” he reminded her irritably. “There will always be more dragons!”

“Not if we keep going on like this!” Asta threw her arms into the air, overbalancing her left and nearly hitting Krem with her crossbow. “Sorry, Krem,” she apologized. “I need to wear it more. Not used to how much room it takes up.”

“No worries, Inquisitor,” Krem sighed. “Are we going to kill the dragon? ‘Cause if not, I’d like to write to Ros and tell her about this ridiculous conversation we’re having about whether the three meat-eating predators that are nesting within ice-breath of a village need to die. I’m sure it’ll give her a laugh, and she could use one in the Western Approach.”

“Right,” Asta firmed up her resolve. “Let’s do this,” she repeated, but the spring in their step that they usually had upon approaching a dragon’s nest was missing.

Four hours later, Krem approached her, both of them bloody and exhausted. “I’ve got the crate back at camp,” he whispered. “Think you can distract the Chief for a few hours?”

“Of course,” Asta took a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to him about the eggs. You get the crate, get back out here, pack up the skull, and get back. We’ll find a way to drag it to camp tomorrow. Surely there’s something in the Emprise that will hold his interest…” She got an evil smile. “Dorian!” She called. “I have a favor to ask!”

“Thanks, Inquisitor,” Krem grinned. “This’ll be his best Nameday ever. He’ll be so shocked, I can’t wait.”

“Make sure you put my name on the card,” Asta laughed, “I got him some chocolate, but this is so much better…” She hugged herself happily. “I can’t wait to see his face.”

Cullen came up behind her, “Why didn’t you get me anything for my Nameday?” He asked plaintively. “I’ve had several since we were with the Inquisition and you never…”

“Josie said I shouldn’t,” Asta sighed. “At first because we weren’t together, and I was in charge, and then we were, but it wasn’t good to draw attention to it, and…”

Cullen nodded. “I see.” He still sounded disappointed.

“I did manage to talk her out of getting you an Orlesian suit of clothes,” she said, trying to mollify him. “And I was behind her finding out that you loved shortbread. So you might say…”

“That you gave me the shortbread,” Cullen sighed. “But it was from the Ambassador, not you.”

“After this, I will get you all the presents for your Nameday, love,” Asta smiled and stroked his cheek. “Can that be enough?”

Cullen hesitated. “I suppose, especially since I just realized I didn’t get you anything either. I’m being more than a little hypocritical.”

Asta blinked and laughed, “I never get anything for my Nameday. I never even thought about it.”

Cullen hesitated, “When is your Nameday?” he whispered, embarrassed. “Is it Bloomingtide?”

“Yes,” Asta prompted, “the 22nd.”

Cullen beamed, “I’ll never forget again.”

“You couldn’t forget,” Asta laughed, “You didn’t know in the first place!” She shook with laughter at her husband.

“So wait,” Cullen blanched, “We were in Ferelden, in South Reach, with my family, on your birthday and I didn’t tell them. Mia is going to kill me. With bees, and Maraas-Lok, and fire.”

“Possibly,” Asta admitted, still snickering with laughter. “Just to be clear,” she managed to pull herself under control. “Your Nameday is in Guardian, and it’s the…” she hesitated, panicking, “14th?” she asked weakly.

Cullen shook his head, feeling much better. “18th,” he corrected.

“Damn it, I’ll never remember it right, now,” Asta grumbled. “But at least when I get it wrong, I’ll get it wrong every year. And it will be early, rather than late.”

“It’s nice just to have someone know it,” Cullen smiled and touched the side of her face, brushing her hair back gently. “Sort of.”

***

“Another day, another dragon,” Krem sighed. “Inquisitor, there are more eggs here. Should we set them aside like…” he caught her frantic denial gestures too late.

“Asta,” Cullen marveled, “Are you keeping dragon eggs?” His eyes lit up. “Yes, this solves the relocation problem,” he grabbed her hand. “Yes, keep the eggs,” he told Krem. “Transport them back to Skyhold. Extras, if you can manage. We’ll contact Serault, have him dissect a few, learn what he can…” his words trailed off at the look of shock from his wife. “Do you disagree?” He asked slowly.

“No, that’s what I was having Krem do…” Asta said even more deliberately. “But I thought you’d argue with me. That‘s a massive meat-eating predator you are talking about trying to hatch.”

“I read Serault’s book too,” Cullen reminded her. “We need to learn what purpose they serve in the ecology before we wipe them out entirely. What if they are connected to the massive nug population? What if…”

Asta squeezed his hand. “You’ve been listening,” she smiled at him sweetly.

“To you, always,” Cullen leaned in for a kiss and met her lips briefly before Krem rolled his eyes and walked away to gather the eggs.

“That’s disgusting,” Dorian grumbled from behind them. “You’re married. When will you stop doing that stuff in public?”

“Never, I hope,” Asta tossed back at him, and smiled at her husband.

***

“The last one!” Bull slammed down, and separated the dragon’s head from its body.

“And we did three dragons in four days, with no major injuries,” Asta rotated her left arm, sore with holding up the crossbow. “And I even managed to hit that one a few times,” she grinned.

“You’re improving,” Varric admitted, tossing down his helm and collapsing onto a pile of rocks at the bottom of the coliseum. “I’d mostly make sure you’re stocked up on grenades though,” he grunted as she threw a regeneration potion at him and hit him in the head. “Or not, if that’s as good as your aim gets,” he teased. “Liable to take out friendly forces with that arm, Inquisitor.”

“Shut it,” Asta retorted. “I’m trying. All I can do is try. Give me some credit, I hit half of the dragonlings, at least.”

“I’m very impressed,” drawled Varric, and he pulled himself to his feet. “I’m getting back to Cass. Hopefully she hasn’t pulled down that excuse for an inn around her.”

“Tell her to be thankful that I’m not making her sleep in a tent with the rest of us,” Asta tossed back at him.

“Are you kidding? That’s where she wants to be!” Varric shook his head. “She’s just not the sort to want to be pampered. It’s rough, dealing with that.”

“Poor you,” Asta twisted her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Tell her I’ll be by later?”

“No way,” Varric pulled a grin, “I’m going to talk her into massaging these muscles. We’ll be busy, and I’ll be naked. Not admitting guests. Period.”

Asta giggled, “All right, I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Good enough,” Varric nodded. “See you ‘round, Asta, Curly.”

“Bye,” Asta sighed, and trudged back up the stairs to the top of the coliseum, where Cullen was staring at the collected dragon hoard. “Cullen?”

“Trying to decide what to send to Branson,” he admitted. “Do you think he’d prefer a battleaxe or a helm?”

“Huh,” Asta shrugged, “I have no idea. But his house is full of unusual objects. I bet he wouldn’t care, really. Just be excited to have something.” She hemmed and hawed, and said, “Send him the helm. He won’t want to leave the battleaxe out where the boys can reach it, but they can play with the helm without too much damage.”

“Good point,” Cullen grabbed the helm out of the pile of treasure. “Ready to move on?” He asked quietly.

“Yes,” Asta sighed. “We’ll send the scouts back to Skyhold with the treasure and the eggs. The skull comes with us to Halamshiral, so the Chargers can throw Bull his party. The planning has been a massive thing, apparently, and Krem might explode if he doesn’t get to be there.”

“That would be messy,” Cullen chuckled.

That night Asta sat in front of the trunk in her tent staring at the birth preventative she had taken every month for years, and then popped the wax seal and drank it deliberately, feeling very positive about her decision. This wasn’t the time. She had an entire continent to bluff in the biggest game of Wicked Grace Thedas had ever seen.

She didn’t have time for anything else, and once again wasn’t entirely sure she ever would, but an entire continent was counting on her, and she just didn’t have the time to think about it.

The Council couldn’t wait for her to argue with herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up... back to Halamshiral. I really hope it's good. Might not make it up today, though. I really want to get this right! We got so little of the Council itself, and I want to touch on quite a few things... I hope it won't be boring.


	159. Ain't My Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Five Finger Death Punch's 'Ain't My Last Dance'. It's a little angrier in tone than Asta is feeling right now, but... the words are perfect. Warning for explicit language depending on the version, though. Though... if you were going to object to language you've probably stopped reading this fic entirely.
> 
> Herein lies the Game. You've been warned. ;) Let's dance, shall we?
> 
> (I really hope this works. So intimidating, writing politics. Why did we save Orlais again?)

The Inquisition met outside of Halamshiral at an established camp, before entering the city proper. The portion of the Inquisition’s armies that waited - officers, soldiers and scouts - were only nominally under the command of Captain Rylen. Ambassador Josephine was issuing the orders when Asta’s group, plus the Chargers, arrived, messy and tired, but determined.

“Finally,” she fussed. “Get changed. Everyone in dress uniforms, now. Bull, that means you _must_ wear a shirt.  Boots shined, dress prothesis, Inquisitor. You must all look impeccable. It needs to be perfect. Everything must be beyond exception for this to work as it should. And with that, let our plans not be passed between us again until we have established that a location is completely secure, with both mages and scouts, and an armed guard.” She sighed, more than a little nervous, and it showing in her hands and gestures.

“Control, Josie,” Asta whispered. “Find your mask.”

“I will,” Josie assured her. “I cope this way. I let myself fuss, and then in the moment… I am calm. It will go swimmingly, I assure you.”

“Well, if it doesn’t, we’re sunk,” Asta laughed. “I can’t swim.” Josie did not laugh. “Sorry, Josie. I’m just not funny any longer, I suppose.”

“This is no time for humor,” Josie criticized. “Save the bad jokes for afterwards, when we walk away with everything.”  Her eyes flashed with determination.

“Deal,” Asta said, and stiffened in resolve. “This is it. I’ll go get dressed, and make sure Cullen looks as pretty as he should.”

“Excellent,” Josie smiled. “Make sure he knows he’s bait. He’ll be angry, and we need him angry. All part of the plan, Inquisitor. He needs to enter Halamshiral with a massive scowl on his altogether too attractive face.” She turned away, “And make sure that Dane gets a bath, and looks like it! Don’t let him… roll in anything… unattractive.”

“As you say, Ambassador,” Asta bowed beautifully. “We are clay in your hands to mold as you see fit. Send someone to do my hair?”

“Immediately,” Josie sighed. “At least it is slightly longer at the moment. Gives us more options.”

***

The Inquisition rode in a massive column into Halamshiral, their armor glinting in the setting sun, the crowds parting before them, throwing flowers and olive branches. Asta led them, looking nearly regal, her hair pulled back into a battle braid so tight that her scalp hurt, and columbines threaded through it - looking feminine but not weak, and her choice of flowers once again spelling out their intention to win. Her prosthesis’ jewels flared green and purple - Dorian had cast a glamour on it so that it would constantly refract, even without a source of light. There was no sign of weakness, from her, or the advisors behind her, Josie nodding and waving politely to acquaintances, outwardly blissfully unconcerned with where they were headed.

Cullen rode with a sneer and a scowl, and Dane trotted behind him, both looking considerably grumpy. Cullen’s dress armor was brilliantly shiny - people literally averted their eyes, the same glamour that had been applied to Asta’s prosthetic attachment applied to his silverite. Dane had a studded collar, and for once wasn’t panting and looking demented, grumpiness lending to his impression of being a warrior hound, instead of just an absurdly intelligent and overly affectionate pet.

Behind them, Rylen and Harding rode, slightly less shiny, but even more intent on their surroundings, and armed to the hilt, with the remains of Asta‘s Inner Circle: Varric, Bull, Dorian, Cassandra and Cole. And then… the Inquisitor’s Honor Guard - a long line of the Inquisition’s finest, all in dress uniform, and looking intimidating in a way that no one had ever seen before. These were not idealistic do-gooders, this was a conquering army, riding into Halamshiral as if they owned it.

And it was all going to plan. Asta allowed herself to meet the eyes of children, and took a few flowers gently when they were bravely offered. She was of the people, even as she tried to outmaneuver the nobility and Chantry. She tucked the blooms in her hair, behind her ear and into her saddle, and smiled at all of them, watching the other players’ scouts, bards and spies scramble away to the Winter Palace with her approach.

No one saw her shaking and she wouldn’t let them see her fear. At this moment, she was only the Inquisitor, and whatever else happened - well, even if no one else knew, she would still have that.

The assassin’s arrow came at that moment, and only Dorian’s previously cast barrier saved her. But the crowd parted, and several people drug the offender forward, as Cullen dismounted and approached him, growling along with Dane. “Who sent you?”

“I will not say!” Cullen threw him in the direction of Rylen. “Take custody of him. We’ll get what we need.” He turned back and nodded deliberately at Asta who nodded back in appreciation, inwardly smirking.

Sera’s Friend went willingly enough, and Asta’s mental smile was huge. Now, the people’s loyalty would make it directly to the Chantry, and beyond. The people would never stand to lose their Inquisitor.

All according to plan.

The rest of the trip to the Winter Palace was dull - there wasn’t any point in excess displays of power - they had made their point well enough. Their horses were gathered, and removed before the gates, and Cullen took his Inquisitor’s arm to guide her through, the Ambassador directly behind. The Chatelaine took them to their rooms in the Guest Apartments - far more elaborate than they had been in even while investigating the Crossroads, much to Josie’s satisfaction - and Dorian and two other mages cast muffling spells and scouts scoured them for possible security breaches, as Asta and her advisors and inner circle stayed silent and surrounded by guards. The rooms were cleared, and all the guards but two departed, those taking their posts outside the door. Finally, Asta took a deep breath.

“Well, I thought that went well!”

The Ambassador scowled, “Well enough, though the Commander will need to work on staying angry. Have a fight, you two, or you’ll give it all away. Perhaps over the hordes of women here still pining away. Commander, if you don’t stay mad, you’ll ruin everything.”

“I have just the thing,” Asta laughed, “I have a letter from Mia about Ros. Take it, Commander. Keep it with you, and for the love of all that is holy, stay angry. Ambassador, you‘ve arranged for the ‘assassin‘ to be pardoned publicly?” The Ambassador inclined her head. “Excellent.”

“I will try,” Cullen murmured, taking the letter, a little frightened, by more than the letter. “Are there really hordes of women here after me?”

“Masses,” the Ambassador deadpanned, “and men as well. Anger, Commander. Fury, Commander. There are at least ten that Harding has told me about that want your wife either dead or in bed, and they will both be doing everything they can to accomplish that while they have the opportunity. Channel everything you’ve ever been angry about, ever.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a weak link,” Cullen’s eyes narrowed.

“Better,” approved the Ambassador. “Be livid with me. I can take it. But you _are_ the weak link, Commander, and we can’t risk this outcome on your skills at Wicked Grace. Better for you to be angry all the time.” She turned to leave the room. “I am going to go get things arranged the way they should be. You two are at liberty until tomorrow night, when we will meet for the opera.” She glared briefly at the Commander. “All of us. I would suggest you use the time wisely, to place yourselves in visible places to talk to some of the diplomats, and perhaps… we‘ll get lucky and make a few alliances. That is what I will be doing.”

“Can I least take my hair down?” Asta asked plaintively. “It hurts.”

“Absolutely not,” Josie left the room. “Don’t ask silly questions.”

***

The Ambassador burst into their room the next morning without knocking, slamming in on Asta having her hair done in yet another complicated braid, but this time a few blooms of Andraste’s Grace were set aside for inclusion. “Lovely,” she complimented, slamming the door and then relaxing. “It’s going very well,” she enthused, door safely shut. “Cullen is giving the impression of having his dog one order away from tearing people apart…” she eyed them both, “Did you have that fight? Because you seem… tense.”

“No,” Cullen growled, “We’re not fighting. I’m just…”

“He read the letter from his sister, and she ripped him a new one for letting Ros get involved with a Tevinter mercenary,” Asta supplied. “And then he found out I told her, and…”

“But you aren’t fighting?” Josie looked confused.

“No,” Cullen scowled. “Don’t pry.”

“She’s a grown woman,” Asta sighed. “And she’s hundreds of miles away from Krem right now.”

“Tell Mia that,” Cullen growled, “I agree with you.  This is what happens when I actually write to my sister, Asta.  She takes my words and finds fault with them!”

“I will, in my next letter,” Asta promised.  "She only criticizes because she cares, Cullen."

“In any case, it’s working,” Josie beamed. “So keep it up.”

“Fine,” Cullen bit out. “What time is the opera? We have to give Bull a dragon skull for his Nameday, but obviously, we can‘t be late for the opera. Maker forbid we miss the opera in favor of spending time with a friend on his Blighted Nameday.”

Asta sighed, calmly, "You're going to love the opera.  Quit complaining.  We'll be able to do both easily enough."

***

“You guys!” Bull wiped tears away, staring at his own personal dragon skull, slightly stinky and in the middle of the closest tavern to Halamshiral. “I just… I don’t know what to say. You don’t get Nameday gifts in the Qun, cause… no names. I didn’t even realize you guys knew when I took the name the Iron Bull.” He lifted a massive mug and drank to hide his emotions.

“More gifts,” chirped Dorian, seeing that he needed a distraction, and handed him a small box.

“What’s this?” Bull ripped off the paper and crumpled it gently in his fist. “Kadan, what’s this thing?”

“It’s a speaking crystal,” Dorian explained softly. “This way, when I’m in Tevinter and you’re… not… we can still… talk.”  He blushed.

“Fuck, Kadan,” Bull choked up. “You really are trouble.”

“Yes, yes, I love you, too,” Dorian waved his hand. “I’ll show you how to work it later. We can talk every night, if you want,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’ll want,” Bull pulled him in and kissed him on the cheek. “This is the best Nameday party ever.”

Dorian shoved at him ineffectually, "Yes, well, they're very rare and very expensive, and I had to have it sent from... so don't lose it, Amatus."

"No worries, Kadan," Bull whispered.

“It’s your first Nameday party, Chief,” Krem bantered. “Hard to top what you’ve never had.”

“Can it, Krem,” but he smiled. “So what do we do now? Is there cake? Is there drinking? Can we get Cullen drunk enough to sing in Qunlat?”

“Cake!” Asta pushed in a massive chocolate confection. “And no, I did not make it, so don’t make that face, Bull. And no, Cullen and I have to leave early, to attend the opera. Josie‘s orders, and Josie‘s in charge right now.” She looked regretful, and pouted, “I’d stay if I could. I haven’t seen Cullen sing in Qunlat.  Maybe a rain check?”

“She makes wonderful shortbread,” Cullen said softly, beaming at his wife, to anyone that was listening. Cassandra rolled her eyes while Varric chortled and Dane huffed irritably, still mad about the collar and daily baths.

Bull got all choked up again. “It’s chocolate and everything… this is too much. I love you guys, I really do.”

***

Cullen stared, transfixed, at the stage, and then stood, as if pulled up by an invisible string, and started to clap, steady and then faster and faster. “Bravo!” He yelled, and an additional two explosions made him cheer even louder in an ungainly whoop that made their neighbors in the nearby boxes turn their heads in shock. “Ambassador, that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Can we do this every night while we are here?!” He enthused. “Did you see the way they portrayed Dorian? The flashes and sparks? And the Empress! And Hawke… I‘ve never really seen things from her point of view before. She‘s so strong, and her story is so tragic! And the backdrop of the Breach over Haven - I felt like we were back there.” He sat back down in his seat, exhausted, and ran his hand through his hair. “That was amazing. Mia will never believe me.”

Asta and the Ambassador exchanged smug looks, but it was Asta who spoke. “I told you that you’d love it.” She leaned towards the Ambassador, “Pay the playwright and composer a bonus. That was excellently done. Has the Empress seen it?”

“Last night,” Josie murmured in return. “She loved it, according to Briala. She’s definitely with us, whatever her nobles try to wring out in the Council or behind the scenes.”

“Excellent,” Asta murmured. “Let me know what the other members of the Council think as they see it?” She eyed Cullen, who was spinning around in his chair, discussing the finer parts of the performance with Rylen, namely, Adamant.

“The battering ram! Did you see the ram? And the rock with the inscription!” Rylen bust out laughing. “That was the best part - and Hawke and the Inquisitor dancing on the ramparts with demons falling before them!”

“Hawke would die of horror if she realized that they set her fighting style to music,” Cullen grinned.

Harding leaned forward, drawing the attention of the two women. “Ladies, I think we should try to make a not so discreet exit. I see at least two people from my vantage point that are distinctly unhappy. Inquisitor… you’re in the middle. You can’t protect yourself with that… thing,” she eyed the dress prosthesis. “But make sure it catches the light, all the same. Everyone here should see that you are moving.”

“Absolutely,” Asta stood and her gown rippled down around her perfectly, a dark green velvet woven with white Edelweiss for courage, with the real flower tucked liberally into her complicated hairstyle. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone who came for a sight of me.” Cullen rolled his eyes. “Hush,” she smiled at him slyly. “And look pretty.”

“And mad,” Josie reminded him. “You look far too happy right now.”

“The Inquisitor looks pretty enough for both of us,” Cullen complimented, and kissed her hand before he tucked it into his arm.

“Good, but anger would be better than gallantry,” Josie criticized. “Asta, didn’t you say that Mia was furious about Krem?” Cullen scowled immediately. “Better,” she smiled. “Shall we?”

The lobby of the opera house was mobbed with people that had fought to reach it before the Inquisitor could descend from her box. “There she is! The Inquisitor!” And an entire room of nobles knelt at once, saluting.

“Don’t do that,” Asta smiled sweetly, “Please.” She helped them rise, as Cullen hovered protectively and scowled menacingly at their easy submission. “It was a wonderful opera, wasn’t it? I cried, remembering, when Haven fell,” she sighed, and shut her eyes, not acting for the moment. “That was a horrible night,” she shuddered. “I’ll never forget seeing Corypheus for the first time.”

“Inquisitor, how did you like the actress portraying you?” A brave woman asked, with stars in her eyes.

“She was far prettier than me,” Asta laughed lightly. “She has my compliments. And I wish I could meet her. I think she plays the Game far better than I ever could. That performance at the peace talks! If I had only been able to manage! I would like to take notes.” After that she allowed herself to be steered towards the entrance and the waiting carriage, and allowed to relax, if only for a moment as the curtains were pulled and her companions arranged themselves and the driver clucked the horses into movement.

“Report,” she said then, letting her exhaustion show.

“It went perfectly,” Josie beamed, keeping her voice down, even though the driver and footmen were their own. “The Council hasn’t begun, but we - you - are definitely the star of the show, Inquisitor. Everyone will wait to see what you do before they counter.”

Cullen was watching her worriedly. “Are you all right, Asta?”

“I have to be,” she sighed, and tried to see out the sliver of a window the curtain wasn’t blocking. “I have to be.” But her eyebrows didn’t unwrinkle until they reached the Palace and had to descend from the carriage.

 


	160. Question Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from another Five Finger Death Punch song "Question Everything". This is one is nearly exactly what Asta is thinking. I highly recommend a listen. Just... kind of keep it hanging around for the rest of the Council, if you are taking any of my (terrible) music suggestions.
> 
> Second Chapter of the Day!

Leliana arrived the next day, and left Josephine cross, with her white gowns and serene countenance, though the people whispered and looked a little frightened instead of approaching her directly. “Don’t worry, Josie,” Asta told her later, “We knew she played well. You can do this.”

“I’ve never beaten her at Wicked Grace,” Josie admitted, wringing her hands. “We’ve played often, but she always wins… and you’ve never played her at all.”

“Then she just needs to be reminded that we aren’t necessarily on the opposite side,” Asta leaned in, and looked at the notes in front of her. “Can you get a message to Sera? We need to send her a gift,” Asta looked a little wicked, “Her own shoes, perhaps?”

“What…. All of them?” Cullen started to laugh. “Who else but her own Left Hand to deliver such a present.”

“All of them,” Josie’s eyes shone. “Inquisitor, she can’t appear in public without…”

“Wardrobe malfunctions are death in court,” Asta paraphrased Vivienne, missing the mage a bit. “This is just… a bit more personal. And will remind her she’s still… people.”

“That is evil,” Josie’s eyes were still shining. “It will either work or she’ll never forgive you.”

“Only if Sera still plays,” Asta contradicted. “She’s been scared of Leliana forever. And this is bigger than any prank.”

“I’ll contact Sera,” Harding swung her legs down from her chair. “I can’t wait to see how this goes. Inquisitor, I’m more scared of you than ever, but Josie… you‘re petrifying.”

“Thank you, Lace,” Josie smiled at the compliment. “I try.”

***

“Course I’ll do it,” Sera slammed in without fanfare two hours later. “Wanting to pull something on her since I started. Was thinking along the lines of jam, but this is better.”

“You will?” Asta spun around with excitement. “Really?”

Sera stared at her elaborate prosthesis. “What is that thing? Makes you look… I dunno. Odd. Whatever. And yeah, I’m in. Shoes, right? Not hard. Rooms are guarded, but I get in easy. Getting ‘em out…” she shrugged. “Just have someone in the garden to catch ‘em from the window. She’ll know it was me, but that’s just fine. She gets in my face, I quit, and take her secrets with me. What do you want me to do with them?”

Asta face furrowed, “I was thinking of lining them up by the fountain, but that seems… a little too pointed. And cluttered. I’m wondering now whether we can’t temporarily dispose of them all, except for one pair. The pair with the buckles I gave her. Left with a note.”

“’People have only one pair‘,” Sera snorted. “If that. Saves her face, gets the point across and reminds her what she keeps saying she wants the Chantry to be…”

“We’ll deliver the rest back to a local Chantry, anonymously, a day later, with a note saying who they belong to, forcing her to wear the pair we gave her for an entire day in public, and she gets her precious shoes back,” Josie smiled. “And she’s made what could be considered a public display of support in favor of the Inquisition.”

“Harding, make sure that none of the local shops are selling shoes that day. Sera, if you would…“ Asta hesitated. “Could you make sure she can’t borrow any from her clerics that wear the same size?” Sera cackled wickedly. “Only one victim, and that privately. Point made?” She asked her Ambassador. “It’s more elaborate than what I was originally thinking…”

“Perfectly,” Josie nodded. “And we don’t burn our bridges entirely. It could work.”

“But will it?” Asta countered bluntly.

“Let’s find out,” Josie smiled. “I haven’t played against Leliana in far too long. She’s going to enjoy this as much as we are.”

***

The Divine’s note was simple.

_I had forgotten. I will wear the shoes I am given. What do you want, Asta?_

Asta read it, hands shaking. “It worked,” she laughed incredulously. “It worked. Josie…”

“We’re ready,” Josie poised her quill above her parchment. “Just tell me what to say.”

Asta smiled in victory, “We’re done with the Game until the Council starts. From here on out, let’s keep it all in the open, like it should be.” She stared at her advisors, face beaming. “We have Teagan…”

“We do,” Cullen smiled. “Walked up to me, as pleasant as anything, and we had a nice conversation about his family’s role during the Blight. He even inquired about his nephew, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that.  Told him he was thriving in Val Chevin, that he was an exemplary healer.  He seemed... almost proud.”

“Good,” Josie made a note. “Excellent. He’s accepted you as an equal. That will help when we testify.”

“We have Celene,” Asta continued.

“We most certainly do,” Harding laughed. “Varric’s little hints about her personal affairs have her and Briala jumping to our tune. I don‘t think we have to worry about her. She‘s only as powerful as we let her be. She has also been subtly reminded that she owes you her throne twice over.”

“We have Kirkwall,” Asta sighed. “We don’t have Ostwick.”

“That was, unfortunately, out of our circle of influence,” Josie reminded her. “And Starkhaven will not even speak to me. Not surprising, considering the Inquisition‘s stance on their attempted invasion, if disappointing.”

“Nevarra? Antiva? Rivain?”

“We have Antiva,” Josie looked as satisfied as a cat who had gorged herself on cream. “Don’t ask, because I won’t tell. Nevarra is… up in the air. Cassandra refuses to get involved, naturally, but I have pointed out that our help has spared their sovereign and country from its own civil war of succession, even while we donated that lovely set of armor for his burial. I‘m not sure they are convinced it was a mercy, however. Many of the citizens of that country would just rather King Markus hurried up and died already, considering his age and lack of heir, just to get it over with. Rivain is with us - they have stated publicly that they approve our support of free mages. And after Dairsmud…” Josie sighed, “That was a great tragedy.”

“And the rest are all minor players,” Asta sighed. “We’ve done it. We’ve pulled it off.”

“If nothing changes during the proceedings,” Josie face grew stern. “It’s too soon. You may still be exiled, and the Inquisition would be without a leader.”

Asta waved the letter in the air. “On the contrary, Josie, the Divine asked me what I want. I have it in writing. I think I can write my own ending.”

“And what do you want, Asta?” Cullen echoed as Harding clapped her hands to her mouth in excitement that her plan was working.

Asta grinned in victory, “Everything. I want it all, if we can get it. All three Keeps and dedicated support and…” and then her voice trailed off and she looked at their War Map, staring at all the heraldry and markers indicating support, and the white strings that tied them all to her own marker on Skyhold and her face went white with terror. “Fuck…” she swallowed. “What am I doing?! I almost… I…” she let her head fall back. “Sister Dorcas, I‘m sorry,” she sighed, and opened her eyes. “I want just enough. We need Skyhold, and we need…” she looked at Cullen, saddened to the point of being unable to continue. “I need a moment to think,” she said softly. She unstrapped her fancy prosthesis and put it on the table. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, even more quietly, and left the room, all three advisors left staring at her in shock. “I’ll be back when I’ve cleared my head.”

“Go after her,” Josie muttered at Cullen. “She’s your wife, and she’s unarmed in Halamshiral. Just… go.” She sat down hard in a chair and stared blankly at the work she had done as if trying to figure out where she had made a mistake as Harding fidgeted awkwardly in confusion, the tone of the room changed completely in a matter of a minute.

Cullen hurried out of the room, his hand on his sword to stop the shaking of his hands.

He followed her at a distance, winding her way slowly to the roof of the building, lost in thought. She was lucky - no one was looking for her at all, as she stood and looked out over the city, the sun setting on the day before the Council was due to begin, and yet, for her, it was already over. She had won, and she was looking as if she had just lost everything.

“What do you want?” She asked impatiently. “I just need to think.”

“You,” Cullen said simply. “And I could ask you the same question, if I cared to be redundant. You’ve left Josie nearly catatonic, and you left the room without any way of protecting yourself.”

“I’ve lost,” Asta was blunt. “Not the Game. Fuck, I’ve won that, maybe for all time, but I’ve lost myself entirely, Cullen. I was setting myself up an empire in there - Orlais, Ferelden, and all the rest squatting around, and me, a giant spider in her cave in the Frostbacks, pulling their strings in to devour them one by one. Didn’t you see it? I’m a monster.” She stared out over the city, paler than pale, and breathing too quickly. “I would never have left,” she whispered. “We would never have had time for us. We would never have had any of the things that either of us wanted when we started out.” She turned, not meeting his eyes. “Sister Dorcas warned me about letting the power go to my head, about the temptation of it. And it almost happened. It might already be too late.”

Cullen replied, still confused. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” The impatience colored his voice. “Asta, we’ve been working towards this for years! It‘s all right there - public support for the Inquisition as a separate institution from the Chantry! We might not even have to split off the army to the Seekers!”

“Yes,” Asta swallowed and met his eyes. “And no,” she started to breathe too quickly. “I don’t want to be a spider,” she whimpered. “I didn’t want to be the Divine for that exact reason…”

“You’re not a spider, you have the best intentions!”

“Intentions aren’t good enough,” Asta shouted. “YOU told me that! It’s not enough, it’s never enough. I could make them love me, and they’d never know the truth!” She turned back away. “They already think they love me. It may already be too late, unless I…” her face flashed in sudden comprehension. “Unless I change the Inquisition, take it back to where it should be. Mages, Templars and Seekers, scholars and soldiers all working together, trying to help and heal breaches.” She took a deep breath, “And that’s only if I don’t resign. I should _resign_ , I should drop everything and _run_ …”

“And if you do that you’ll leave a lot of people in the lurch,” Cullen spat angrily, “including me.”

Asta smiled sadly, “You could run with me.”

Cullen, took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and held his hand out, “I would, but you know you shouldn’t. Come here, Asta. Let me help you.” She took it, hesitantly, and he pulled her in, slowly. “So what do you need to do?” He asked her at last, arms wrapped around her back, her face against the fur of his coat. “It seems to me this is nothing but cold feet, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re convinced is wrong, either.”

“I need to talk to everyone, let them know plans have changed,” Asta sighed. “I need to stand before the Council and hand them a very, very simple list - Skyhold, and the Gallows, because it’s not being used, and Orlais can have Griffon Wing, just as Ferelden can take Bronach. I’m going to suggest that they each staff people at Suledin, since they are so close to the Frostbacks. Maybe they can learn to like each other, or at least work together.”

Cullen snorted, “Idealist. You can‘t expect them to take your advice unless you enter from a position of power.”

“Yes, well, I never denied that I was an idealist,” Asta whispered. “And then… I’m going to tell them that they should exile me, and that I will leave willingly in a few months, if they give me the time to set the Inquisition in order and arrange to have someone do my local duties while I… run things from my self-imposed exile. More of a step back, so that I can bring myself back into focus than exile, really.”

“Where to?” Cullen rubbed her back.

“Somewhere else. Luckily, I’m not who most of them think I am, so no one will be looking for my name on a ship’s roll, wherever I end up.”

“I’m going with you,” Cullen laughed, “I’m not inconspicuous.” Asta just nodded against him in acceptance.

“We’ll have to figure it out,” she sighed, “But I’m too tired to keep going tonight. I’m not going to tell anyone but Rylen and Harding and Josie and our friends wherever we decide, so… it will wait.” She pulled back. “Let’s go break the news to Josie that we’re folding.”

“All right,” Cullen said softly. “I’m behind you, but I still think this is a mistake.” And they wound their way back down to their chambers, nearly in silence.

“Absolutely not,” Asta hadn’t expected Josie to refuse, and she frowned at the Ambassador. “They won’t listen unless you go in there radiating power. Your mistake was forgetting this was a bluff and getting too greedy, not the bluff itself. I won’t let you make that mistake. If you had tried, I would have stopped you. You never, ever, raise your own bet, and you were about to do just that.” Josie sighed. “We will go in, and you will do your job, but you will come out with nothing at all if you fold your hand now. That serves no one.”

Harding spoke softly, “I can understand, Inquisitor, that you dislike the subterfuge, but you do have the upper hand. And nothing else has changed.”

“I told you before that the Inquisition could manage without you for some time,” Josie continued bluntly, “We are used to you making decisions from the field, not in Skyhold. We will cope, so if you must punish yourself like this, then ask for your exile, as ridiculous as it may be. But our goals were simple, Inquisitor, and none of them involved you setting yourself up as a shadow empress. I’d kill you myself before I let that happen.” Harding was nodding from the background.

Asta shuddered, “I believe you,” and she took a deep breath. “All right. What should I say?”

Josie smiled in renewed approval, “I think you already know. Take it back to the beginning, Inquisitor. They‘re all listening and I think it may be time for a lecture.”

Cullen spoke up, almost too quietly to hear, "And this time, they've actually come hoping to hear one."

Asta took a deep breath, attempting to center herself, "Then by all means, we shouldn't disappoint them."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of the actual Council will probably be up tomorrow. I'm so intimidated. I hope I manage to pull this off. I'm more stressed out than Asta! Whew!
> 
> Also, there's another chapter up on Demands of a Champion. :D It's short.


	161. Holding Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the Council begins...

Asta stood straight the next day, her hair braided with magnolias for perseverance, her dress prosthesis shining like her former mark itself in the all too overwhelming light in the Council chambers, in charge and the center of attention even from her lower viewpoint than those seated on the dais, who were looking at her list of demands and frowning in thought and disapproval respectively.

“As you can see, what the Inquisition needs is limited,” she stated clearly. “You are all, if you fail to agree, subject to my armies. You all know, probably better than I, how that would work out, but the Inquisition is not just an army. We’re mages, and scholars, and Seekers and Templars, and ordinary people that want to make this world better. We want to continue to do that. So… I have a proposal.” Asta met the Divine’s eyes. “An Exalted March upon elves, or upon Tevinter, or upon anyone else that you can think of would be a colossal mistake. You know that, however much you want someone to blame or punish. You don’t have the army, you don’t have the people supporting you. The army and the people are mine, however misguided they both may be. Another war is not the answer, and the people that were responsible for the Breach - the people that you might be able to march against - are either dead, or not a threat.”

She took a deep breath, and kept speaking through an increasingly dry throat. “I have no wish to rule an empire, no wish to set myself up as a Queen or take any further titles. That is not why I was made the Inquisitor. I was made the Inquisitor for three reasons, and those goals were the goals of the Inquisition. We would close the Breach, find out who was responsible, and restore order to Thedas.” She flashed a quick smile to Cassandra who nodded in recognition and appreciation. “We have accomplished two out of the three, but we’ve still a long path to travel before we accomplish the third. Thedas is a disaster. We’re ignorant, and the Inquisition is our best hope of changing that. I want to set Skyhold up as more than a peacekeeping institution. We need our scholars, independent of the Chantry, so that they aren’t viewing everything through the spectacles of an incomplete Chant! Our most beloved scholars have been educated by the Chantry, work for the Chantry, and their lives are spent in the Chantry. That needs to change in order for us to discover the truth of our history and what we need to change in the present to make a better future. The Inquisition is poised to discover the truth.” She smiled, shark-like, “I’m very good at asking the right questions, and eventually, I will figure out the answers, one way or another. I’m driven by my questions, Most Holy, honored ladies and gentlemen. Do you really want to risk your control by refusing my demands? Would you like to push yourself between me and the answers to all my questions?”

A mutter ran through the room but the Divine didn’t react, except by shifting her feet to let Asta see the shoes she was wearing. “We have very little choice, Inquisitor. All that you say is true, however those of us present would prefer to see it otherwise. I believe we will do as you ask,” she said quietly, “If you are sure that’s what you want.”

Asta nodded, “That is what I want. In return, the Inquisition will continue to unravel Fen’Harel’s plans, to determine whether he poses a danger or not. Commander Rutherford will continue to oversee the Inquisition‘s army, and will see them distributed between both the Gallows in Kirkwall and Skyhold in the Frostbacks. We will stay politically neutral, whenever possible, and offer our services, as we have been, in matters of forging alliances and averting assassinations and wars. We will also continue to look into matters of a scholarly persuasion, and share what we learn with everyone.”

The Divine frowned, “None of these demands is extreme, Inquisitor, though we will have some debate about the size of your armies, I assure you. But the last item on your list seems… unusual. Why do you wish to be exiled? Is that really in the best interest of the Inquisition and Thedas?”

Asta laughed slightly, “No, Most Holy, but I think that’s what I need. My influence has grown too powerful here, and I need to remind myself that I’m people.” She caught Sera’s eyes from where she stood behind the Divine, and Sera made a face at her in approval. “I have some Friends that I think will help me with that,” she admitted.

Leliana nodded, ever so slightly. “I see. We will discuss it further when we reach the outcome of your trial. For now, we have more to discuss than the fate of the Inquisition. So let us move on. We will need to speak to Commander Cullen Rutherford, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Viscount Varric Tethras, about red lyrium and lyrium in general.“ The people in question stood and made their way to the front of the room to stand next to the Inquisitor and Ambassador.

“It is our understanding that you have managed to break your addiction to Lyrium,” the Nevarran Grand Cleric leaned forward curiously, “I admit, I am surprised. I’m sure my colleagues agree with me that we’ve never heard of any other Templar managing to do such a thing.”

Cullen growled, “That is a personal matter. But I will discuss it in private, if you insist. My choices are my own, not those of the Inquisition.”

“I would… appreciate that,” the cleric replied. “I will set up a time with your Ambassador, if that is agreeable.” Cullen inclined his head, assenting, if rather grumpily.

The Divine sat back and looked at him carefully, “We would like to discuss what you, the Inquisitor and Seeker Pentaghast know about the nature of lyrium.”

“Of course, Your Holiness,” Cullen murmured far more gently, and Cassandra stood and joined him, Asta, and Josie behind their table. “I believe you have seen our conclusions after the Inquisitor's trip through the Deep Roads.”

“Yes,” the Divine admitted. “It is hard to believe that such a thing exists, so far beneath us.”

“I, for one, find it hard to believe that these… Titans… exist at all!” Teagan argued. “Something out of a dwarven fairy tale, and…”

“Do you doubt my honesty, Arl Teagan?” Cullen’s eyebrows drew in. “I assure you, at least one exists, and lyrium flows through its veins. We have a mage willing to testify to his reaction when he came into contact with it - at some embarrassment to himself. It’s all in the report, Arl Teagan. We left nothing out.”

“But that means…” the slightly timid Cleric from Ansburg inserted, “that it is blood…”

“And all lyrium-fueled magic is blood magic, yes,” Cassandra concluded point-blank.

Asta cut in, “We were unable to determine if the Titans are actually harmed with mining, and as a result, we believe it would be best to curtail…” Josie put a hand on her arm and she stopped talking, very reluctantly.

“That’s impossible,” a Dwarven representative stood up, panicking, “You can’t just do that!”

The Divine slammed her hand down, “Representative Darl, you will sit down! We are discussing it, not drawing conclusions at this time. The entire Council and the Inquisition is aware of the state of Orzamaar’s economy!” He settled down, mollified for the moment. “Continue, Inquisitor.”

Asta took a breath, “I realize that trade would not cease entirely, because we still have Templars who take the lyrium, and certain spells and experiments make it necessary. But more moderation would be recommended by the Inquisition at this time.”

“Will all your former Templars continue to take it?” This came from the very intent Nevarran Grand Cleric.

Cassandra spoke, “We intend to offer them the option, and make it their choice. They will not be leashed, Grand Cleric. The Inquisition will not repeat the mistakes of the Templar order.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Seeker Pentaghast,” she sighed. “I admit, I hate to see Templars lose themselves to their lyrium. If we could prevent that…” she shifted back in her chair. “I’m sorry to derail the discussion, Most Holy.”

“That is quite all right, Grand Cleric,” Leliana replied, “We’ve all been under the impression that lyrium addiction is a one way street and many of us have friends and loved ones that have been lost. It is not a sin to be passionate about the subject.”

Asta spoke softly, “And it remains to be seen whether or not the Commander will… retain his memories or if his decades of use will impact him in some way in the future.”

The Nevarran Grand Cleric looked at him with pity. “I imagine that must be hard to face.”

Cullen spoke up, rather brittle in his impatience, “However, I can safely say that rather than my memories leaving, I actually remember more than I did while taking the lyrium. Memories of my childhood, as well as… some of the more gruesome things that occurred while I was serving are far more vivid. It is a double edged sword, but I’d rather take all the good with all of the bad than lose some of both.” He sighed, irritated, and grasped his dress sword‘s hilt, “Can we move away from my anecdotes? They do not have any significance to this discussion. If all of you are determined to delve into my personal life, at least buy me an ale first.” Chuckles rolled through the room.

Teagan’s mouth twitched, “I think that’s wise.” He met Cullen’s eyes. “I will take you up on that, Commander.” Cullen nodded sidewise with a jerk.

Hours passed of more questions, and Asta ran out of answers too quickly. “We just don’t have enough information,” she answered at last. “But this is something that the College of Enchanters and the Inquisition could look into jointly, with the assistance of the Seekers, to observe the effects on any Templars that cease their draughts.”

Several Council members sighed, dissatisfied. “That will have to do, I suppose,” the Divine allowed. “We need more information, and you are right, you are uniquely poised to provide it.”

Asta couldn’t repress her smile, “Thank you, Most Holy.” She clenched her fist in victory, aware that they had just been given their first formal inquest by the Council. “I will make sure our Arcanist, mages and Templars know of both the opportunity and the need.”

“And our Seekers,” Cassandra announced confidently, “if they continue to serve.”

“As for red lyrium,” Asta segued, “We have, thanks to our Arcanist and Viscount Tethras’ connections, a great deal of information that the substance is actually infected with the Blight.” Mutters and gasps of horror spread through the room. “My recommendation is that the Grey Wardens should be consulted to see whether or not they can find a… method of purification. While the Inquisition has been removing, rendering inert, or destroying what we can, and will continue to do so, a more permanent solution would be preferable.”

“Do we have a Grey Warden representative attending?” A Grand Cleric from Markham spoke up, “We’ve all seen how the Blight can affect fertile lands, just look at the Anderfels and the Western Approach. If this red lyrium infected the farmlands along the Minanter River… most of Thedas would starve. Especially since Ferelden is still recovering from the Blight, and Orlais from their Civil War.”

“If I may…” a deep booming voice spoke up from the back of the room. “I am Warden Thom Rainier.” Asta cast a glance at Celene, but her body language was impeccably calm and her mask in place. “I traveled with the Inquisitor, and I would be more than happy to carry this request back to the Wardens in Val Chevin, and beyond, if necessary.” Asta smiled at him, unable to repress her happiness in seeing him again. “We will talk later, Inquisitor,” he finished gruffly, “But I assure you, the Wardens see this line of research as in their best interest.” He suddenly seemed uncomfortable with all the focused attention and muttered, “We’ve lost a lot of people to Corypheus and the False Calling. It’s possible that with study, we can find a way to stop ourselves from losing more.”

“Excellent,” Divine Victoria nodded firmly. “Then I would like to speak to you both privately later. I may have a contact that can assist with this endeavor.”

Asta eyed her closely, but Leliana didn’t give away a thing. Cullen leaned in, frowning, and muttered, “Hero?”

“Probably,” Asta whispered back. “We’ll find out later.”

Teagan spoke up once again, visibly angry, “I would like to know why this Smith Davri hasn’t been incarcerated. She single handedly managed to…”

“Not quite single-handedly,” Leliana didn’t manage to hide her amusement, “But yes, Inquisitor, why wasn’t she held for questioning, at the very least?” Cassandra looked down at the table before her, and fiddled absentmindedly with some papers, stacking and restacking them. Varric shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Smith Davri has… connections that make her very, very powerful,” Asta explained carefully. “It was likely that holding her would have resulted in a full on war between the Inquisition and the Carta. I made the choice to let her go, and she is being watched very, very carefully. Also, she did at least admit to her… mistake,” Asta clenched her teeth, “and assisted us with the sealing of the room. I would like nothing more than to see her get her just desserts, but for now, even the Inquisition’s influence does not exceed that of the Carta, and Thedas doesn’t need another war.”

“I see,” Teagan spat out. “That is unfortunate, as the entrance to the Deep Roads in question is in _my_ lands.”

Asta focused on him, “Yes, well, I would remind the Arl, that the Inquisition has the key to Valamaar, and we all have things that we would rather remain hidden, yes? _She_ came forward with her information, at some cost to herself. Would you be so brave, Arl Teagan?”

He was silent for a moment. “Your point is taken, Inquisitor,” he managed. “But I would like to respectfully request the Inquisition’s help in removing the last of the red lyrium from both Redcliffe and the surrounding area.”

“We would like to do nothing more,” the Commander assured him. “I grew up near Honnleath. I have no desire to see the Blight or red lyrium take any more of Ferelden.”

“Thank you, Commander,” the Arl managed politeness. “I will attempt to feel reassured.”

 


	162. Gentle Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this section for months, and I'm sick of looking at it. So I'm just going to post it already, and hope it works.
> 
> Hopefully two chapters will be up today.

Josie fell into a chair in the Inquisition’s rooms at the end of the day as Asta watched her, too scared to speak, but when the Ambassador smiled, Asta’s face lit up. “I believe we have done it, Inquisitor. No one spoke up against us. Our primary goal is accomplished - the Inquisition will remain intact and separate from the Chantry.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra arched her back, wincing. “That was…”

“Nervewracking,” Varric laughed. “Damn, I thought that Arl Teagan was going to stare a hole in me when I was testifying about the red lyrium and... Bianca.”

“I’m glad it’s over,” Cullen murmured, and Josie shook her head, her eyes closed.

“It’s just starting, Commander,” she assured him. “Have you looked at the agenda? Weeks worth of debate and questioning. Asta and I have to be present for all of it, while the rest of you can merely attend on days that your presence is requested, but it’s going to be a while. Tomorrow they are intending to question the temporary head Enchanters of the College about their plans. We won’t have to speak unless they ask us to, but they all know that our alliance with the mages was incredibly successful. The day after that is…”

Cullen broke in, “I see,” he looked thoughtful, “Inquisitor, is my presence during the talks strictly necessary or can I…”

Asta laughed, interrupting him and picking up an orange. “Why don’t you just take Dane for a walk tomorrow? I’m sure he could use the exercise and attention, and you need to get out of here for a while. I only wish I could go with you. This much talking is exhausting.” Her companions looked at her, bewildered at her admission. “Well, it is,” she stared at her jewel-studded prosthesis and then at her orange helplessly. “Cullen, could you peel this for me?”

“Gladly,” he took it from her. “And thank you.”  He unwrapped the fruit quickly and efficiently, leaving the peel on the table between them.

“We need to keep you sane,” she replied, her tone teasing. “If you have to sit in on the proceedings for more than a day at a time you’re going to go mad before we find out if we still need you to lead the armies.” He started to throw the peeled orange back and stopped himself, handing it back gently. “Thank you, Commander,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes flirtatiously. “What would I do without you?”

“Eat less oranges,” he replied, with a tilted smile.  "Who was responsible for the fruit basket, anyway?"

Asta plucked the card out of the basket.  "Apparently the College of Enchanters, thanking us for the chance to prove themselves.  That's nice... though I would say if they're going to prove anything they're going to have to quit arguing amongst themselves.  Ambassador, should we send a reply?"

"Already done," Josie replied, deeply fatigued.  "Guy took care of it earlier.  We sent each of them flowers, of course, depending on which head of the college it was.  I assure you, they back us."

***

The discussion of Tranquility some days later was far less cordial - long hours of words and debate taking their toll on everyone‘s tempers. “Reversed,” several of the Clerics shuddered. “That is… most unwise.”  The mutters of the mundanes in the room far outweighed the growls of the mages in the far corner.

“On the contrary,” Cassandra replied dryly, “I stand before you as someone who has both underdone the rite of Tranquility and been brought back, even if I am not a mage. I believe my colleagues can say that I am no worse for wear.”  The mage murmurs shifted to surprise along with most of the room outside the heads of the Inquisition.

“Ah yes, the Seekers….” several Clerics and representatives shuffled through their paperwork. “They undergo the Rite during their Vigil and counter it with a summoning... And without your knowledge…”

“That is correct,” Cassandra replied, suppressing a shudder. “And I assure you, I was just as… mercurial before I was made Tranquil during my Vigil.”

“As hard as that is to believe,” Varric said under his breath. Cassandra glared at him, where he was sitting just to the left of her.

“I assure you she was,” the Nevarran Grand Cleric replied with a small amused smile. “She was a very volatile child, not surprising, really, considering her parents‘ deaths. The Seeker has seen much tragedy in her life that she has overcome with grace and dignity.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied stiffly, “I think.” She avoided Varric’s now concerned eyes.

“But Tranquility is our last resort…” the Orlesian Cleric tried to insert herself into the conversation. “Without the knowledge that it is permanent, wouldn’t any given mage be open to rebellion and worse?  We'll be overwhelmed with poorly trained mages and abominations in a matter of months!” The angry muttering that arose from the corner of the audience that held the College’s representatives grew rather loud, and at least one mage had to be restrained by his friends physically.

“From my point of view Tranquility didn’t stop them from rebelling before,” Asta pressed. “And if you read on in my reports, Tranquility was never meant to be a punishment.  My predecessor, Inquisitor Ameridan, told me…”

Several Council members made disbelieving sounds.

“Are you accusing the Inquisitor of dishonesty?” Cassandra gripped her sword, “Because I was a witness. We all were, and I assure you, Ameridan was there, preserved by his own magic for 800 years, and he told us.” The disapproving Council members retreated immediately, looking at each other for back up and not finding it. “He led the Seeker order. He had no reason to lie.”

“The word of an elven mage…” the Grand Cleric from Orlais muttered. “We all heard about you finding and backing that… Dalish clan as the true descendants of Ameridan. Completely unwise.”

“There will be no prejudice here,” Celene’s voice rang out imperially. “I will not allow it.”

“And I agree,” Leliana narrowed her eyes at her Cleric. “I would suggest you stifle your remarks for a while, Grand Cleric. Those kind of words tend to make people… disappear.” Celene nodded her thanks to the Divine.

“Yes, Your Holiness,” the cleric muttered, swallowing hard.

“In my opinion,” Cullen offered slowly, “Tranquility is far too easily used as a punishment, and should probably be discontinued in favor of increased training and instruction by the College for those mages who are struggling and seek the help.”

Asta nodded eagerly, “Also, the Avvar have interesting alternative solutions to mage possession that should be investigated. But the continued viability of the Rite of Tranquility is a question to be answered by the mages for themselves, not by the Chantry.”  Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly, bracing herself for the barrage of arguments to come.

Cullen answered her silent request for back up, “We are merely here to determine whether or not it has been abused by the Chantry, and my answer is yes,” he took a deep breath and tried to look angry instead of despairing, “It has.”

“In your previous position?” prompted the Empress. “As a Knight-Captain in Kirkwall?”

“Yes,” Cullen bit off, not having to fake his anger or his rage at himself. “In Kirkwall, Seeker Pentaghast and I can testify that Harrowed mages…”

“That is well documented,” the new Grand Cleric from Kirkwall broke in quickly. “We don’t need to go over it here. We all have the details, and can refer to them as necessary. I will vouch myself for the Commander‘s assertion. It is true.”

“I thank you,” Cullen muttered with a throbbing head, trying to calm down and be thankful that he didn't have to go into detail, and clenching his hand into a fist.  He felt Asta's eyes upon him as he tensed, and then forced himself to relax for her sake.

“I think we can allow the College to make that decision for themselves,” Divine Victoria asserted. “They have a motivation to prevent it that the rest of us do not. It would be hard to believe that given the brands, they would ever use them against themselves. Tranquility is not a solution, and I remain unconvinced that magic in general is a problem that needs to be solved. It is a gift from the Maker, not a disease to be cured.”

There was much angry muttering from the mage corner at her choice of words, but no one spoke up openly against her opinion in public.

“That’s going to be trouble, her suggestion that she will 'allow' them to make their own decisions,” murmured Josie to Asta. “But it will rest for now.”

“When is the question of magic ever not trouble?” Asta muttered back wryly. “But at least right now the College has a chance, if they manage to make the most of it. Make a mental note, Harding,” she added, “Of those looking dissatisfied on both sides of the aisle.” Harding didn’t stop scanning the attendees, but nodded slightly at the whispered words.

“If the College manages to stop arguing long enough to take advantage, you mean,” Josie replied, openly watching the heated debate in the back corner. “Because apparently, it’s not enough that they will decide about Tranquility for themselves. They are far, far too angry.”

“And so they should be,” Asta murmured. “Our own Minaeve would have ended up Tranquil, you know. She doesn’t like to use magic to fight. Do you think she would have been allowed to continue as she was? Studying quietly and never Harrowed?”

Cullen shook his head in agreement, “She would have been offered the option, and given her scholarly inclinations…” he hesitated, but pressed on, “She would likely have chosen Tranquility, and kept working with Helisma.”

Asta closed her eyes. “I hope the College makes wise decisions. But this, at least, is not my battle, unless they ask me to assist.” Her face showed her desire to help, and the knowledge that they probably would not ask, and she turned her face away. “Josie, if they approach us, please, make it a priority to meet with them.”

“Absolutely, Inquisitor,” Josie made a note, her lips pressed together. “May the Maker guide them,” she whispered quietly.

***

“I assure you,” Dorian told the assembled Clerics, “Tevinter - well, some of it, at least - is disgusted by the antics of the Venatori. They were not sanctioned by the Archon, or by the man you call the Black Divine. They are - were - a cult, and a particularly nasty one that our mutual friends in the Inquisition put down like mad dogs. Are you going to attempt to punish an entire empire for the actions of one group?”  His eyebrow raised, "It's been done before, to varying degrees of success, but those of us who study history have noted that it hardly works well for long."

Several of the Clerics frowned at him suspiciously and one asked, “Why are you even here? What purpose does Tevinter have in the proceedings of the Southern Chantry?”

Dorian shrugged, “I have recently attained a seat in the Magisterium. I have been appointed by the Tevinter government to observe, and the Inquisitor asked me to testify about the Venatori as an expert witness. While Minrathous has never been taken during an Exalted March, my country has just as much reason to not want another one as you do. So, because I am an agent of the Inquisition, as well as a member of the ruling class of Tevinter, I am here, in a very unique position. Are you going to judge me based on my country or my actions?” He dared them openly.

Bull grunted, “You tell ‘em, Kadan.” Josie turned an evil eye upon him at the interruption. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Several of the Council averted their eyes as he allowed his mana to swell and intimidate them openly. “You do offer a unique perspective on the Venatori,” one admitted, “You say your former mentor was actually a member? And that he used an amulet to... manipulate time?”

“Yes,” Dorian replied, and proceeded to elaborate on the magic used at Redcliffe as Arl Teagan’s eyes grew wider and wider. “So you see,” Dorian swirled his hand gracefully, “The Inquisitor and I preserved Redcliffe entirely, indeed, the entire world, in a single, very long day.” The entire room was silent as he concluded.

“Time magic,” a College of Enchanters representative broke the silence unintentionally, her eyes shining, and then covered her mouth with her hands, blushing. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Dorian winked at her. “But I would like to discuss this with Magister Pavus later.”

“Of course,” Dorian preened. “It’s extremely volatile magic, however. I don’t advise playing with it.”

“Obviously,” Asta muttered and Dorian pouted at her. “Shame you made it sound so impressive then, Magister Pavus.” He stroked his moustache in reply, smirking.

“That’s… remarkable,” The Empress of Orlais swallowed, her hands held on the table in front of her, white knuckled. “Is such magic study common in Tevinter?”

“Oh, we all tend to specialize,” Dorian shrugged. “I showed particular promise, so Gereon Alexius took me on as a pupil. Well, it’s a little more complicated than that, but I’ll keep it simple for the sake of brevity.” He then winked at the Empress whose mouth twitched, fleeting as a shadow in the night.

“I think we all agree that the Council should think twice before Marching on Tevinter,” Divine Victoria stated with amusement. “We’re hardly prepared, especially with no Templars in any amount to counter such… ‘volatile’ magics. Thank you, Magister Pavus, for that… enlightening lecture. We are in your debt.”

“You are quite welcome,” Dorian bowed, and turned to leave. “I’ll be in the tavern, if anyone,” and he shot his eyes to the College representative that had addressed him, “would like to speak to me further. Next to the massive Qunari. I do so love making new friends.” Bull rose with him and saw him out of the room.

The chamber shuffled and rustled collectively, the room feeling considerably less full without the charismatic mage.

“Did he help us or hinder us?” Asta muttered in Josie’s general direction through the shifting movements.

“Help, I think,” but Josie hesitated. “The Empress is tense, and I don‘t think a single Council member is aching to make a push for Minrathous after that story.  Dorian very effectively reminded them of the danger of facing an entire nation of mages.”

Asta hummed, dissatisfied. “Can we do anything else?”

“Not now,” Josie concluded. “I’ll work behind the scenes. It would be helpful if more representatives spoke to Dorian. We’ll see what we can do.”

“I’m on it.  I've got a few contacts among the members' staffs.  I'll make sure they pique their bosses' curiosity.” Harding replied immediately, and slipped out of the room unobserved.

"Something tells me Dorian is going to be very popular in the tavern this afternoon," Cullen laughed quietly.

"He'll eat up the attention," Asta replied, smiling.  "Let's just hope Bull doesn't get jealous."  Josie frowned.  "Josie, I'm kidding," Asta murmured.  "Bull knows when it's too important to take personally."

"I hope you're right, Inquisitor," she sighed.  "Someone in this institution should remember the value of subtlety and discretion."

"I believe that's your job, Ambassador," Asta laughed quietly.  "The rest of us are miserable failures."

 


	163. A Clear Winner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter of the Day!

Several days later, both Asta and Loranil were up, front and center, to deliver their opinions on Fen’Harel. “I’m not convinced he’s a threat,” Asta said for the hundredth time to generally unresponsive ears, and Loranil nodded in tandem.

“I spent some months with his group, and while certain members are hostile…” Loranil started, only to be cut off.

“But if all the Inquisition’s elves are working for Fen'Harel…” the Orlesian Grand Cleric’s casual dismissal of Loranil’s witness made Asta flush with anger and clench her fists.

“Not every one,” Sera spoke up. “There are a few, here and there. Just like there are elves in the Chantry. You can’t lump every elf in with that lot. Some of us, sure, are lost in dreams about Elvhen Glory, but some of us would rather live in the present.”

Asta let her eyebrows raise to her hairline.

“What?! I can speak up too,” Sera defended herself. “Being the bloody Left Hand has to be good for something, and I’m not going to let any people get plowed if I can be help it, even if they‘re elfy elves. ‘Specially not knowing. So send scouts,” she advised Leliana directly. “Send some chatty types. Asta managed to talk to him, sort of,” she looked sideways and down and waggled her hand back and forth. “It was good, in a way, I guess. Arrows when you know he’s gonna blow up the sky again.”

“We don’t know that he’s going to,” Asta began.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sera snorted inelegantly, “But that’s what this lot is scared of. It’s what people should be scared of. Now the questions aren’t up - they’re in the bloody Dales, just a few days of hard walking away. So ask, already.” She shrugged, “Don’t know why I bother. I’d put an arrow in his shell. Problem solved. But I saw the Qunari that bastard turned to stone. Messing with stuff makes us all dead.”

The Grand Cleric from Rivain tilted her head. “Assuming I followed all of that correctly, she has a point.”

“You can’t possibly want to _negotiate_ with an Elvhen mage claiming to be a god!” The Starkhaven Cleric insisted. “The impact on the Andrastian faith…”

“Why not?” Divine Victoria lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you for your input, Sera. I appreciate it. The Inquisitor’s points are still valid. The Inquisition is the only agency in Thedas that is prepared, excepting perhaps the Tevinter Imperium, of stopping Fen’Harel if his plans are nefarious.”

“Nefarious,” Sera snorted, “too fancy.” Asta stifled a giggle, realizing that she had missed Sera‘s perspective.

“So… let’s sanction the Inquistor,” the Divine concluded. “For now. We need information, and the Inquisitor has had all of the recent communication with the man in question. We cannot neglect this opportunity for discourse.” There were even more mutters. “Is this dissatisfaction because he is an elf?” She raised her eyebrows far enough to disappear under her hat.

“He’s walking heresy,” snarled the Grand Cleric from Ostwick. “How is that to be allowed? The Elvhen gods… of all the crazy things to expect us to believe…”

“He never claimed to be a god,” Asta interjected firmly. “He has never claimed godhood, or denied it. I truly believe he is something different, something… unclassifiable with our current language. Elvhen records indicate that he was something… in between. We can learn from him, but not if we don’t speak to him.” She faced the Cleric, unashamed of her beliefs. “And I would remind the Cleric that I have spoken with another Elvhen god, Mythal. She did not claim godhood in so many words either. Corypheus’ followers claimed that he was trying to set himself up as a new god, even while he called out to Dumat. He’s shredded in the Void, now, if you remember. I defeated Hakkon, or something that claimed to be Hakkon, the Avvar god of winter, in a dragon’s body. I assure you, Cleric, that I am very, very familiar with beings that claim to be gods. In my humble opinion, the ones that claim to be gods are to be less feared than those who carefully avoid the subject entirely.”

“Good,” Josie whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “Now they are reminded of what you have faced on their behalf. Excellent.”

They were all silent. “Once again we are at your mercy,” the Empress finally spoke. “And once again, I think we are largely agreed that we must take your advice. At least for now.”

“Agreed,” Leliana echoed, “At least for now. You have my permission to gather additional information, Inquisitor.”

“I would gather the information in any case,“ Asta bowed politely, “But it is easier to research with the official sanction of those you hope to help. For that, I thank you.” She kept her eyes on the Divine in a silent challenge.

Leliana stared at her a moment, a smile threatening to break loose from around her lips, and then stood. “I think we should adjourn for the evening, as tempers are running high, and meet again in the morning to conclude our discussions about the fate of the Inquisition. If anyone needs to speak to me, I will be in the garden. Her eyes flicked to Asta and to several Clerics, including the one from Orlais, who paled and nodded in recognition. Dismissed.”

***

They all reconvened after the day’s session in their chamber, exhausted, falling into chairs instead of standing. “It’s still going well,” Asta sighed at last, when no one else spoke. “And the last day of the Council will likely be tomorrow. Does anyone have any concerns that must be addressed?  I hope not, because Maker's Breath, I'm tired.”

Cullen shrugged, “I’m sure that Leliana and the others will cover the fate of our armies, no matter what I personally could say or do.”

“Only one,” Harding said bluntly. “It’s obvious at this point that the Council is going to allow the Inquisition to remain, because they can make use of us, and hopefully they don‘t butt in, try to take over, or restrict our forces. But what about our Inquisitor?” All three advisors faced her, different levels of concern written on their faces.

“That is up to the Divine, and the Divine alone,” Asta said at last, after a short pause. “But should we take another stance against the Exalted Marches, Josie? What about Fen’Harel?”

Josie shook her head, “The Divine has stated that she supports us, at least for the time being. Bringing it up again will make it look like we do not trust her word.”

“Do we trust her word?” Cullen asked wryly. “She’s… not exactly unreliable, but she’s playing her own Game.”

“Aren’t we all?” Josie sighed. “I believe it would be a mistake. My advice would be to leave it alone. We’ve more than demonstrated that we are valuable to them, and that it is dangerous to fight us. Let it be.”

“I agree,” Asta said at last, after considerable weighing of her options. “If we try to convince them further, they will believe our ties with Fen’Harel to be much stronger than they are. That would be a disaster,” she sighed. “Let’s move on. I believe that there is supposed to be a fireworks display tomorrow night, Josie? Do I need to make a public appearance?”

Josie smiled, appreciative of the offer, “I think you’ve more than done your part of being in the public eye for now, Inquisitor. If you want to watch them, I believe you can do so in private.”

“Very well,” Asta relaxed, slightly happier, “I am looking forward to it. I’m going to go see the Divine, as she made it clear that I should attend her. Commander, Ambassador, will you accompany me?”

“Of course,” Cullen assented, and followed her and Josie out of the room.

***

Leliana was looking at a rosebush when they found her. “Commander, Ambassador, I need to speak to the Inquisitor alone. Will you excuse us? I will only be a moment, I promise.” Cullen touched Asta’s arm, and she nodded and he left, reluctantly, after the Ambassador. “I will hand down your sentence tomorrow,” she said, without looking at her. “Are you prepared?”

“I am,” Asta was confident. “I have made arrangements, though I hope I will have a little time if things go… poorly.”

Leliana stroked the blooms idly. “I wanted to give you an opportunity to recant, if you preferred,” she admitted. “I would happily pardon you, if you could admit…”

“I cannot,” Asta hesitated, “In fact, I see even less reason to believe in the Chant as it stands since my trial. If less were missing, if it were more complete, I think we would understand, that there would be a clearer picture.”

“You believe that Solas is the Maker,” Leliana finally turned and faced her. “Don’t you?”

“I’m inclined to think so,” Asta replied slowly, “But I have no proof, Most Holy. Until I have proof, I will keep my thoughts to myself.”

“We’re all so connected,” Leliana marveled. “We have no idea… and it is thrilling in the most petrifying way.” She looked at her closely. “I want you to continue your work. You’ve pulled me back from the brink, Inquisitor. If I hadn’t met you I…” she shook her head. “I do not like the person I was becoming. I am truly laying down the burden of being the Left Hand, as Dorothea wanted.”

“I don’t think the burden weighs on Sera as much,” Asta observed. “But, Most Holy, I have a hard time believing it will be that easy for you to merely set that role aside.”

Leliana actually laughed, “Yes, well, I’m far more gentle than my Divine was. I had to do… much,” she admitted. “Did you realize that I was stirring up the mages, urging them to rebel against the Chantry at her request?”

Asta shook her head, “Truly? That explains a lot.”

Leliana looked at her, humor mixed with regret shining in her eyes, “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Dorothea desperately wanted them to rise up on their own, and demand their equality under the Maker. I was very relieved, when you chose to contact the mages and insisted on sparing them. Tevinter obviously doesn’t need further… assistance to be powerful.”

Asta shook her head, “The rebel mages were never destined for the official military, they were going to be used by the Venatori,” she clarified. “Looking back, it is obvious.”

“It was still the right choice,” Leliana asserted.

Asta tilted her head, “Was it? I would like to think so. But I grieve the number of Templars that died instead. It should have been unnecessary, and yet, I had to choose.” She sighed, “And now, a similar situation is brewing, with the Elvhen. The storm isn’t over, Leliana.”

“And that’s why we need the Inquisitor,” Leliana insisted, turning back to the bush. “Very well, I know what to say. Tomorrow, when I do what I must, please try to understand that we still need you, Asta, and… find a way?” Her dismissal was thorough, if confusing.

Asta frowned. “I will try, Most Holy.” And she left the garden, still frowning.

***

The last day of the Council had an air of determination and decision that Asta could feel. Several Clerics openly smiled at her, as if they knew something she did not know, and she guarded herself against her own nervousness. What would happen would happen, and she could not prevent it at this late date.

Cullen squeezed her shoulder as he took his seat behind where she stood, facing the Council with her Inquisitor mask in place, as unconcerned as if her life wasn’t on the line, and she could feel the tension radiating off of him as he waited.

The Divine took her seat, but Asta remained standing, knowing what was coming. “Just two items remain on our agenda,” Leliana stated deliberately. “The fate of the Inquisition’s armies and that of the Inquisitor herself. The Inquisitor recently stood trial for heresy in Val Royeaux, and our judgment was delayed due to the recent threat from the Qun, that she managed to preserve us from. We all owe her a great debt, as our salvation came at great personal cost to herself. Due to this, and prior service to the people of Thedas, I am inclined to leniency.” She took a deep breath. “Arl Teagan, I know that both you and Empress Celene are… reluctant to allow an army of the Inquisition’s size to remain perched on the border between your two countries. Is that correct?”

“It is,” the Arl nodded. “They have… helped, but my King does not like the position he finds himself in if the Inquisition decides that he is inconvenient, even with the concession of Caer Bronach back into Fereldan control.”

Josie put her hand on Asta, who relaxed. It wasn’t time to speak yet, she understood all too well.

“Duly noted. Empress Celene, do you have anything to add?” The Empress shook her head. “I see.” Leliana focused on the Inquisitor. “I admit, you have assembled a group of people that are nearly fanatical about the cause which they serve. I find it unlikely that you will be able to keep such a large group from corruption for long, however loyal they are right now.”

“You are correct,” Asta replied. “What would Your Holiness suggest?”

Leliana looked at her closely and thoughtfully. “It is a difficult position to be in. I advised you, Inquisitor. And yet what I advise now is something entirely different. With the Chantry’s protectors in shambles, and unlikely to recover to any extent, and the Seekers aligned with you, Southern Thedas is dependent on your army to keep them… safe from outside threats. You are uniquely positioned, and none of us can match that.”

“I have no intention of becoming an empire or a tyrant,” Asta assured her.

“And yet such things have been known to happen,” Leliana’s mouth twisted. “As you have, over the last few years, pointed out, time and again. In addition, you, in front of various reliable witnesses, claimed heresy, and your actions and words over the last few years back up that assertion. I must hand down a verdict. But instead, I will offer you a choice. You may leave Southern Chantry lands and continue to head the Inquisition in exile, as you seemed to desire a few weeks ago when first we talked, or you can disband the majority of your army in favor of staying where you are with a full pardon. Your verdict and my accompanying sentence will be tied to your choices, Inquisitor. Take your time, and choose wisely.”

There were a few restless shuffles in the background, but Asta couldn’t tell out of her peripheral vision who was unhappy, and she hoped that Harding was paying attention, even while her mind spun with the unexpected opportunity.

Asta inclined her head, “I will not deny my beliefs. I would rather truthfully deny faith then cheapen those that hold theirs dear by claiming it falsely. My beliefs are my own, in any case, and not those of the Inquisition. I would not want the Inquisition or Thedas punished for my lack of faith. I ask that you grant me exile, so that we can continue to do the work we have been assigned to do most effectively.”

“Well said,” the Divine said, after a moment. “In that case, Inquisitor, I find you guilty of heresy.”

There were more rustles and exclamations, positive and negative, around the Council chamber, and the Divine waited for them to die down before she continued. “And now I must sentence you,” she added, smiling sadly, “Evelyn Trevelyan,” and Asta blinked rapidly, while the Divine carefully did not react to her surprise, “I hereby sentence you to exile from Southern Chantry lands for heresy, to last for the next two years. If you return during that time, you will be executed,” she finished, “by fire, as our beloved Andraste was so long ago.” She raised her eyebrows. “I will give you some time to put your affairs in order,” she continued. “Two months, perhaps, since we have much we need to discuss with you about your conclusions and the Inquisition’s tasks before then.”

“Thank you,” Asta swallowed, “Most Holy, for your leniency.”

“With that, I move to adjourn this session of the Exalted Council,” the Divine announced, perfectly in control, “In favor of celebrating what we have accomplished, the prevention of an Exalted March, and the continuing Inquisition.” She stood, regally, and started to walk down the aisle, pausing in front of Asta, who was bowing before her, “You dance as well as ever, my friend,” before continuing on, ever graceful, “Let’s do it again, sometime?”

Asta let the entire Council filter out, nodding and bowing in turn until she was alone with her Ambassador and Commander. “She…” Asta started to shake with a delayed reaction, and Cullen reached out to steady her, his hands on her shoulders.

“Exiled Evelyn Trevelyan,” Josie started to giggle, and Asta's eyes pivoted to her, in shock at her uncharacteristic outburst of exuberance. “The dirty cheat! She outplayed me again. She was going to do this all along! Every single time….” she burst out laughing, too loud for the empty courtroom. “I’m… sorry… Inquisitor…” she couldn’t catch her breath, panting in between bouts of hilarity. “I just… Leliana… every single… damn - excuse my language - time!” She collapsed into a chair and gasped, rocking back and forth. “Every time I think I have her, every time I think I can read her tells,” she gasped, “And now I have to go pin my smallclothes to the Chantry board. In Halamshiral. In public. The gall of her! She did this on _purpose_ , just to prove… oh, that woman!”

“I think I’d better go with you,” Asta said slowly, still shaking, eyes wide in wonder. “I think she won mine, too.”

“Undoubtedly,” Josie wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, Leliana, that was fun,” she sighed, and collected herself at last. “I hope we get to play again.” She smiled brightly at Asta, “And now, as Leliana would say, it’s a real party, Asta. Let‘s go figure out our next move, and find a Chantry board.”  She started to gather her paperwork together efficiently, still giggling uncontrollably.

“What on Thedas,” Cullen started, but Asta just tugged him closer, and he elected to hold her tighter, still feeling her shake. “Asta, did she exile you or not?”

“She left it up to me,” Asta marveled. “She left it entirely up to me. What the fuck Game are you playing, Leliana, that the rest of us don’t know the rules?”

 


	164. A Real Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for our regularly scheduled fluff.
> 
> Hope I didn't bore all of you with the politics.

Cullen found himself accompanying two giggling women who should have known better to Halamshiral’s closest Chantry in the dusk of almost evening. “What is the point of this again?” he asked for the hundredth time. “What would Divine Victoria want with your smallclothes, anyway?”

“Leliana won,” Asta said patiently, also for the hundredth time. “She out bluffed us all. Exiled Evelyn, carried the day. Josie and I think ours aren’t be the only pair of smallclothes she should claim,” she snickered. “I think the Orlesian Grand Cleric should be going without.”

“Oh for the love of…” he sighed. “This is absolutely ridiculous. We shouldn‘t be doing this! And Asta, can‘t you just legally change your first name?”

“No,” Josie whispered. “Because then there will be a record of who she used to be. The best thing to do is just… move forward.” She smiled, “Though perhaps a record of Evelyn Trevelyan handing over the reins of the Inquisition to Asta Rutherford might be a good record to have laying around in a secure location… just in case. Too many people know about your wedding… but most only know the Inquisitor married her Commander, and, thanks to Varric‘s wordsmithing… this could actually work. Leliana has been planning this for months, the…” the curse in Antivan was muffled, probably on purpose. “She could have said something, given us a clue...”

Asta chuckled, “You know she couldn’t. She needed our reactions to be genuine. Perhaps, we should draw that record up, if I don’t decide to leave. But should I split hairs after all? I still need a break, and after all this, it would be nice to just be people for a while. I would enjoy being Asta Rutherford instead of the Inquisitor for a bit.”

“Even if you do,” Josie informed her, still whispering, “you’ve already established a precedent for the Inquisitor not always being at Skyhold.”

“I’ll worry about it after we manage this,” Asta muttered back. “Cullen, distract the Chanter. We’ve got to get these pinned up there,” she dangled her lacy smallclothes in front of his nose, “and if she sees what we’re doing, it’s going to look really bad for the Inquisition.” Her smile showed how much she was relishing the challenge and the prank.

“Is that why I’m here?  To provide a distraction?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “What should I do?”

“You’re here to protect us and look pretty, so, yes, it is,“ Asta grinned at his look of disgust at the latter. “Talk to her! She’ll start with the quotes about the Maker. It‘s not like it will be hard! She‘ll be flattered that you‘re trying! Chanters never get to have nice conversations with people that aren‘t trying to make a little money.”

“Chanters only speak the Chant!” Cullen hissed, “How can I carry on a conversation with one?”

“Chant right back!” Josie said a little too loudly, but catching herself and muting her voice. “You know enough of it.  It has to be now, Inquisitor. I‘m supposed to be meeting Arl Teagan and Lace for dinner to discuss the rollover of Caer Bronach.”

Asta shoved Cullen out towards the Chanter impatiently and he stumbled forward. “Good evening,” he managed to not look behind him at the annoying and bossy women in his life as he approached her warily.

“Though stung with a hundred arrows, though suffering from ailments both great and small, His Heart was strong…” the Chanter started, focusing on his eyes, calm and comforting.

That phrase of the Chant reminded Cullen of the night by the pond, and the only thing that came to his struggling memory was Transfigurations 10. He blanched, but bravely continued, “Um… touch me with fire that I be cleansed?”

The Chanter backed up, alarmed, “I sing only the words you place in my throat!”

Cullen looked at the sky, a trifle desperately, praying madly to whatever god that might be listening, even if it _was_ Solas, that Asta and Josie would hurry up so that he could quit giving this poor woman the wrong idea. “Um… let chaos be undone?” He managed lamely, hoping she would understand.

The Chanter relaxed, “and he moved on,” she said, far more at ease, and forgiveness crossing her face.

Cullen resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at the board, knowing it would give the two miscreants away, but he could see dark shadows moving in the near darkness, and scrambled for another portion of the Chant, “For she that trusts in the Maker, fire is her water,” he started, and then he saw the shadows dart away and relaxed all at once, breaking off mid-verse.

The Chanter smiled, dropped two silvers into his hand and gave him a benediction. “You shall not wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,” she replied, laughing and winking, and she turned away, back towards the board and the two tokens left behind, her shoulders shaking with humor.

Cullen shook his head in bewilderment, and realizing that he would never understand Chantry sisters, walked back up to the Chantry board, and dropped the silvers into the charity box, blushing. The Chanter smirked at him, and mentally grumbling, he went to find his wife and her Ambassador.

Asta jerked him into the shadows as soon as he turned the first corner. “Come on,” she grinned and kissed him quickly. “You did wonderfully. But now there’s going to be fireworks, and I’ve got the perfect spot to watch them privately.  Josie already left to meet Lace and Teagan.”

Cullen scowled, “Do you realize how embarrassing that was? She thought I was accosting her!”

“Why did you start off with Transfigurations, then?” Asta shot back, dragging him away through the growing darkness. “Of all the silly sections of the Chant to quote to a Chanter… You could have picked anything!”

“She…” Cullen gave up. “It’s the only thing that came to mind,” he grumbled.

Asta turned to face him. “Are you going to be angry at me? Because if you’re going to be grumpy, I’ll go find Sera. She’ll appreciate the show.”

“I’m not angry,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and then stopped, exasperated with the nervous habit. “I’m just… irritated. And thanks to you and the Ambassador, I’ve been so since we before we arrived in Halamshiral. It might take a while to… adjust back.”

“Then start adjusting,” but Asta smiled in understanding, “You don’t have to be angry now. We almost won. Would have won, if Leliana hadn’t cheated.”

“I fail to see how you not precisely being exiled is anything but a win,” Cullen admitted, pulling her in by her waist, hands on her hips and leaning his head against her forehead. “She’s left it up to you.”

Asta closed her eyes, relaxing into him. “I’m… just tired of making big decisions. I thought that was one she would make for me.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Cullen countered softly. “This way, we can decide together.”

Asta nodded, and pressed herself into his shoulder. “And we will,” she promised quietly. “But first… fireworks?”

Cullen chuckled, “Wouldn’t you rather make our own?” He slid his hand down and squeezed her ass, gently.

Asta arched against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Naughty! And no… I’ve never seen fireworks before!”

Cullen blinked, “You haven’t? Not even on First Day?”

“No!” Asta enthused. “First Day is a day of contemplation and resolve in the Chantry. It’s horribly boring! And in the past few years, I have been out of Skyhold and every town large enough to have a celebration on every single blighted holiday! Dorian has described them, but I want to see for myself. Please?” She wheedled.

“I can deny you nothing,” Cullen laughed. “Lead on, Inquisitor.” Asta grabbed his hand again and pulled him through the twisted streets of Halamshiral to a side gate that entered the Garden Maze, and then to a trellis, and started to climb, awkwardly with her hook, but managing all the same. “You’re getting better,” he laughed, waiting until she reached the top to test his weight. The view was better from where he was anyway. “The weight must be working for you.”

“Don’t worry,” she tossed down at him as he hesitated before climbing, “They reinforce them to support a man’s weight. Makes love affairs and the Game easier when you know you aren’t going to topple to an embarrassing death. I’ve climbed a lot of trellises in the Winter Palace.” Cullen reached the top and reached for her hips, and she pouted, turning to the next trellis. “Not yet, Commander! Come on!”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen laughed, “Asta!” He shook his head as she started to climb even higher.  "Are you ignoring me?"

She threw a coy look back at him, daring him to follow. “Are you coming?”

Naturally, he took the dare. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he reminded her. She reached down and pretended to hoist him to the roof, as he pulled himself up with his remaining arm. “This is a nice view,” he remarked with surprise, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her close. “You can see everything!” The soft glow of the city's skyline below them spread out, backlit with torches and lampposts in the richer areas against the gently gleaming studs of stars.

“Mmmhmm,” Asta grinned, “And no one can see us unless they climb up the trellis. You can’t reach the roof here any other way. I asked Briala for directions to a good spot.”

“Naturally the Empress’s paramour knows that we are going to be on the roof,” Cullen laughed again, feeling remarkably relaxed. “Should we worry about harlequins? There was a massive uproar about those in the courtyard the last few days. People claimed they could disappear.”

Asta shrugged, dismissing the thought of possible assassins with the movement, “She understands, and it’s not like you and I could be… open in our affections the last few weeks. I’ve missed you,” she admitted, drawing him in by his coat and sliding her arms underneath. “I’ve been so busy and the stress… I feel like we’ve been ignoring each other. The work was so important, but I just want to… reconnect.  This seemed like a good opportunity.”

“Likewise,” Cullen smiled against her lips and kissed her briefly, just enough to make him long for more. A single flash and boom lit up the sky. “They’re starting,” he murmured.

“Oh!” Asta pulled away immediately, and sat down on the roof, pulling her cloak around her, shivering a little in the night breeze. “I’m so excited!” Cullen took off his coat, wrapping it around her, and resting his hand on the roof behind her back, and then giving into the temptation to pull her closer, enjoying the feel of her body heat. The sky started to explode, in a slash of green and jagged angles of red. “Red lyrium and the Breach,” she murmured, a little disturbed, but then the colors faded away gently. A heraldic symbol exploded against the stars and she sat, entranced, as it faded to a lion.

“Orlais, of course,” Cullen mused. “Nicely done. I suppose they had to put them first, since they are hosting the Council.”

“No politics!” Asta ordered. “I hate politics!”

“You’ve got a crappy job then,” Cullen laughed, and Asta shoved him sideways, watching the lion fade back into the dusky night.

Ferelden appeared next, and then faded to a Mabari, making him chuckle and Asta sigh in wonder. “Are they going to do all the countries in attendance?” Her eyes were wide with admiration and fascination. “How do they make the pictures so exact?”

“Maybe,” Cullen shrugged, “And I don’t know. My job was just to watch to make sure all that was happening was fireworks, not ask questions about how it was accomplished,” as a silvery skull appeared. “Nevarra.” The countries’ and city state's symbols, including Orzamaar, rotated through themselves, even Tevinter appearing and then shimmering into a green dragon. “That would be for Dorian,” Cullen laughed. “Nice of them to admit that an official representative from the Imperium was present.” The Grey Warden’s Griffons appeared, blue and grey, murky against the darkness.

“He’s made history, being here,” Asta said softly. “That’s all of them…” but another symbol boomed into the night, an incomplete circle blotting out the stars - much larger then the previous heraldry. “The College of Enchanters!” Asta clapped her hands like a child. It exploded and was immediately replaced by the Templar Sword of Mercy, red flames licking at a red sword. “Beautiful,” she sighed, leaning against Cullen’s arm, and he reached around to pull her in as the stars exploded again, “The Seekers!” A massive white eye surrounded by blue looked down at the city, as if unimpressed. “I hope Cassandra is watching,” she marveled.

“This is the best display I’ve ever seen,” Cullen admitted in awe. “The Empress must have paid a fortune.”

“The College volunteered,” Asta contradicted. “They wanted to do something positive for the Council.”

“Really?” Cullen was surprised. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Not every mage is good at research,” Asta laughed, “Some just want to make pretty things explode, just as others want to shoot lightening at fools. Dagna did study at the Circle, after all. She had to learn it somewhere.” Cullen chuckled as the Chantry’s Sunburst replaced the Seekers’ Eye, lingering for long moments, and then slowly fading away into nothing. “Is that all? Is it over?” She asked, just as the next picture launched into the sky, an amalgamation of the Circle, Sword and Seekers, overlapped to form something all too familiar. “The Inquisition!” She stared at it in disbelief. “They included us! Cullen!” She clutched her hand around his coat, and tears started to fall from her eyes as she stared at the sword and eye that she had fought to preserve. The Inquisition’s heraldry lasted for a long time, and then smaller blossoms of sparkling light shot up around it, exploding multiple times into streaming ribbons as they stared in awe. The blooms of light went on and on, an artistic battlefield against the night sky, in a myriad of colors and patterns that crossed and wove around each other, flowers that had no name.

“That’s quite a statement,” Cullen managed at last, as the lights finally faded away, leaving marks on their retinas that they had to blink away. Asta was still weeping silently. “Are you all right?” he asked at last, wondering if there was something he should be doing.

“Just happy,” she choked out. “I really did it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Cullen laughed and held her tighter. “Thedas will never be the same.”

“Good,” Asta said fiercely. “Good.” She turned her face and buried it into his neck, weeping openly, and he pulled her into his lap to let her cry for her victory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple things - I'm not quite done with the story yet. :) But we are getting closer to the end. Just trying to figure out where to break up the chapters and then we'll see how many I have left to post. Thank you all for sticking with Asta for this long.
> 
> Also - because I always laugh at my jokes - the fruit basket in yesterday's post was the result of me musing that maybe all mages send fruit baskets. Nobody called me on it, and I'm still giggling... so I thought I'd mention it. Yes, I know it's bad form to laugh at your own jokes. Sue me.
> 
> I should have one more chapter to throw up today, that will be mostly fluff and a little smut. Probably NSFW, though it's not explicit.


	165. Risking it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably, strictly speaking, NSFW. Tuesday is fluff and smut day! For once, no demons involved. :D

Varric slid Cassandra a book over the breakfast table. “Here,” he said, without preamble, trying not to hold his breath, but searching her face for a reaction, and hoping it wasn‘t the one he was expecting.

“Is this it?” Cassandra’s face lit up. “All This Shit Is Weird \- the book about the Inquisition? You’ll let me read it now?”

“Yep,” he replied nervously.

Cassandra opened the cover, “To Cassandra, who sought the truth amid my lies, and found me instead,” she read the dedication page. “Oh, Varric… for me? That’s sweet!” she said, her face glowing even brighter. “I’m going to read the shit out of this!” Her enthusiasm made the rogue think twice about where he thought their story was headed.

“You don’t mind?” He asked, a little confused. “I arranged for that before… everything.”

“Why would I mind?” Cassandra stared at him blankly. “It’s a lovely gesture.”

“Well, you’re going to take on the Seekers,” Varric shrugged, “I don’t know what that means for us.”

“It means nothing,” Cassandra said positively, slightly distracted. “I’ll be in Kirkwall. I’m having your child. I’m wearing your ring. We’re getting married, eventually.” Her fingers flipped the next few pages, obviously wanting to delve into the book.

Varric took a breath, “Is that really what you want?”

Cassandra slammed the book shut abruptly. “Yes. It is. We’ve had this conversation, Varric. Just because I don’t want to marry you before Squirt arrives doesn’t mean…”

Varric ran his fingers through his hair. “Doesn’t it? I… you… we have completely different lives, Cass. How is that ever going to even out for time for… us? And then us plus one?”

Cassandra stared at him, swallowing, “Are you… breaking off our engagement?” Her voice broke. A tear leaked out of her eye and she failed to wipe it away, her lip quivering while she bit it to make it stop and glared to hide the hurt. “How… why? Did I do something?” She demanded.  "Because I thought..."

Varric stared back at her defensively, “Aren’t you?” He asked at last. “We sort of landed ourselves in this mess, and I didn’t want to assume that…”

“Assume,” Cassandra ordered, glaring at him. “Because I’m not doing anything of the sort. I have no idea how to be a mother, but I am not unintelligent. I will learn… I…” she reached out and grabbed his collar, “Kiss me,” she ordered.

“What?” Varric blinked. “You want me to kiss you now? Shouldn‘t we be arguing?”

“Kiss me, I said,” she demanded again. “I love you, and I want to marry you, and I want to have this child. Just not necessarily in that order. So if you aren’t going to call the whole thing off and send me off to Skyhold to be a single mother, only for you to ultimately be assassinated by a spirit turned man who wants to be helping, then prove to me that you want it too.”

Varric shuddered a small laugh, “I can do that, Cass,” he detached her fingers from his collar, replacing the fabric with his own hand clasping hers loosely. “I just thought that Squirt… might have changed your mind about me. I’m not known for being reliable, and maybe he’d be better off…” He rubbed the back of her hand when his words ran out. “You know, I’m pretty sure that Cole doesn’t do assassinations anymore. He’s said as much. It just isn’t in him anymore.” Changing the subject didn’t deter the Seeker.

“No,” Cassandra stopped him, “You are reliable. You remained faithful to a woman that had left you behind and married someone else. You protected Hawke when she needed you, when everyone else had abandoned her and she was left wandering, unable to go home. You stepped up for Asta when she needed a friend on a lonely mountain. And now, you will be there for me,” she got choked up. “At least… I want you to be,” she pressed her lips together. “Will you be?” Her fingers tightened on his painfully.

“If you want me, babe,” Varric closed his eyes. “I’ll be there forever.” He cracked one eye open, his usual sense of humor coming back through. “You may live to regret wishing that.” He lifted his other hand to touch her face and cup her cheek and wipe the single tear away, and running his thumb back across her scar. “I have this tendency to narrate for my friends… I‘m told it‘s pretty fucking annoying. Void take me, Hawke‘s told me more than once that I‘m more trouble than I‘m worth, and she‘s my dearest friend.”

“Then I will regret it if it happens,” Cassandra bit off, but cupped the back of his neck with her other hand, rubbing her thumb just under his ponytail. “But don’t make my decisions for me, or decide that you know how this story ends,” she said softly. “I am not going anywhere. It’s true I don’t have good examples to draw from. My parents died for the sake of politics, Varric. It was pointless and tragic for my brother and I.” She looked at him, slightly desperately. “I would understand, however, if you don’t want me to be the mother of your child. I am not… nurturing. I am not many things that a mother should be. I am not…”

“You’re many other things instead,” Varric reassured her. “We’ll figure it out. If we need help, we‘ll ask. There’s always Merrill. She’s good with kids, and she needs to get out more.”

Cassandra broke into her rusty version of laughter, “We will talk about it when we get back to Kirkwall. When do you want to leave? We should really coordinate with Asta and the Commander about what their intentions are…” her voice trailed off and a gleam appeared in her eye. “But that can wait.”

“It can?” Varric grinned whimsically, hoping he knew where this was going, but admitting at the same time that he was zero for three as far as the Seeker's behavior was concerned.  But damn, with her it felt good to lose.

“Yes,” Cassandra purred deliberately and ran her hand down his chest. “You have a book to read to me.”

Varric bowed mockingly, “I live to serve. Should I light the candles?”  He corrected his mental tally to one out of four.  His odds were improving.

“The sun is already up. Don’t bother,” Cassandra murmured and pulled him towards her, pulling his shirt apart toggle by toggle. “I’m too impatient.”

“Impatient? You?” Varric protested, “Surely not, O Seeker.” He leaned in towards her, always teasing.

“Very impatient,” Cassandra announced. “And volatile. The Grand Cleric from Nevarra testified as much. It’s now on record with the Chantry that you don’t want to make me angry. Putting me off would make me angry.”

“On the contrary,” Varric said, right up against her lips now, “I love making you angry. You’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He kissed her hungrily, tasting the truth on the Seeker‘s lips. “You mean it,” he pulled back again, “You’re not going to leave me?”

“I am not Bianca,” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “If you insist, we can marry now, here. I’m sure someone on the Exalted Council will do the job on short notice. I would rather wait, for the reasons I told you before. But I vow by the Maker and the Holy Andraste, Varric Tethras, that I will love you forever and stay by you, as much as I am able.”

“A holy vow from a Seeker is good enough for me,” Varric cupped her head with both hands, pressing his lips to hers in little pecks to punctuate his excited words. “We’ll wait then,” he panted, trying to control himself, but buoyant inside. “I’ll wait until you think it’s time.”

“I’d rather,” Cassandra admitted shyly, “be married in the Kirkwall Chantry anyway.”

“That would piss Bran off even more,” Varric pulled her shirt apart and cupped her only slightly larger breast. “Because it’s going to take fucking years. Squirt will be able to be a witness by the time it‘s finally finished. The city can‘t afford the amount of workers it would take to finish it sooner, even if we could get them to come to Kirkwall.” He stroked her breast tenderly and she started to melt into him.

“It would be worth it,” Cassandra molded her mouth against his, insistently. “Maker, Varric, get to the bed, now,” she ordered pushing him backwards.

“Whatever you say, Cass,” Varric backed up, still pulling at her clothes. “Damn it,” he panted. “Sometimes I hate being shorter than you, but sometimes I love it. Check out the view,” His back hit the bed so he let her go, and hoisted himself up. “Cassandra, get over here,” he laughed as she wandered deliberately back to the table to grab the book, her shirt hanging off her shoulders. “I don’t want to read to you now!”

“But you will,” Cassandra smiled wickedly, “while I… take care of other things,” she set the book on the bed and deliberately unlaced her own breeches, sliding them down her long legs, and then did the same for his pants, shifting them down his thighs and then off, letting them hit the floor.

“Damn,” Varric’s eyes flashed at the sight of her skin, and her licking her lips, “That’s a good idea.”

“I always have good ideas,” Cassandra assured him. “Start reading, Varric.” She shoved him back on the bed and crawled up after him, thrusting the book into his hands. “Let’s see how long it takes you to quit being able to recognize your own words.”

“I give up,” Varric teased. “I’m at your mercy.” He grabbed at her and she dodged back, lightening fast reflexes coming into play as she laughed huskily at his impatience. “Come on, Cass!”

“No you don’t,” Cassandra glared menacingly. “I’m good at this, I promise you, but you will not give up before you try.” They glared at each other, one trying to figure a way to skip to the end, and the other absolutely determined to have it her way.

Cassandra won, a pattern that Varric could see repeating for years to come, so he opened the book at the beginning. “Prologue: The Conclave.” He cleared his throat, and began. “An explosion split the afternoon, the sort of blast that leaves the ears ringing and your eyes smarting against the smoke. But there was no fire, the dwarf realized, staring up at the sky in horror,” his voice hitched as Cassandra's mouth came into contact with him, “in horror,” he repeated. “For the sky itself had split in half like an overripe fruit, and was leaking demons instead of juice.”

“Good,” Cassandra hummed against him. “Keep going.”

“Likewise,” Varric gasped, trying to catch his breath, “Damn it, Cass.” He cleared his throat and tried to continue. “Even the hardened soldiers panicked, scattering into the distance in a desperate attempt to save their own lives, and in the next moment, the temple far above them burst into nothing, a mighty flare that was all too familiar to the experienced dwarf. The dwarf’s name was Varric, but this isn’t his story. This is the story of the woman that would save them all.” He panted a little, closing his eyes. “Oh, that’s… Andraste‘s Ass. Do that again, _please_.”

“Continue,” Cassandra ordered slyly, pulling back until he remembered where to look.

“Oh yeah,” Varric opened his eyes again, trying to focus on the book, searching for where he had lost his place. “That woman was carried down the mountain unconscious a few hours later by the Commander in charge, the object of spitting and open derision, clapped in mage irons and shut into the dungeon, her hand glowing eerily with the same green that was echoed in the gaping sky,” he leaned back against the pillows, trying not to thrust into her mouth. “Cass,” he murmured dreamily, “You must be killing me, because I swear, I‘m seeing the Golden City.”

“You’re not dying,” she replied brutally. “Keep reading.” He sighed and tried to read as fast as possible, trying to ignore the sensations she was creating around him.

He made it as far as the closure of the first rift before, “’Varric, I was wrong,’” he pitched his voice slightly higher and inserted a tone of contrition combined with an attempt at a Nevarran accent, “’I’m so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?’” Cass stopped abruptly, and sat up, surprised.

“But that’s… me!” She was absurdly excited. “Varric, Varric! You… dwarf! You put _me_ in the story?”

Varric choked with laughter, “Of course I did,” he managed, trying not to buck up into her still moving hand. “I couldn’t leave out my heroine! Didn’t you recognize yourself from the scene with Leliana in the dungeon when you first questioned Asta?” Cassandra shook her head. “Damn, I guess I was pretty far off the mark then,” he muttered, disappointed in himself. “Too late now. Maybe I can convince Edric to run a revised second edition if we sell enough of these.”

“Oh, Varric,” Her face glowed, not that he would ever dare tell her that. She crawled over him with purpose. “I do adore you, dwarf. I can‘t believe you put _me_ into the book.”

“I‘m happy to hear that,” he pulled her down to kiss her and she rolled them over, so that he rested on his heels above her. “Can I stop reading for a bit?” He stroked her gently, his face soft and almost wistful.

“For a bit,” Cassandra agreed dryly, “Why?”

“Good,” he laughed, "Because I have something else I want to do with my mouth.”

The book lay open, completely ignored, neglected in favor of a different sort of story that required far fewer words to tell, but still had a very happy ending for both of them.

Varric lay cradled against his Seeker long after, and told her quietly, “One day, Squirt is going to ask how I met you, and I’m going to have to tell him that you kidnapped me and shoved me violently into a chair for questioning.”

“He will deserve to know the truth,” Cassandra replied, stroking his chest absent-mindedly. “I do not mind telling it to him. By then, I hope he will have an idea of what you mean to me outside of the context of how we met.”

“And then I’m going to have to tell him that it was all over at that moment,” Varric confessed, very quietly. “Because I knew that there was no one else in Thedas that would ever look at me like that.”

“Varric Tethras,” Cassandra sat up suddenly and he fell against the pillows. “You… I… You…”

Varric grinned whimsically. “You said he deserved the truth. Yeah, I was pissed at you, Cass. You wanted me to sell out my best friend. But the whole time I was trying to tell you what happened all I could think was, ‘Well, shit, this is going to get complicated.’  I was so sure you noticed how I was trying to impress you - that whole scene with Bartrand's house in Hightown was pure fiction, designed to make me look good for the woman whose job it was to kill demons.”

Cassandra blinked, completely dumbfounded. “You lie.”

“Nope,” Varric stretched his arms up and tucked them under his head. “Complete and utter truth.”

Cassandra dropped her head onto his chest and muttered something in Nevarran that sounded very uncomplimentary, and Varric laughed, and ruffled her hair. “I love you, too, Cass.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to resist quoting Cassandra's credits word for word here, I love it so much. But I got some highlights, anyway...
> 
> I like to think that there is a reason why that portion wasn't animated... ;)
> 
> Don't worry, still not done with the story. I know I'm wrapping up a ton of stuff, but I will give you warning, I swear.


	166. Wishes Granted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savage Garden's "Truly Madly Deeply" inspired the title - time for more sap and fluff.

The flowers, a huge bouquet of Sweet Peas, Traveller’s Joy, and Iris, arrived early the next morning with a card sealed with a crimson Sunburst, and Asta stared at it in amazement as she shut the door in the messenger‘s face before the woman could ogle her husband, who was still twisted in the sheets of their bed, rumpled and entirely too delicious looking to be sharing with company.

“Who is sending you flowers?” Cullen sat up in bed. “Isn’t it early for gallantry?”

“Leliana,” Asta answered, a little stunned.

“I’ll have to tell her to back off,” Cullen grumped. “She has no business hitting on my wife. First the smallclothes and now flowers. She‘s been in Orlais for too long.”

Asta rolled her eyes, “It’s a bouquet of respect and friendship, Cullen. Sweet Peas to tell me she had a wonderful time and is leaving today, Traveler’s Joy to wish us rest and safety, and Iris to express her appreciation for our wisdom and valor.  And the smallclothes were a completely different issue.  It wasn't flirtation.  Josie is like a sister to her!”

“That’s not so bad, I suppose,” Cullen still sounded put out. “You aren’t going to wear any of them are you?”

“I hadn’t intended to wear any flowers today, as Josie assures me that my public appearances are over for a while,” Asta laughed, shaking her head at him. “Are you jealous, Commander? You know, the flowers might have been for you. You‘ve been making a huge splash around town, with your fearsome scowl and your vicious dog.” Dane picked up his head from the end of the bed, and tilted his head, confused.

“A little,” Cullen admitted easily enough. “Now that I know how much you love intelligence. Leliana outsmarted us all.  And all those... people can slide slowly into the Void for all I care.”

Asta set the flowers down on their table and climbed into the bed to cuddle against him and make him smile. “She’s too scary,” she laughed. “I like them more… approachable. But I want to hit the road today, in any case. Flowers are not appropriate for traveling attire,” she mocked Josie gently. “But… the question is, after we settle things at home… what happens next?”

“I‘m not sure,” Cullen swallowed. “Do you think we should leave?”

“Josie thinks we should,” Asta sighed, “At least for a while. Until it’s safe for us to return. That might not take the full two years.”

“All right then,” Cullen shifted sideways under the covers to face her and took her hand to press it to his lips. “Where are we going?”

Asta took a breath, “I want you to decide,” she admitted.

“Me?” Cullen frowned. “Why me?”

Asta shrugged, “You’re determined to follow me to my self-imposed exile. And we have choices. We have the land outside Ostwick, Varric was spouting off about giving me the key to the city of Kirkwall, much to Bran’s horror, as apparently it’s not just symbolic - we would control the chain to the harbor. Dorian is desperate for us to visit Minrathous to save him from his own solitude. We could go back to South Reach - I’m sure that Josie could bribe and threaten their Arl into keeping quiet, and after all, you aren’t exiled, only me. They can‘t precisely stop you from visiting your family. For that matter, we could argue that Skyhold is neutral territory and therefore not precisely on Southern Chantry lands - though that means I‘d be stuck there for two years. Bit long to spend in one castle. I could barely take a few weeks, while I was recovering. We could also throw ourselves upon the mercy of Kenric and see how irritated he becomes when he has to argue with me for two years running. Avvar territory can‘t be classified as under the Southern Chantry, surely.”

Cullen smiled, relaxing. “We do have choices. Let’s pack, because now that you’ve said it, I have a massive desire to be out of Orlais. Possibly for good. Do we ever have to come back here?  Please, say no.”

Asta laughed, grabbed a pillow and covered his face. “Fereldan.”

He pulled it off and shoved it in hers in retaliation, “Marcher.”

“Uh uh,” Asta giggled, pulling it away, “Not any more. I’m Fereldan now, at least by marriage.”

“Then we could go home,” he mused. “Back to Ferelden.” He looked wistful and hopeful.

“If you want,” Asta beamed. “Is it decided, then?”

“No,” Cullen leaned over her, looking at her mouth as it curved in a beguiling smile. “It isn’t.”

“Why not?” She looked confused. “Is it because of Mia? She‘ll get over it. She just needs to meet Krem… and that would be a lot easier if they had a reason to visit South Reach.”

“No,” Cullen laughed, “I could deal with Mia. Probably. I just have to keep my mouth shut and not give her any ammunition.“ He paused, “That’s harder than it sounds. But…” he swallowed. “I think we should go to Ostwick. See your land…”

“Our land,” Asta corrected.

“And I think you should make a point of seeing your brother,” he told her seriously. “The Inquisition is your family, but he is part of the Inquisition, at least peripherally. He wants to know you, Asta. You’ve been nagging me for years to stay in better touch with my family. You should take your own advice. We could take the opportunity to see more of the Free Marches while we travel - I‘ve barely been out of Kirkwall.”

Asta made a face. “He’s such an asshole. But yes, you‘re right. Every country, every city-state seems to have different views of Andraste. I‘m sure there‘s a reason for that. And there are so many little shrines I could investigate, and Varric was telling me about this altar on the Sundermount that seems to be connected to the Evanuris - and Hawke apparently brought Mythal directly to the mountain with just an amulet - I‘ve been wondering if there are any clues there…”

“I have you because of Max,” Cullen contradicted, stopping her attempt to change the topic. “He was a friend when I needed one. If you really want me to decide, that‘s what I‘m deciding. We go there, first. We can decide later what happens after that.”

Asta sighed, “Ostwick is pretty, at least. You’ll like the mountains. Perhaps we could make arrangements to stay in Markham after we see the land, though. I don‘t want to risk… being identified. Ostwick will never be a friendly place for me, and after the Exalted Council I would bet that they'd... This is a massive risk, Cullen. You couldn‘t pick a place that is more likely to be hostile to me outside of Starkhaven.”

Cullen nodded, “We won‘t stay long, I promise. It will be a brief stop, and then we‘ll move on. Just long enough to see your brother and decide if we want to keep the land he gave us.” He winced, “Dorian is going to be disappointed.”

Asta flinched but continued, “We can always go to Minrathous after,” she observed reasonably, “We have two years. He’ll need time to arrange our visit anyway - Tevinter doesn‘t just let anyone stroll across the border, and I am the Inquisitor. Not exactly likely to be welcomed with open arms. He’ll have to exchange favors, and I’m guessing he doesn’t have much pull over there right now. He won’t want to stay with his mother, so he needs to make arrangements for his own comfort, and he’ll need to get me access to the library. They don‘t let just any non-mage walk into it, apparently, even if they just want to look at the history section. For that matter, we may want to find our own place to stay, though I imagine he’ll have a lot to say about that. Also, Brother Genitivi has informed me that it will be a lot easier to get around with a Magister hosting us. We will be soporati in their eyes, however high-ranking, and we‘ll need the pull.”

“Disappeared into the shelves, that’s what they’ll say about Inquisitor Asta Rutherford, never to be seen again,” Cullen teased, “leaving her husband widowed and grieving in a foreign land full of evil mages.” He tried to look pitiful against his pillows.

Asta flopped down against him and kissed him on the cheek, snorting a laugh while she did so. “At least I won’t have shut myself up for 800 years with an ice dragon who claims to be a god while the love of my life dies slowly of wounds. If I have to go, I’d rather disappear into a library. More to read and a whole lot warmer. And probably much more comfortable for you, for that matter.” She pulled herself up and crossed to the wardrobe, tossing his clothes at him and hitting him in the head. “Come on, if you want to get the fuck out of Orlais, Commander, you’ll have to put on clothes first.”

“I suppose I must,” Cullen sighed, trying to keep a straight face. “For the greater good of shaking the dust of Orlais off my feet.” Asta shook her head and he lost his composure. “You know you really don’t want me dressed,” he teased. “Whatever happened to me without pants being added to the Chant? Did Leliana make any progress on that? I don‘t remember it being brought up in the Exalted Council, but I missed a lot of days.”

“I never want you dressed,” Asta climbed back into the bed with him, unable to resist him lazing around. “But you in clothing does serve a purpose, occasionally.”

“And what purpose is that?” Cullen laughed as she struggled to pull him closer, tossing the articles in question to the end of the bed to get them out of the way.

“So that I can take them off again,” Asta giggled. “That should have been obvious.” She kissed him gently and let him capture her lips, matching his movements and finally managing to pull him over on top of her. “Sure you want to get out of Orlais?”

Cullen pretended to think. “Yes,” he admitted, after a teasing pause. “And the sooner we’re on the road, the sooner we can stop for… other things.”

Asta sighed, in disappointment, “What other things?” But she let him up to pull his shirt on over his head while she watched, distracted. “I’ll have to swing by the tavern and let Bull know we’re taking off. I’m sure he’s not going to be able to move out this fast.”

“That’s just fine with me,” Cullen boasted, “I’ll take care of you.” He grinned mischievously down at her.

“All right,” Asta pushed herself up out of the bed and made her way towards him, hugging him around the waist from behind. “I’ll let you, I suppose,” she teased. “What other things?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Cullen mocked. “So… get dressed and go find Bull. I’ll make sure that the others know we’re taking off, grab a few things, and arrange to have the rest sent on to Skyhold. They’ll catch up, I’m sure. I‘ll meet you at the tavern.” He finished his armor and helped Asta with hers, and they left the room together, smiling.

The Divine’s flowers sat untouched in the middle of the table.

***

Two hours later, Cullen found himself staring at a dandelion patch in the dirt outside the tavern. He smiled and picked every single one, even the ones that had gone to seed, as Dane sneezed and wandered off. He handed them to Asta as she walked out of the tavern. “Make a wish,” he bowed gallantly, smiling hugely.

Asta laughed in delight and took the weeds, beaming, and blew all at once, watching the seeds drift away.

“Good one,” Cullen complimented. “Shall we get the horses?”

“Not yet,” Asta put him off, and turned her back to him. “Put the yellow ones in my hair. I want to make a statement of a different sort.” Cullen obliged, tucking them into the far more simple braid she had the maid construct that morning.

“Which statement?” He asked as he worked. “Love’s Oracle? Faithfulness?”

“No…” Asta beamed, “Wishes come true. I had them all granted recently, if you hadn't noticed.”

“Time to make some new ones?” Cullen smiled even wider.

“Maybe,” she flirted back. “Any ideas?”

Cullen shook his head and then realized she couldn‘t see him deny it. “I have everything I could ever need.”

“All right then,” Asta laughed, “Then let’s get the horses. Think we can make it to Skyhold in a couple of days?”

“Not a chance,” Cullen laughed. “Because we’re only going to stay at inns, and that means less than six hours of travel per day, and…”

“Oh no,” Asta contradicted, “We’re not traveling with Josie. We’re staying in tents. I like tents, Commander. I like having you in a tent with me.  Tents are convenient.”

“Beds are better,” but he was smiling sheepishly and trying not to blush at her easy admission.

“But I don’t want to have to wait for an inn,” Asta said softly.

“Then why are we leaving at all?” Cullen teased, “This tavern has rooms. We could just slip upstairs…” he tried to pull her back against him and she spun around to face him instead.

“Tempting,” Asta’s eyes were dark as they traced the lines of his face and his half grin. “But I thought you wanted out of Orlais?”

“Good point,” he turned away abruptly. “Let’s see how far we can get before you beg me to stop.”

“Cullen Rutherford!” Asta exclaimed, put off. “That’s… that’s…” He came back and grabbed her hand.

“Look, love, if you’re going to claim to be Fereldan, you have to figure out that nothing will keep a good Fereldan in Orlais for one minute longer than they have to be,” he pointed out reasonably. “So let’s get the horses, and let’s get out of here! The others will catch up too soon if we don‘t get moving.”

“All right,” Asta pouted. “But you have to make it up to me.”

“I swear I will,” Cullen promised. “Over and over again.” He pulled her in to stand between his legs. “For as long as is necessary,” he swore.

“That’s a pretty long time,” Asta bit her lips to hide the smile. “You up for forever?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Cullen grinned. “All of this is moot, however, if you don’t let me actually leave Orlais first.”

Asta spun away and slapped him on the ass. “Then let’s get going. Two sovereigns says that we can make it to the foothills by tomorrow.”

“Now you’re talking, love,” Cullen shifted the bags to his shoulder and whistled for Dane, who came running back, more than ready to go.  "Good-bye, Orlais."

 


	167. Hail to the Chief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of those chapters that I know is ridiculous but yet I'm stubbornly including it anyway.

Bull faced Dorian at their room in the tavern, with what felt like a bogfisher stuck in his throat, trying not to beg. “Well, shit,” he swallowed before continuing. “Do you have to? Now? I thought…” He clenched and unclenched his fists by his side and tried to concentrate, to understand exactly what Dorian wanted him to understand but wouldn’t tell him.

Dorian wouldn’t look at him, but that wasn‘t unusual. “If I go back to Skyhold with you,” he stopped and tried again. “If I go anywhere with you, I will never leave. Asta is already gone, and it would be easier if I…”

“You didn’t say good-bye,” Bull confronted him with his bullshit directly, knowing in an instant that Dorian wanted him to do just that. “She doesn’t know. She thinks you’re with us, Kadan. Please, come back with us. If not for me, for her.”

Dorian closed his eyes and Bull shifted his shoulders. Whenever his Kadan’s inability or unwillingness to talk about his feelings cropped up, he could always read his body language. “Amatus, I want to be with you,” he admitted, drooping slightly. “That isn’t the issue here.”

“Then fine,” Bull walked over and swung him up into his arms, confident he was doing the right thing. “You’re with me. You’re coming back to Skyhold, and when you finally go back to Tevinter, I’m seeing you as far as I can, even if they won’t let me in the fucking country. And I’m not going to let you leave without saying goodbye to your best friend. No Amatus worthy of the name would.”

Dorian relaxed into his arms and smiled. “You’ll never let me take the easy way out, will you, Bull?”

“Fuck no,” Bull rumbled, kicking the door open. “You okay with that?”

Dorian just nodded against his chest. “Then take me to the horses,” he ordered, swinging his arm around the back of his man’s neck and looking up into his eyes, his own shining. “I’m at your mercy,” he whispered, slumping back against his strength melodramatically, and trying not to break the mood.

“No, I’m at yours,” Bull admitted with a low laugh at the theatrics. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I would follow you all the way into Tevinter and into the Magisterium, Kadan. I would fight and kill anyone who ever dares hurt you if you‘d let me. You just won’t fucking let me, and I’m starting to understand why.”

“Why?” Dorian asked tensely. “Why wouldn’t I let you?” His fist tightened into Bull’s harness and he searched his face, begging him to know the answer without him having to actually say it aloud.

“Because,” Bull grunted, “You think I’m something more than a meat shield, battleaxe and a damn good liar. Not sure why.” Dorian didn’t reply. “Don’t think anyone has ever thought that about me before,” he admitted. “But I’m not going to give it up until I have to, all the same.” He clomped down the stairs, grunting at the man’s weight, but not offering to set him down, either.

“Don’t give it up, then,” Dorian sighed, and tried to regain his usual bravado. “I’ll think that until I die, Bull. Just like you think I’m more than a brilliant mage, a pretty face and a nice…”

“I don’t think, I know…” Bull growled. He paused in his steps, completely unaware that the entirety of the tavern had stopped to stare at the two of them together, Dorian cradled in the larger man‘s arms.

Cole smiled from his corner, as Bull shot him a knowing glance. “I helped,” he whispered. Maryden looked at him, a little confused, but professionally continued her song about Scout Harding, echoing now through the silent tavern.

“Get a room!” Krem grumbled at the sight of them, unusually intolerant of his Chief‘s antics.

“Just because you aren’t getting any,” Dorian humphed, “does not mean you need to turn into a prude, Cremisius Aclassi. We aren‘t doing anything but standing here.”

“Standing there looking at each other like you’ll find the meaning of life if you look long enough,” Krem muttered. “You’ve got frigging stars in your eyes, for the Maker’s sake. And I’d be getting some if she were on this side of the fucking country. But no, I had to pick the girl with the Commander for a brother. The Commander with a stick up his ass so far that he had to send his sister to the Maker-be-damned Western Approach to prove he wasn’t playing favorites. The ass. You two intending to leave now, Chief?” Krem took a long drink, scowling into an empty corner.

“Yeah, you guys okay with coming later?” Bull answered, without looking away from Dorian, a strange look on his face.

“Sounds like a plan. You okay, Chief?” Krem broke loose of his own problems. “You sick?”

“I don’t get sick,” Bull grated out slowly. “You know that, Krem.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dorian stared right back at his man, a tender expression on his face that was hardly ever there. “We could wait, Amatus, let you get some rest. We’ve all been under a lot of stress…”

“Nah,” Bull shook off the strange feeling. “I’m good, Kadan. I just…” he laughed, rumbling and shaking the mage still in his arms. “I just realized that I never wanted to live in a world without you. Even if the way that world works means you’re in Tevinter and I’m… not.”

“Oh,” Dorian replied, shocked. “Well, that‘s…”

“And then I realized you felt the exact same way,” Bull cut him off and grinned. “And I wanted to carry you right back upstairs and let you take me to pieces. But I think it’s too late. I’m in the middle of eloping or some crap like that with you, and I have to finish what I started.”

Dorian just stared, “Excuse me, but did you say…”

“Eloping?” Krem looked at the two of them, bottle frozen halfway to his lips. “Chief, I don’t think there’s a single Revered Mother _or_ Father that would marry the two of you.”

“Who said anything ‘bout getting married in the Chantry?” Bull grinned, “Inquisition isn’t part of the Chantry. Did you miss that whole Exalted Council thing that happened or something, Kremsicle, my man?”

“Wasn’t that what the dragon tooth was for?” Dorian looked confused.

“Sort of,” Bull started walking again. “That’s for respect, showing a permanent bond, sure, but… I want something more with you, something everyone else has to recognize. We’ve got to talk to the Boss, see if she can come up with anything. I want you to go back to Tevinter knowing that I’m never gonna change, and that if that snake pit ever gets to be too much, you can come straight to me and I’ll be waiting.” He swallowed, “I wanna be the one you run to, Dorian, if it all goes to shit.”

Dorian froze, and then thawed. “You already are. Nothing we can say in front of other people will change that, Amatus.”

Bull stopped again, almost at the stables. “I am?” Dorian nodded. “Then we need to figure something out fast,” he groused, and sped up his steps.

Dorian spoke, and Bull could almost feel his heart hammering in countertime to his own, “Even if it doesn’t mean that we can… live together?”

Bull snorted, “How many mercenaries you think have a happy home life? Home to the missus at the end of a long day to a hot meal and a pile of kids? I don‘t even want that.” He stared at Dorian, even more intensely. “I just want you.”

Dorian’s moustache twitched. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“It’ll work or something,” Bull vowed, and dropped Dorian onto his feet, and led his horse out of the stall. “It’s more than the words. It’s the intention. Boss will know. She knows more than she says. She gets this look sometimes, this deep thinking look that says she‘s putting stuff together so it fits but she doesn‘t tell us all of it. I don‘t think she can - I think it would shake the world. I‘d say this world needs some shaking. Hope she starts talking eventually.” He drug a saddle down from the top of the stall and fitted it on the horse.

“I’ll saddle my own horse, thank you,” Dorian nodded towards the dracolisk that promptly snarled at him in derision. “I’m not going near that thing. It bites.”

“Asuna never hurt a soul,” Bull insisted. “She’s a sweetheart.”

Dorian curled a lip in the thing’s general direction. “You don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

“I can tell,” Bull replied positively. “She’s feminine.” He paused, and stared at the white horses in the stall next to the dracolisk. “Guess Cullen and Asta didn’t use those… and Varric went to all that work to find them, too, when Cass insisted,” he grinned. “Hey, Dorian, wanna elope on white horses? It would be romantic or some shit like that, right? Riding off into the sunset?” He glanced out of the door, “Damn, the sunset is in two hours and we‘ll be headed the wrong direction. But we can ride that long, if that‘s how long it takes. For once, you‘re going to have romance, Dorian, if it kills me trying.”

“How is it eloping if we’re going back to Skyhold?” Dorian fussed. “How does this even work? Bull, I took the damn tooth you gave me. I wear it, all the time. Why do we even need to…”

Bull got close enough for Dorian to feel his breath in his ear, pushing him up against the wooden stall. “Because your dad’s dead,” he said bluntly. “But your mom isn’t. And I’m telling you right now, from what you’ve said, she’s going to be shoving every single female in the country in your face as soon as you get back to that… mess, including the one you left behind in the first place. You’re a magister, now, Dorian. You’re about fifty times more eligible than any other crazy ass mage where you‘re headed. I want you to be able to tell her, ‘Sorry, already taken. Can’t do it,’ flick your fingers in her face as you shut the door on her and have it be the fucking _truth_. The dragon tooth means something to my culture, but yours, Dorian, isn‘t going to give a shit what you wear around your neck.”

Dorian‘s eyes fell away from his face, a long sweep of eyelashes against his cheeks. “You’re trying to protect me.” His breathing grew ragged. “Bull…”

“That’s what I do,” Bull rumbled deep in his chest. “It’s what I’ll always do. I mean it, Dorian, you say the word, and I‘ll brave the entire ’Vint army to save your ass.”

Dorian took a breath, “Then I guess we’re eloping to Skyhold. Can one of those white horses hold your weight?”

Outside the stable, Cole leaned against the wall, uncrossed his arms, and smiled his happiest smile. “Good luck, the Iron Bull,” he whispered, and walked back inside to Maryden, his feet light. “I helped,” he told her between songs, and pecked her cheek to her surprised grin. “They’ve left,” he informed Krem, beaming proudly, as Krem and the other Chargers sprinted for the window to take in the view.

Their mighty leader trotted off down the road, Dorian at his side, on two matched white horses, the late afternoon sun behind them, and Krem turned from the window to lead the toasts.

“To the Chief!” He announced, raising his bottle to the dark silouettes that had almost disappeared. “To Dorian and taking the Bull by the horns!  To getting what you want and to the Void with the rest of the world!” And the Chargers, to a man, echoed his sentiments and drank to their leader.

“To the Chief!”

 


	168. Impatience as a Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is entirely NSFW. Completely and utterly. Skip it if you don't want it - I'll have another chapter up today.

Cullen and Asta tumbled into the hastily erected tent and fell to their knees - Asta having won the argument easily since Cullen really didn‘t want to wait either. “Shouldn’t we at least build a fire first?” Cullen panted, ignoring his own words as he pulled apart her jacket and helped her slide it off her shoulders.

“No,” Asta muttered against his demanding lips. “No time. Only time for this…” he bit her neck and she forgot what she was going to say.

“We’re in no rush,” Cullen tried to insist, as he pulled her shirt off roughly, catching it on her hook and fumbling to detach it, moving right to her breastband when he succeeded.

“Yes, we are,” Asta jerked the buckles of his breastplate. “Bull might decide to follow sooner, rather than later. He and Dorian were in the midst of some kind of argument. It was all I could do to get him to talk to me long enough to tell him we were leaving. He just… grunted at me, in the end, and I gave up. So…” Cullen dropped his lips to her now bare breasts and she arched against him urgently. “Besides, we are trying to get out of Orlais, right?”

“You’re the one who insisted we stop,” Cullen scraped his teeth along the nipple, and she whined, and clutched his hair a little too tightly.

“You’re the one who insisted I ride with you,” Asta panted out. “And then proceeded to get the kind of erection that makes it impossible to ride double comfortably.”

“I was comfortable,” Cullen drug his lips back up to her neck and mouthed her, hard. “I was more than comfortable.” He wrapped his hands around her breasts and then slid them to her back. “I could have ridden like that all day and into the night.” His innuendo went right over the apparently preoccupied Inquisitor’s head.

“Yes, well,” Asta gritted her teeth and leaned back, “I wasn’t. Damn it, Cullen, riding with you like that makes me want to ride you instead. So get these,” and she yanked his laces loose with her hook, breaking a leather thong in the process, “off already.”

“All right,” Cullen said lowly, and repeated the favor, slightly more gently. “If you do the same.” They lost their words, pulling each other out of their clothes and letting them fall where they would, intent on getting each other bare. Asta was first, but took advantage of Cullen’s sliding his breeches down to bend over and lick him. “Damn it!” He shuddered and nearly fell over. “Asta, can’t you wait for a couple of seconds?”

“No,” she panted. “Stay still,” and she sunk down on him and started working him over with her tongue.

“Asta…” Cullen tried to be reasonable, even while she kept playing with him. “I’ve been aroused for hours, love, I’m not going to last if…”

“Then you should have let me stop sooner,” Asta said, after popping off him with a wet noise. “Consider this your punishment.” She started to bend back down and Cullen grabbed her and pulled her up instead.

“That is _not_ a punishment,” he laughed. “That’s the sort of thing that will encourage me to pull that stunt again, and again,” he started punctuating his words with soft kisses, trying to slow her down. She retaliated by wrapping her hook around the back of his neck, cold and stiff against his neck, and pressed herself along him. “Do you want to take that off first?”

“Only if you make me,” Asta panted against his neck, grinding back into his lap and trying to slide down over him and failing in the best way. “This way, I can prop myself up a bit. I’ve missed…”

Cullen groaned with her movements, “Won’t that hurt your arm?”

“No,” Asta insisted, “I’ve been doing pushups with the sandbag weight, just for this reason. Andraste’s Ass, Cullen, just let me…”

He started to laugh, and she finally managed to capture him, sinking down slowly, and he choked, mid-laugh. “You’ve been doing pushups because…”

“Because positions,” Asta rocked against him, “Now, lie down already.” She pushed him back, a glint in her eye that dared him to disobey. He laid down willingly enough, and thrust up into her, her head falling back slightly and a breathy sound escaping her lips before she propped her hook and hand on either side of his head and started to move slowly, dragging him along the inside of her.

His breath caught and he lost his sense of humor entirely, cupping her ass to encourage her to move faster.

“Slow down, Commander,” she teased. “You’d think you were the one who wanted to stop.”

“I did,” he confessed fully. “Just, please, Asta, don’t…” She moved even slower, and purposefully tightened around him. “I wanted to… I wanted you…”

“Good,” she said, an evil smile playing around her lips as he managed to flutter his eyes back open. “Let’s see how long I can stay up.”

She was already shaking, though, with the effort to prop herself above him, and when he lifted his head to lock his lips with hers the shaking increased. “Just tell me when,” he moaned. “I’ll…” she drove down onto his hips hard before he could say the next word, and he muffled a curse with her mouth. “Asta,” he murmured, “again?” His voice shook and so she complied, and he cried out again, desire and pleasure mixed into dirty language. With that encouragement, she moved faster, pressing and rocking and he tried to echo her movements, wanting to sink into her completely, to make himself disappear, overly hampered by the position of them both. “Please,” he managed, begging. “Please, I…”

“All right,” Asta whispered and sat up, still rocking. “What do you want, Cullen?” He sat up with her to push her even deeper, and then rolled, but sat back instead of following her down, a wicked look on his face.

“I want you to forget where I end and you begin,” he panted, in control again, however temporarily, and gathered her hand and hook together over her head. “How is that for a plan?”

Asta arched up deliberately. “You always do have the best plans.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Cullen laughed, and bent down to start licking her breasts again, gathering them up into his mouth and pulling. He moved against her suddenly and she pressed into him harder, moaning, while he pulled out of her nearly all the way, slower than slow and then drove back in, just as hard.

“Again,” Asta ordered, glaring desperately. Hard thrusts and slow drags evolved into movement that made rhythm, echoing the drumbeats of their hearts, the pulse of their lives drowning everything else out around them, until even those were thrumming in unison and they felt each other lose it all in the same movement, names tangling uncontrollably into the now completely dark and all too quiet night.

Cullen fell over, “Mercy, love,” he panted.

“Shit, it just gets better,” Asta shuddered around him uncontrollably. “I didn’t think that was bloody possible.”

Cullen started laughing, and bent his head into her neck to try to muffle the noise.

“What’s so funny?” Asta shook. “That was incredible.  I can't even laugh, it was so amazing.”

“We forgot to get the bedrolls,” Cullen laughed even louder. “We have to get up now, and get the bags, and… it’s as dark as pitch out there. Only a sliver of a single moon to light the way. Did _you_ tie up the horses? We don’t even have a fire to see by!”

“I was impatient,” she giggled. “But at least I remembered to hobble the horses, Cullen.” She nudged him to the left to cuddle against him better. “So… say you love me. Thanks to me we don’t have to go back to the last village, on foot, to buy food and rent horses. Or chase them around in the dark, though possibly Dane might be able to help with that.” The dog slunk into the tent with his sound of his name, eying them suspiciously, as if they would jump each other again as soon as his back was turned.

“I love you,” Cullen readily supplied, pulling back to look her in the eyes. “You weren’t the only impatient one. I adore you, and I hope it’ll get even better than that before we sleep.”

Asta looked skeptical. “Better than that?”

“O ye of little faith,” Cullen raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Come on, let’s get our bags and eat something, start a fire and afterward…” he leaned in and kissed her slowly. “I’ll show you exactly what I was thinking about that had me so…”

“Impatient,” Asta supplied, laughing again. “All right, challenge accepted, Commander.”

Two hours later, Asta was on her knees facing his legs, arms shaking, as she told Cullen, lying smugly beneath and behind her, stretched out and shuddering with his own aftershocks. “You win. That was… definitely the cause of your impatience. But I want to know what in the Void gave you that brilliant idea. And if it was in a book, damn, I want to read it.”

“Just my own imagination,” Cullen tried to control his breath. “And I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Definitely a compliment,” Asta eased herself up to lay back down against his chest, shaking hands trying to remove her prosthesis. “You need to use your imagination more often.”

“Then we’ll get into even more trouble,” Cullen closed his eyes, completely content. “Don‘t you have enough for both of us?”

“Apparently not,” Asta corrected. “Don’t make me give you an order, Commander.”

“I can always resign,” Cullen teased. “It’s coming soon enough anyway.” He took her attachment and set it aside gently. “But for you, I’ll try.” He pulled her closer and started murmuring things into her ear that had her blushing and squirming against him all too soon, trying to get him to stop talking and start kissing her.

They were up very, very late, but neither one minded in the least.

 


	169. Precedents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So fluffy. Just... but I've come this far. Might as well go through with it. I feel like I should apologize, though.
> 
> Second chapter of the day!

The dawn rose, ever so inevitably, and Cullen and Asta woke to the tumultuous sounds of a mage arguing with a warrior, and a warrior not arguing back. They fumbled with their clothes, biting back their curses at the early hour and listening to the one sided discussion going on.

“This is crazy,” the mage fumed. “There is no such thing, never has been, in all Thedosian history, Amatus. Whatever… feelings you want to talk about, this is nonsense! There is no precedent.”

“Then Boss will make some precedents!” grinned Bull. “Because I’m determined and you love the idea. Maybe the Avvar? Surely me carrying you off and having my way with you would satisfy something on their end? Kenric would know… Hey, Boss, Cullen, congratulate us. Dorian and I are eloping. Got the flimsy white horses and everything. Rode all night to get here.” He kept brushing one of them, more than a little worried. “I may have broken this one. I‘m sorry, Boss, I think Varric meant them to be a gift for you, in case you were supposed to die and had to leave in the dark of night for Jader.”

Cullen and Asta had managed to stumble out of their tent, groaning and shivering in the cold dawn air.

Asta blinked at them, still more than half asleep. “You’re… eloping?” She turned to Cullen, “Is this an elaborate dream? Or did Bull just say…”

“Yup,” Bull smiled with pride as he answered. “Carried him off, in front of witnesses, even. I was _romantic,_ Boss. But now I need you to figure out a way that the ‘Vints will have to recognize he’s not available, because I’m not letting him go without knowing he’ll be safe.”

Asta frowned. “Bull, he gave you a speaking crystal, right? You’ll be able to talk every night. You‘ll know if he‘s not safe.”

“Not good enough, apparently,” Dorian complained. “I do what I can, and no, he says he wants to _marry_ me. To protect me from whatever Mother tries to entangle me in.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently, the Qun realizes the threat that a Tevinter mother poses. I shouldn‘t be so surprised.”

Asta blinked again, “Well, that makes sense,” she rubbed her eyes, “In some bizarre alternate universe, I suppose. Unless it’s just too early for… whatever this is. That is quite possible. But I don’t think there’s an option for this… anywhere, Bull. I’ve never read or heard or…”

“Then make one,” Bull demanded. “Because I’m not giving up. Marriage at sea?”

“Do you know a ship’s captain?” Asta asked bluntly. “Varric does, but I’ve never met her.”

“An admiral, now, actually, at least in her own mind,” Cullen corrected, under his breath. “Do admirals do weddings?”

“I have no idea where to find her,” Asta pointed out. “And thanks to this… elopement, if you can call it that, Varric is probably two days behind us. And I can assure you, that no matter how… lenient Mother Gisele was in the matter of my wedding, she will likely balk at marrying a subject of the Black Divine and a follower of the Qun!”

“But the Inquisition’s not Chantry, right?” Bull grinned and Cullen groaned.

“Asta, are you going to be performing marriages now? I don’t think that was the intention when you declared us separate from… you never wanted this to be a cult!”

Asta dropped onto a nearby fallen log and put her head in her hand. “Shut up, all of you, I’m thinking.” She brought her head up, still bleary eyed from lack of sleep. “You two are trouble. But you’re in more trouble without each other than with, I’d say.”

“That might be an accurate assessment,” Dorian observed, crossing his arms in front of his chest defensively. “But there’s nothing that can be done, am I correct? It‘s hopeless.” His eyes begged her to tell him differently.

Asta shook her head, “Not that has happened before,” she smiled slowly. “But that doesn’t stop Josie from drawing up a contract. Contracts are binding under the law. Sounds like just the sort of thing that ‘Vints would be forced to respect, if it‘s written correctly and hedged in well enough. And if we ask Josie or Varric very politely, we could probably have assassins called out automatically on anyone trying to break it…” Cullen frowned at her. “Though that might be extreme.”

Bull started laughing and tugged Dorian towards him. “Hear that! Knew the Boss would have an answer! We could have assassins defending your honor!”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said that,” Dorian complained, but allowed himself to be snuggled up against the larger man comfortably, a slight hope dawning in his still tragic eyes.

Cullen sighed, and walked towards the fire with the intent to get it going, running his hands through his hair to smooth it back. “I’m going to heat some water. Asta, do we have coffee? Please tell me we have coffee.”

“Only if you packed it,” Asta looked closely at Dorian. “You know, Dorian, just because you sleep with him doesn’t mean you have to marry him…” she threw his words back at him, smirking.

Dorian blushed, “It’s his idea,” he muttered, leaning in all the closer to his intended. “This whole… elopement is Bull’s idea, if that weren’t obvious.”

“And you love it,” Bull nudged him. “Right?”

Dorian bit his lip. “It would… solve certain problems,” he admitted. “And… It would be nice to not worry…” he clammed up and refused to finish, and Bull hugged him tighter.

“It’s okay, Kadan,” he reassured him. “You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s too early for this shit,” Asta cursed, but continued trying to make her brain work. “With a contract, I think you two could say whatever you want to say, in front of anyone that would listen, and it will still be binding. If Dorian is sure this is what he wants…” her eye was on her friend, who squirmed uncomfortably under her knowing gaze.

“All right, yes,” Dorian blurted out. “I’ll marry the man - or whatever we can call this. I want to marry him. He knows everything about me, right down to when I’ve forgotten to carry a handkerchief for my damn allergies and what colors compliment my eyes and skin tone. I’ve already started looking into buying a small villa on this side of the Tevinter border where we could… meet, occasionally. When he happens to be passing through, naturally. And I’ve ordered you…” he glared at Asta weakly, “Another speaking crystal. So that when he ‘accidentally’ misplaces or destroys his, he has a backup.” He deflated, “You can use it until then, I suppose.”

Asta bit her lip, trying to hold back the humor bubbling up, but caught a glimpse of Cullen’s silent shaking shoulders and sniggered instead.

“Stop that,” Dorian’s mouth twisted, trying not to appreciate the humorous side of the situation. “I assume that you will be a witness, Commander?” He asked Cullen, who stiffened and turned to face him, surprised.

“You want me…”

“Him?!” Asta pouted, “I want to be your witness, Dorian! You were mine!”

“You’re performing the ceremony,” Bull smiled wide with calculation. “So how does this work - just like yours? Two witnesses and someone to say we‘re hitched?”

“Am I qualified to marry someone?” Asta shook her head. “Even when I was a Sister, I could never perform a wedding…”

“You said it could be anyone, with a binding contract,” Bull reminded her. “So… we want you, Boss. Krem’s my witness,” he said with confidence. “And I want to have the ceremony in the Hinterlands, after we fight the dragon. It will be great!”

“No,” Dorian immediately put his foot down. “No dragons. Absolutely not.”

“But Kadan… the Hinterlands is pretty… we could have a little honeymoon after…”

“If you like ‘hut in the wilds chic’,” Dorian huffed. “No. Skyhold. Main Hall. Mid-morning, with the sun streaming in through the windows. You’ll have to wear a shirt. Besides, we don’t have months to plan a destination wedding. Those take time! I have duties to perform in Tevinter and Asta and the Commander are leaving the country for two years in a matter of weeks!”

“Well, maybe not that long,” Asta prevaricated. “And part of that time we’ll be with you, I hope. Assuming you can make the arrangements to allow us to enter the country.” Dorian flashed her a disarmed grin that was simultaneously surprised and happy.

“Then I’m coming too,” Bull asserted. “You’ll figure out a way to explain me. I’m your bodyguard, as long as Josie keeps paying me, so you aren‘t going anywhere, especially Minrathous, without me. You‘d be dead in two days, if not two minutes, without me there.”

“That’s not going to work,” Dorian argued. “I can’t just… allow a… what people will see as a Tal’Vashoth to subject themselves to the misery of Minrathous! You’d be… it would…” his voice trailed off. “You’d get hurt,” he said softly, his voice full of pain. “I can’t let that happen, Bull. Not when I could prevent it.”

“Bull, Dorian has a point. Also, you have way too much faith in my abilities to get what I want and damn the consequences.“ Asta rubbed her tired eyes, took the hot tea that Cullen offered, and sipped at it slowly. “Thanks,” she whispered, and he nodded, still grinning and chuckling to himself. “What the Void would you two even say for vows? It’s not like Bull can swear by Holy Andraste or the Maker, or even Sylaise… and the Qun doesn‘t do marriage! Have I mentioned that it‘s way too early for this shit?!” she ran her hand through her tangled hair, “Noon. I need to make a rule that there be no legal, magical or historical conundrums until after noon.”

“I’ll swear by anything Dorian wants me to swear by,” Bull huffed. “I can swear by Koslun’s Tide, right? And it‘s after dawn. How late were you two up last night, anyway? You barely covered any ground!”

“I suppose,” Asta said even more slowly, evading his second question. “If that’s acceptable to Dorian. Cullen, is this going to piss off the Chantry?” Cullen shrugged. “You’re no help,” Asta narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re still my advisor. So advise me already!”

“Too amused,” he admitted. “This is great. I‘d say marry them now, honestly. Then they don‘t have to do all that… planning.” He shuddered in memory.

“As if you had to do any of it,” Asta scoffed, and turned back to the two lovebirds. “Dorian,” Asta brought up reluctantly, “I know you don’t want to think about it, but what about heirs?”

Dorian grumbled, “As if you did any of it either. And as for an heir, I’ll adopt,” he said easily, “There’s a massive precedent for Magisters replacing their not-so-talented children with more talented students. I’ll pick out someone nice and deserving, train them up as my apprentice, and leave them the lot as a happy surprise, simultaneously angering my mother and disappointing all my distant relations. It will be a delightful and thoroughly Magisterial thing to do. Perhaps I‘ll even learn to laugh correctly.”

“Oh, Kadan…” Bull eyes shone, “We could have a baby?!”

“I thought you didn’t want children,” Dorian criticized. “And no. That is biologically impossible. But yes, I will need an heir, or my seat in the Magisterium will be phased out. I have too many plans to not at least attempt to keep them moving into the next generation.”

“One would be fine,” enthused Bull. “We could name it Drakon. Best. Name. Ever.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking of an older child or adolescent, Bull. One with an obvious magical talent,” Dorian explained, with a sniff. “As a Pavus, that would be necessary.”

“Well, you don’t have to get huffy, just because I was all excited about raising a kid with you,” Bull looked hurt. Asta let her eyes roll at Cullen, who again, was no help, now having to stifle his giggles into his own cup of tea.

“You guys haven’t talked about anything,” she started, “Have you really thought this through?”

“Well, we know we wouldn’t be living together,” Bull contradicted. “So he’d be raising the kid, we’d break away to meet up, often as possible. I’d be involved, if you‘d let me,” he insisted when Dorian coughed. “Yeah, it’ll be mostly talking on that crystal thing, but…” his lip quivered a bit and Dorian picked up the tail of the conversation to spare Bull from the threat of his own emotions trying to overwhelm him.

“Asta, you told me after you got engaged to the Commander that… you just wanted a little happiness,” he said softly. “This is the same. My life in Tevinter… it will not be pleasant. I will ask you the same thing as you asked me; Is it wrong to want this?”

Cullen blinked, unaware that the two friends had discussed his engagement in such a manner and looked at Asta, a trifle concerned. She smiled at him, and he relaxed, realizing it had been worked out. He watched her bite her lip to hide her reaction and melted a little bit, smiling a bit goofily in return, happy that he made her happy.

She turned back to Dorian, “I could deny you nothing, my friend,” she used his words against him. “Even if I wanted to.” She smiled wickedly, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into adopting an elf as your heir?”

Dorian smiled wickedly right back, "One step ahead of you, my dear. Maevaris is already looking into candidates. Who do you think I had find me the crystals? Besides, I can think of few things that would anger Mother more, besides marrying a Tal‘Vashoth. I can‘t wait. I‘m going to be such a disappointment.” He tapped his finger against his cheek. “I really must work on my evil laugh.  I'm going to need it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I did put up another chapter in 'Demands of the Champion', for those that are interested.


	170. Better Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Breaking Benjamin's 'Better Days'

What remained of the Inquisition in Halamshiral stood in front of the tavern, waiting for Varric to say his good-byes to Cole.  Unfortunately, they seemed to be dragging off into awkward silences with the knowledge that Cole wasn‘t going straight back to Skyhold with the rest of them. No one had really expected the one-time spirit to step out on his own so quickly, but Varric was taking it the hardest.

Varric was trying very hard not to get emotional about Cole leaving home. “We’ll be seeing you, Cole,” Varric swung his bag to his shoulder. “Take care of yourselves, kids?”

Cole frowned, “Neither of us are kids, Varric. But we will. Maryden is used to taking care of herself. And now she has me. I will help.”

Varric chuckled, “You’re right, it was a silly thing to say.” The Chargers were all mounted behind him, and Varric swung up on his pony. “You ready, Cass?”

“All too ready,” she grumped, staring at the horse in front of her. “But I need… assistance,” she admitted, grumbling. Varric slid back down from his pony and gave her a hand under her foot to hoist her up. “This is intolerable,” she muttered irritably. “Varric, I cannot even get on a horse by myself any longer.”

“All temporary, babe,” he reminded her cheerfully. “Only a few months left, and then you’ll get back to your old, more than capable, self.”

“And then I will never do this again,” she announced, a little more cheerfully.

“How do you know?” Cole asked seriously, and Cassandra blanched shuddering, and turned her horse away without saying goodbye. “Was that a good one, Varric?” he asked, even more seriously.

“That was… a joke,” Varric blinked in surprise and then grinned mischievously. “Oh, Kid, that was a great one. Even if I have to deal with the aftermath. Well done.” He turned his pony out to follow the Seeker’s taller horse, still chuckling.

"Farewell, Cole,” Josie said formally but kindly. “I hope we will meet again.”

“You’ll remember me?” Cole asked worriedly. “People don’t always remember me. You didn‘t remember me, before.”

“I will remember,” the Ambassador promised. “There will always be a place for you in Skyhold.”

Cole relaxed, “Thank you,” he breathed. “I can talk to so many people now. It is very nice. I like it.” Maryden took his hand and he waved good-bye as the rest of the Inquisition filed out, far less prettily, but far more efficiently. “Tell Asta I will see her soon!” He said, rather loudly, in an attempt to be heard. “Was that all right?” He asked Maryden worriedly. “I don’t know that I will see her soon, but I want to.”

“That’s fine, Cole,” Maryden squeezed his hand. “Sometimes just saying things can make them happen.”

Cole smiled, satisfied. “Then I need to talk more.” He kissed her cheek shyly. “I want to kiss you more. Will that happen if I ask?”

Maryden laughed, “Undoubtedly,” and she pecked him back.

***

They waited to have the ceremony until the Chargers returned, at Bull's insistence.  It was simple, with just a few close friends and the mercenaries attending. The two men, the larger completely choked up and the slighter hesitant but sincere, stood with linked hands at the front of the hall. Midmorning light beamed through the window, lighting up both men as they made promises they both hoped would last forever. The contract was signed, drawn up with Josie’s expert help, and Bull was already officially the spouse of Dorian Pavus by law. But both men wanted the promises to be made out loud, all the same. Bull was wearing a shirt _and_ a coat, of his own volition. It was just that important, and he wanted to make Dorian happy.

“I promise that I will be your Kadan,” the dark-haired mage had to stop and clear his throat. “In both meanings of the word. Lodge me at the center of your chest and let me be your heart, the Iron Bull, for now until the sky falls, for you will be in both of mine for even longer.” His voice was quiet, but determined as he finished the longer vows he had been reciting for some time.

Asta wiped her eyes gently before she could continue with her role, “The Iron Bull, do you have something you’d like to say to Dorian?” Bull nodded, his lower lip quivering.

“Dorian,” Bull‘s voice shook along with his hands, and he dropped the piece of paper he was holding to the floor in favor of saying what was in his head instead. “I never expected to find this, what we have. You make me want to talk about my fucking feelings. You take me to pieces, rip me to shreds, and then put me back together better than ever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but since we can’t have that, I want to spend it instead protecting you from that shitstorm of a country you‘re trying to redeem. I knew from the minute I saw you in Redcliffe that you would be trouble, and I want you to be my problem, forever,” he blubbered. “Koslun’s Ass, this is hard. It shouldn’t be this hard, Boss. And that wasn‘t even what I wanted to say,” he sobbed. “Krem, help me out?”

Krem handed him a handkerchief, “Here, Chief,” he said quietly, and patted his back while Bull took it and wiped his eyes and blew his nose, never releasing his tight one-handed grip on Dorian, who looked like he was going to cry himself at the display of emotion, even while being horrified at the very thought.

Asta bit her lip, “Were you two going to exchange rings?” she asked quietly, realizing that they had never addressed it.

“Nah,” Bull managed, his throat thick. “Neither one of us is big on jewelry that isn‘t useful.” Dorian squeezed his hand and he smiled, obviously thrilled even through his tears. “And Dorian already has that Ring of Doubt. He’ll need that, when he gets back, for when he needs to get invisible. His mom is gonna be pissed.” Dorian smiled, a trifle gleefully. “Koslun’s Ass, I wish I could be there,” Bull muttered.  "I hate I'm going to have to miss so much."

“In that case, by the power invested in me by the Inquisition, I declare you to be Dorian and the Iron Bull Pavus,” Asta smiled. “Bull, you can kiss him now.”

A slow smile spread across Bull's still damp face and he yanked the smaller man towards him one handed, and dipped him, planting a kiss on him that made Dorian droop, and then reach up and grab one of the kossith’s horns to hold him closer. Bull pulled back, just to have Dorian yank him back in, overenthusiastically. A muffled, “Fuck, yeah,” came from between them, and Cullen had to stifle the snigger - completely inappropriate for a witness - that Varric openly indulged in, as Cassandra cleared her eyes with a hanky that Varric had provided.  Asta cleared her throat, realizing that she would have to reopen the Great Hall shortly, or have to explain a great deal to uninvited guests.

Dorian finally released Bull, who pulled the mage back upright, reluctantly. “So that’s it?” Bull asked Asta thickly through several layers of different emotions. “It’s binding?”

“Oh, it’s binding,” Josie interjected, beaming. “It would take the entire Merchant’s Guild to unravel this legal knot, I assure you. I had Varric look at it to make sure. If Dorian marries anyone else, he will be committing bigamy.” She looked inordinately proud of herself. “Also, half his lands and holdings in Tevinter would end up belonging to the current leader of the Bull’s Chargers. That should subtract from those willing to hire someone to try to dismantle the agreement, even without assassins.” She looked rather smug in her triumph.

“Good work, Josie,” Asta smiled wickedly. “Go on, you two. I’m sure there’s _something_ you’d rather be doing. Just don‘t light any curtains on fire that you don't intend to replace before we leave.”

Bull grinned, almost sheepishly, and scratched the base one of his horns, but Dorian grabbed his hand instead. “Yes. There is. I’m sure you’ll all excuse us,” he declared. “I need to take my husband elsewhere and have my way with him.  We have a lot to accomplish, and not much time to do it in.”

“Godspeed,” Varric saluted them, as Dorian tugged Bull out of the hall towards his room. “Strangest wedding I’ve ever attended,” he muttered. “Wonder if there’s room for a sequel? Talk about shit you can’t believe… “All This Shit is Even Weirder?”

Cassandra took his hand. “It was beautiful,” she argued. “They are obviously dedicated to each other.” She looked down at the dwarf softly, her face more reflective of her true feelings than her harsh tone.

“I didn’t say they weren’t, Cass,” Varric reassured her. “But it was weird, all the same. Asta, can we go have a drink without the happy couple? After that I could use one. Never heard so much cussing in a wedding vow, and I‘ve attended Guild weddings where the bride and groom despised each other.”

Asta took a deep breath, “Merciful Maker, please. Josie, please tell me that I‘m not going to have to do that more than once?”

“I will promise nothing,” the Ambassador declared. “Every time you do something like this, you create a legal precedent, and I assure you, this is one many people will want to take advantage of.”

Asta groaned, “Now I really need a drink. Try to do something nice…” Cullen came and wrapped his arm around her.

“It was a nice thing to do,” he insisted.

Asta leaned against him, “I know,” she admitted. “I would have done it regardless, even if Josie couldn’t help, but…” she sighed, “I didn’t want the Inquisition to become an alternative to the Chantry. This is… dangerously close to that.”

Josie shrugged gracefully. “I don’t know about that,” she argued, “it was I who drew up the contract. I would say that you are still safe. I will not offer my services to just anyone who asks. It would have to mean something, as this did. The details took a lot of fine tuning. So legal precedent or not, I would say that you have not taken a step that will be an affront to the Chantry. Just... circumvented them, as the Inquisition should be allowed to do, as a separate entity.”

“Does that mean we can finally tell people to stop calling me ‘Your Worship’?” Asta asked, dryly.

Josie tilted her head, thinking, “Yes. I think that would be wise, Inquisitor,” she smiled. “Time and past, really.”

Asta lit up. “That’s it, I’m buying drinks for everybody,” she announced much to Cullen's chagrin, and the Chargers instant joy. “I just got the best news since I realized I wasn’t going to be executed for heresy! Here‘s to never being ‘Your Worshipped‘ again!”

***

A week later, they all met in the War Room, finalizing the interim plans for the Inquisitor's absence.  Asta took a deep breath, “So we are in agreement?” She asked her advisors, plus Rylen and Cassandra.

“We are,” Josie assured her. “He is the best choice.”

“He’s in my office,” Cullen said softly. “I made sure he had enough to do, so that we could find him easily. Would you like me to…”

“No,” Asta shook her head. “But Harding, if you‘d send a runner, I would appreciate it.” She sighed and turned to Cullen, as Harding slipped to the door and spoke briefly to the guard outside. “Speaking of your office, shall we…”

Cullen nodded, and slid a letter over the table towards her. “I am tendering my resignation, Inquisitor,” he announced. “Effective immediately.”

“Not even going to give me two weeks notice?” Asta tried to laugh. “Shame on you, Comm… Cullen.” She bit her lip at the slip of the title, “I accept your resignation, Cullen,” she said quietly, he nodded and removed himself from his habitual place on the other side of the War Table to stand behind her instead. “And the Inquisition wishes you well in your future endeavors.” She managed more clearly, and he smiled at her from his new place, and then she turned to Rylen. “Knight-Captain Rylen,” she announced clearly. “The Inquisition would like to offer you the rank of Commander of our armies. Do you accept?”

“With pleasure,” the man replied, bowing slightly. “It will be an honor to serve, Inquisitor.”

“Very well, we will have the ceremony as soon as possible,” Asta announced, and Josie started scribbling madly on her board. “Nothing elaborate, Josie,” she warned. “Just a simple handover, and a presentation of rank.”

Josie frowned, “I was planning a going away party, Inquisitor,” she reprimanded. “For you and the Comm… Cullen.”

“Not this time, Josie,” Asta smiled. “There’s no time. Plan us a welcome home party instead. As big and elaborate as you like.” Josie inclined her head, disappointed, but with plots and menus already unraveling behind her eyes.

“At least I won’t be here,” Cassandra sighed, relieved.

There was a knock at the door, and Harding opened it to admit Loranil, looking alarmed and confused.

“Inquisitor,” the elf began, “I was told I was needed, but not why. How can I help?”

“Loranil, I need someone to take up the reins of the Inquisition for local matters while I am… overseas,” Asta began haltingly. “You alone have worked in all three areas - you have been an ambassador, a scout and worked closely with the Commander for years. Only Sutherland has more range of experience, and he’s already left the Inquisition in favor of his own goals. Regardless, you were my first choice for… my apprentice, if you want to call it that.” She swallowed roughly.

“Apprentice? To the Inquisitor? What about the Commander?” The elf was pale, his eyes flitting back and forth between the advisors nervously.

“I’ve resigned, as of today, Loranil,” Cullen explained. “Rylen is the new Commander, or will be, as soon as we make it official.”

“That’s Commander Rylen, to you, Cullen,” the ex-Templar grinned. “Get the title right.”

"Rein it in, old man," Cullen tossed back.  "You've got to be able to fit your head back through the War Room door."

“You’ll need to discuss this with your wife,” Asta ignored the men and addressed Loranil seriously. “It’s a big decision.”

“I will do just that,” the elven man’s eyes were wide with surprise. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You have been dedicated,” Asta continued, “and we wouldn’t be where we are as an institution if it wasn’t for your hard work. After I retire, I would like you to replace me. That won’t be for a while,” she assured him, “You’ll have time to learn the job. You won‘t be shoved into it, as I was.”

Loranil just nodded, dazed.

“The decision to offer the position to you was unanimous,” she added. “Your work in every area has been exemplary. If you are interested, talk to Mireille. Take as long as you need to decide one way or the other. If you have any questions, I will make myself available to both of you.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Loranil replied, shocked. “I will… I know Mireille will have questions.” He wandered out of the room, nearly walking into the door before opening it and exiting.

“You could have handled that better,” Josie criticized. “He wasn’t expecting this.”

“He’s the best candidate,” Asta argued.

“No one’s arguing, but he’s not even an officer,” Cullen pointed out. “That’s thrown him.”

“Neither was I,” Asta pointed out softly. “I wasn’t even the Herald of Andraste and you still offered me that bloody sword. He‘s more qualified than I ever was. Besides his experience within the Inquisition, he speaks three languages fluently, is a nearly untraceable scout, deadly with a bow, and believes in our cause. Do I have to remind you that I had _none_ of those traits, except for an interest in not being sent back to the Chantry and the knowledge of a few languages that have barely come in handy?”

“Good point,” Harding giggled. “He’s a good choice, well respected. I don’t think too many people will complain, especially since you will be in charge, albeit from a distance.”

“Then we wait to discuss alternatives until we see if he accepts,” Asta sighed. “Those of you that still pray, pray that he does. Because otherwise we are going to have to start looking at far more polarizing candidates, and we’re going to lose people that we need. I didn’t give my left arm to Fen'Harel just to start pandering to special interest groups.” She bit her lip. “Cassandra, you haven’t said anything. Is this… acceptable to you?”

Cassandra snapped to attention, “Of course,” she said. “I was just comparing Loranil’s circumstances to Ameridan‘s - a unifying leader. It… makes sense, Inquisitor. I can follow him. And the Seeker order is still very fractured, almost non-existent, so I thank you for even including us in the decision.”

“You’ll be far more important in the days to come,” Asta assured her. “In fact, we need to schedule a meeting to discuss the movement of troops to Kirkwall. Do you know when Varric will be available to discuss the state of the Gallows?”

“Should I remain?” Cullen asked Asta quietly. “It hardly seems appropriate…”

“Stay, please,” she requested, “You will be a voice of reason until Rylen feels comfortable arguing with me. Besides, you need to know the details of these plans as my companion. It will be far easier if I don’t have to repeat myself again once we’re on the boat.”

“Rylen doesn’t have a problem arguing with authority figures,” Cullen teased the new Commander who laughed.

“True enough. I can tell you when to go to the Void, Inquisitor,” Rylen crossed his arms. “Try to relocate any more varghests and I will, I swear.” Asta made a face at him and turned back to Cullen.

“Still don’t want to repeat myself,” Asta assured her husband. “Stay, and speak when necessary, please, Cullen. We still need you.”

The other advisors nodded their agreement, and so he remained, looking over her shoulder, and trying to adjust to the unfamiliarity of his new role.  The meeting ended, and the two of them wandered out into the main hall together.

"I guess I can't call you 'Commander' any more," Asta squeezed out a feeble laugh.  "That's going to take some getting used to."

"You can call me anything you like," Cullen smiled and took her hand.  "But it will be nice to not have to think as the Commander would.  Any advice I give you will change now, to a degree."  He thought quickly, "Except for the 'be careful' side of things.  But I'll be there, now, when you aren't careful.  I'll enjoy that," he admitted.

"That's true," Asta smiled, and leaned her back against the door to their room.  "I'll focus on that.  I will need to get more used to how you fight, quickly.  I wonder if we'll have time to set up some drills?  Maybe we can get the Chargers to help?" she mused.  "I need more practice with Fact, in any case."

"Fact?" Cullen raised an eyebrow, confused.

"My crossbow," Asta explained, "I decided Varric was onto something, and Fact pierces even the hardest skulls, when wielded properly."

Cullen chuckled, "I guess I should be grateful you didn't name it 'Commander'."

Asta giggled, "That would have been confusing, and Rylen doesn't need a bigger head than he has already."  She opened the door behind her and stepped through.  "We should really start packing," she observed, climbing the stairs.  "We won't have long to do so, now that everything is falling into place.  Most of our things will just need to be stored."

"Or we could do something else," Cullen teased.  "Surely the book crates will wait for at least a few hours?  Surely we have a little time?"

"Is something on your mind?" Asta laughed and kept climbing the stairs.

"Everything," Cullen laughed, and rushed forward to gather her up and carry her the rest of the way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it looks like I have three, maybe four chapters left, before I break off and go into a sequel, that will likely be shorter (but anything would be shorter than this massive thing...) but will cover what happened next. There is a plot, much to my surprise, and it will cover a great deal of the rebellious archivists post-Inquisition. It will not be updated as frequently - since it won't be as long. I'm going to aim for once or twice a week. Part of it will be epistolary, but not all. It still needs a title. Anybody with a good one that they don't mind me using, please let me know. Otherwise it will likely end up something stupid like 'Asta's After' or 'This Shit Gets Only Wierder'. lol
> 
> There will also be an additional fic that is just going to be the archivists during the events of Inquisition - not a true prequel, but more of an accompaniment. I don't want to spoiler anything, but those of you who are interested might just want to subscribe to me, as I really suck at tags. 'Rebellious archivists' will be one of them, for sure, but relationship tags are still pending. It's very much a work in progress, and much of it will be epistolary.
> 
> "Demands of the Champion" is filling in some of the blanks between things that the sequel is not going to cover in depth, including Varric and Cassandra's story.


	171. No Perfect Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe two chapters left after this...
> 
> Chapter title taken from Straylight Run's "The Perfect Ending".

This ceremony was far more elaborate than the recent wedding, Josie demanding a certain amount of pomp and circumstance when Rylen took over the command of the armies. Everyone was in their dress uniforms, except for Cassandra, who insisted that it would not fit her any longer, the look on her face full of relief. The officers stood at attention, lining the entire main hall as Asta gave her short speech and pinned Rylen’s new braid of rank to his shoulder.

He then knelt and then offered his sword, which Asta accepted and bade him to rise. Afterward, he took his place behind her with the other advisors for the next order of business. “Would Loranil of Skyhold please approach the dais?” Asta requested gently, and the elf, with a noticeably thicker braid already sewn onto his dress uniform, moved towards the stairs from the first row, where he stood with his wife and child.

“In recognition of your years of service and sacrifice, I would like you to accept the role of Inquisitor-Elect,” Asta declared clearly and formally. “Will you accept this promotion, Loranil?” Her eyes drifted to Mireille, who stood, her eyes shining with pride, bouncing their now squirming daughter. “You’d better hurry,” Asta murmured. “I think Sunniva is going to let out a squawk.”

“I will, Inquisitor,” the elf replied immediately, his face determined. “And I thank you for the opportunity.”

“Will you dedicate yourself to serving justice, to discovering truths, and to all the people of Thedas for as long as you hold this title?” Asta asked formally.

“I will,” Loranil vowed. “With humility.”

“In that case, please join my companions,” Asta indicated the place on her left, where Bull, Dorian, Varric and Cassandra stood proudly at parade rest. “And welcome,” she added softly. “It will be an honor to serve with you, Loranil.”

“The honor is mine, Inquisitor,” he smiled at her and then at his wife, who beamed at him happily.

Asta straightened again and moved on once more, anticipating the next ceremonial appointment with glee - a surprise to everyone except for the advisors and companions. “Would Cullen Rutherford please approach the dais?” Asta smiled hugely as he winced and made his way forward with Dane, somewhat reluctantly from near the back of the room.

“Inquisitor,” he bowed, and managed a wary smile for his wife who smirked back before she remembered where she was, who was watching, and what she was supposed to be doing.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford, in recognition of your years of service, the Inquisition would like to offer you the new ranks of First Knight of the Inquisition, Knight-Protector of this new Order, and Shield of the Inquisitor.” He searched her face, but only found mischief and humor there.

“What’s this about, Asta?” He murmured, confused.

“I can’t have my former Commander without any rank,” Asta muttered at him, and continued, “Will you accept?” she added louder.

Cullen immediately drew his sword, placed it across his palms and knelt. “I will, Inquisitor,” he looked at her with trust and amusement. “It seems that I am placed in the position of accepting the rank I most long to have,” he added dryly. “How could I refuse?”

“Most logical,” Asta smiled, and stifled a giggle. Behind her, Harding did not quite manage to do the same. “In that case,” Harding stepped forward and handed her the Inquisitor’s greatsword, which she used to tap Cullen’s shoulders, left and right. “In that case, I dub thee Knight-Protector Rutherford,” she smiled hugely, “First Knight of the Inquisition, Shield of the Inquisitor, and all that entails. Rise, Ser Cullen, and take your place,” she indicated an area to her right, directly behind her. “We’ll discuss the details later,” she whispered at him while he stood and she handed the sword back to Harding. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing you’ll hate, I swear.”

He nodded, and took his old familiar Templar on guard duty stance in his new position. “I assure you, we’ll do just that,” he muttered back. “Putting me on the spot like this…”

“Sorry,” but her face said she was anything but regretful, “But I had to figure out a way I could still call you Ser Knight.” He made a face at her, and every officer in the hall noticed, quickly stifled laughter following.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have my revenge,” he swore under his breath, still at attention.

Asta faced the Inquisition, her mouth twitching, “I present to you your new Commander, Inquisitor-Elect and First Knight,” she announced clearly. “Will you follow them?” The cheers drowned out any further words she might have spoken, and she stepped down from the dais to make her way to the front of the room and out into the courtyard, Cullen directly behind her, and then the rest of her advisors, and then her remaining companions, with the addition of Loranil, one after the other. The remainder of the Inquisition was gathered in the courtyard, as they had been before the Arbor Wilds, and Dorian cast the spell to amplify her voice as she took her place on the middle landing of the stairs, where she had been first offered the sword so many years ago, but this time with her companions lining the stairs to her left, and her new advisors directly behind. A bitter wind whipped coldly around them, and so she began, so that those who chose could make it back inside to be comfortable.

“The Inquisition will go on,” she announced formally. “We still have a long way to go before we truly restore order to Thedas. We have much to discover, to learn, and no doubt there will still be danger. For those of you that wish it, you may go home to your families and homes, knowing that your service was appreciated. For those of you that wish otherwise, you will always have a place here to serve. Changes are coming to the Inquisition, and one of them is that I will be traveling for some time, at the insistence of the Divine. I will remain at the helm of the Inquisition, even in in my absence, as I have up to this point.”

“We have a new Commander as well,” she announced, “But I am sure he will conduct himself well. Commander Rylen has served the Inquisition loyally at Griffon Wing, and covered himself in glory at Adamant Fortress and in the Arbor Wilds at the Temple of Mythal. We are very lucky to have him. My new Inquisitor-Elect, Loranil of Skyhold, has served us faithfully at extreme danger to himself and his family. I have no other way of thanking him, except to name him as my eventual successor. As for our new First Knight, I think you all know your former Commander, and agree that he will continue to…” her voice broke down, “shield me, and protect all of us.” She bit her lip and carefully didn’t look at her husband, who was audibly chuckling behind her. “I thank all of you for believing in the Inquisition, for believing that we, together, could make a difference to Thedas. For helping me close the breach, and find those responsible, and take the first steps towards restoring order from the chaos that Corypheus was conjuring. Without all of you, it could never have been done. You are all heroes, and I owe you my life a dozen times over, at least,” she added, with humor, and the accompanying laughter flooded the courtyard.

“With that,” she added, “I am given to understand that Cabot has been paid generously to serve refreshments in celebration of our new leadership. I suggest that you all take advantage of it, with my, and my advisors, blessing. Let us celebrate our roles, both new and old, in the world we love.” There was cheering, and the people of the Inquisition started drifting towards the tables set up to accommodate the kegs and barrels that Cabot and his staff had set up. Asta turned back to her friends, smiling, and Dorian canceled the spell. “I think that went well?”

Cullen just shook his head, “You could have warned me!” He protested.

“No, I couldn’t,” Asta laughed at him. “I really couldn’t. You would have refused, even once you knew that it just means you have to travel with me, all the time. Well, you and Dane. And that you are officially in charge of any Mabari troops that the Inquisition chooses to add in the coming years. That won’t matter for some time. Mabari kennels take time and manpower, and we can‘t add them now when we‘re leaving so soon.  But we're going to,” she looked very determined.  "Mabari kennels would be an excellent way to improve our relations with King Alistair and Ferelden in general."

Rylen snorted, “Suck it up, Cullen. This way you don’t have to call me Commander. We’re something like the same rank again. No more confusion, and you can go back to calling me ‘old man‘ without feeling guilty about being informal.”

“Is that why…” he looked at Asta who was looking smug.

“Well, that, and she really did just want to be able to call you Ser Knight again,” Dorian drawled. Mireille stepped out of the Great Hall and approached Loranil, who put his arm around her and his child. “She’s been pouting about losing 'her Commander'.”

“I have not been pouting,” Asta denied and frowned. “But with that, we’re ready to depart in a few days, yes?” She asked everyone. “Varric, the arrangements are made?”

“The ship will be waiting at Jader,” Varric assured her.

“Then everyone should finish their preparations,” Asta sighed. “Loranil, Mireille, thank you,” she said softly. “I know this transition will be difficult for you, but please, ask if you have questions or concerns. The advisors will serve you well.” She looked up at the sky, worried she was going to start crying. It was starting to snow, tiny flakes drifting down over them all. “I’m going to go have a cup of tea,” she smiled. “Enjoy the celebration, all of you.” She made her way back inside and up to her quarters, followed by her husband. “A cup of tea, and a good book,” she sighed. “They aren’t quite all packed, are they?”

“Not quite,” Cullen grinned. “I made sure that they left a few out for you to read on the trip. One of which is…” he waited for her to supply her own title.

Asta thought, “All This Shit Is Weird?”

“Of course,” Cullen laughed lowly, and opened the door to the stairs. “I figured it would be a good time for you to read it, stuck on a ship with nothing else to do.”

“Aren’t you going to read it with me?” Asta asked, surprised.

Cullen shook his head. “The truth makes for a better story,” he wrapped his arm around her and guided her up the stairs, “I‘m pretty sure the story of the Herald of Andraste, Evelyn Trevelyan, cannot compare to Andraste‘s Asta.”

***

Asta slumped over her desk in her tower, and watched the snow fall softly on her balcony, shivering, even though the fire burned bright and hot from the fireplace. The contingency paperwork was signed, and she wasn’t sure why she felt so melancholy about signing away the reins of the Inquisition to herself - the last time she would ever sign anything with her prior name. She stood up, in an attempt to stay moving and shake herself out of it.

Their things were packed, her books were being sent to Kirkwall, where despite Cullen’s reluctance, they were going to have to stop and inspect the Gallows for suitability. Work first, and then east to Ostwick, for more personal matters. The room was even emptier than the first time she had seen it - completely barren without her knickknacks and books to fill and warm it up. Loranil and Mireille would move up here during her absence, and upon her return… she sighed, and tilted her head back. It was too far ahead to think about.

“First Kirkwall,” she muttered. “A step at a time.” She thought of the ship that would be waiting at Jader for the six of them. Dorian and Bull were treating it as a wedding trip, of a particularly odd sort since they would be splitting off in Kirkwall to head to the outskirts of the Imperium, alone, to part there at the villa that Dorian was in the final process of purchasing. Cassandra and Varric would be staying in Kirkwall, to take up the renovations at the former Gallows and to placate Bran about Varric's long absence, as well as to wait for the birth of their child in a place a little more accessible to healers and midwives. Cullen was already downstairs, impatient to leave, even with Kirkwall as their first destination. They were all in the Hall, except for her. They were waiting, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room that had once felt like a frozen, lonely prison, and now felt like something much, much warmer, even as empty as it was.

She heard the door open, and she heard boots climbing the stairs. “I thought you didn’t like this room,” Cullen’s voice said softly. “Are you all right?”

Asta shrugged. “I… didn’t think it would be this hard,” she confessed. “I’m happy to be leaving, really. I finally get to do what I always wanted to do, but… Skyhold turned into home, oddly enough. Is that strange?”  She turned to face the balconies, and the view of the Frostbacks that they offered, cloudy with the falling snow.

“You’ll be back,” Cullen reassured her. “You know that. We both will.”

“Yes,” Asta sighed, “But it will be different. We’ll be different. And… it will be just us, all our friends will have moved on with their lives.”

“Not if you keep finding dragons for Bull to fight,” Cullen chuckled. “There is that one in the Hissing Wastes…”

“Not a threat,” Asta said firmly. “No one lives close enough for it to be a danger. It stays. No treasure it could be guarding is worth the extinction of a species.”

“Then the Western Approach?” Cullen came up and hugged her around the middle, nuzzling her hair and neck, kissing it gently as he lifted it out of the way.

“I’m on the fence about that one,” Asta sighed into the touch of his lips. “It’s far enough from Griffon Wing and Adamant to not be a real danger, though Serault desperately would like to know its defensive strategies. I‘ve written Celene to tell her about its existence, and if it threatens anyone, I assured her we would take care of it. No, I think that the Bull‘s Chargers are best directed towards recovery in Ferelden, and the dragon there.”

Cullen paused in his ministrations, suspicious. “That doesn’t have anything to do with my sister, does it?”

Asta smiled, a trifle wickedly. “And if it does? She is being assigned to a camp outside Redcliffe, Rylen insisted she had earned a cushy position, despite her ‘unfortunate’ connections.”

Cullen grumbled, “You should quit matchmaking. Mia’s still angry at me.”

“Let her meet Krem and it will be fine,” Asta assured him. “Ros isn’t the sort to settle down. The sooner Mia realizes that, the better for everybody. Her mistake was trying to keep her close to home. My guess is that she‘ll end up joining the Chargers, if her and Krem decide on any sort of permanence to their relationship.”

Cullen sighed, “Trying to keep her close to home… Are you speaking from experience?”

“Maybe,” Asta admitted, and turned to face him. “Are you ready to go?”

“Not quite,” Cullen laughed openly, looking determined. “There’s one thing we both still have to do in here.”

“What…” and in another breath he swept her up and walked over to the bed and threw her onto it. There was an audible crack, and the entire bed sagged towards the middle, the curtains puddling loosely together in piles on the floor. “Cullen!” Asta scolded, and then burst into laughter. “We… you… Josie will _kill_ us!”

“But when we come back, we won’t have to deal with that blasted bed ever again,” Cullen announced proudly. “Worth it?”

“Worth it,” Asta offered her hand and he pulled her up. “But you get to tell her it broke, and I hope that the horses are ready, because I really don’t want to deal with a lecture!”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, “I was thinking that we wouldn’t tell her,” he admitted. “Let her discover it for herself. Hopefully long, long after she can‘t chase us down with her letter opener. Better to ask forgiveness…”

“Cullen Rutherford, that is diabolical,” Asta giggled, “Let’s do it. I’d rather deal with a letter than the disappointed scolding. No mount in the stables is fast enough to escape that. Not even the Bog Unicorn.”

Cullen grinned, “It’s a deal. We’ll accept full responsibility from Jader. Or Kirkwall, or where ever her angry letter catches up with us.”

Asta laughed, and then a horrified look crossed her face and she stopped mid-laugh. “You don’t think she’ll replace it with something even worse, do you?”

“We won’t be here to care. And we can have a new bed sent from that furniture shop in Val Royeaux,” Cullen announced. “Let us depart, Inquisitor,” he bowed regally. “Your mount and retinue await.”

Asta merely slapped his ass and flounced down the stairs, peering over the rail at him, no longer melancholy after the ceremonial breaking of the bed. “Coming, Cullen?”

“Maker, I hope so,” he flirted back. “Lead on, Asta.”

“Good, because I have about fourteen different sites that I want to stop at between Kirkwall and Markham,” she announced, “ranging from simple Elvhen altars to full ruined temples. We can’t afford to skip a single one, lest we lose a chance to discover Fen’Harel’s true goal. Did you realize that there is an entire village in Tevinter, on the edge of the Silent Plains, named Solas? I really don’t think that’s a coincidence, and I’ve discussed my intention to visit it in depth with Dorian. He says there’s nothing there but a rather boring town, but I’m convinced…”

Cullen caught up and stopped her flow of words with a kiss. As usual, it was surprisingly effective. “I love you,” he muttered.

Asta purred and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Good to know.”

Cullen thought for a moment. “Do you think that the temples in the Forbidden Oasis could be related? Weren’t they named ‘Solasan‘?”

Asta’s eyes lit up, “Yes…” she hissed. “We need maps. Lots of maps. Did you pack copies of all the maps?”

“Of course,” Cullen said smugly. “Who knows where we will end up? I even packed the ones of Orlais.”

“Really?” Asta looked skeptical.

“They’re at the bottom of the crate,” Cullen admitted sheepishly. “Under Rivain and Seheron. But I assure you, I packed them.”

“Why don’t you want to go to Rivain? It‘s lovely and warm there, I‘m told,” Asta asked. “In this weather, you’d think you’d be eager to go somewhere hot.”

“Admiral Isabela is Rivani,” Cullen growled, suddenly grumpy. “I’m not sure if it’s a cultural thing… what she does. I have no wish to expose myself to a whole country full of…”

“The Admiral?” Asta looked confused and then realized. “She didn’t… proposition you, back in Kirkwall, did she?” She cleared her throat, “Cullen, you realize that Varric made the arrangements for our ship?”

“No,” Cullen went white, “Please, Asta, tell me you are joking. Varric wouldn‘t…”

“Don’t worry,” Asta giggled, “I’ll protect you from the naughty pirate.  It's only a week, after all.”

“How did you know that she was… inappropriate?” Cullen asked suspiciously.

“I’ve read the book!” Asta grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs. “Now hurry up, Cullen. Everyone’s waiting.”

 


	172. The Person That I Am Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is from Stain'd, "So Far Away". Definitely a theme song for Cullen.
> 
> The last chapter is very short, so it will be posted later today.
> 
> I'm a little emotional about this coming to an end, so I'm going to save the gushing for the notes after the last chapter. ;)

The six friends stood at the ship’s rail, Dorian looking more than slightly ill, and Cullen half-dreading going below deck, but otherwise all cheerful to finally be on their way, even knowing that it would eventually separate them.

“Just let it up, Kadan,” Bull recommended, looking worried and rubbing the mage’s back. “It won’t last more than a day or so. In the meantime, I could get you some water…”

“Fasta Vass, no,” Dorian shuddered, bent over the rail. “I want to die. Just let me die, Amatus, please.”

“Not going to happen,” Bull told him nervously, “If you die, I think I get half your stuff, if I read that contract right. The ‘Vints aren‘t ready for that, and neither am I. What would a mostly Tal’Vashoth merc do with half a ‘Vint magister’s estate? We have to keep your ass alive.”

Cullen led Asta away from the brewing disaster towards the other side of the ship while Cassandra towed Varric towards the bow.

“The last time I crossed the Waking Sea I was in the grip of lyrium withdrawal,” he remembered in horror, “I was sick the entire trip. My throat was raw by the end of the week. I’m very relieved that I don’t seem to be affected that way this time, even in the autumn weather.” The swells of the ship weren’t too bad at the moment, and they barely had to brace themselves, between that and the size of the ship.

“Poor Dorian,” Asta sympathized, looking back at her friend, now openly hurling into deep water. “I thought I would be sick,” she admitted. “I was so nervous when I came to the Conclave, my stomach was churning even before I climbed on board. I never intended to return to Ostwick, and I had 5 sovereigns to my name in small change, mostly coppers, and a carton full of books and scrolls. I was frightened and scared and knew how vulnerable and naïve I really was…” she shook a little, remembering.

Cullen took her gloved hand, rubbing the back with his thumb, “I had no idea,” he said softly. “When I met you, you seemed so confident.”

“All a bluff,” Asta shook her head in memory. “I was petrified. Cassandra was terrifying, to be blunt, and Haven went from wanting to hang me to wanting to worship me in half a minute, at least from my perspective. I was in pain, and something green was eating my hand.” She watched the coast of Ferelden, her face reflecting the fear of her memory. “I never expected to end up here when I woke up that morning.”

“I hardly expected anything of the sort either,” Cullen admitted, and took her hook, pressing her hand and hook together and appreciating the chance to hold her, even if she couldn‘t feel it. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

“So _cute_ ,” a feminine Rivani accent, full of amusement, stated from behind them. “I could just… Varric, why didn’t you tell me the Knight-Captain had fallen in _love_?” She yelled at the dwarf who casually waved her forward.

“I didn’t need to give you any more ammunition!” He yelled back. “I knew you’d do your part. Have at it, Rivani! I‘ve been waiting for this moment!  Ask him about the desk!  You did read the book I sent you, right?!”

Cullen tipped his head back in despair, his eyes closed. “Just throw me overboard,” he muttered to Asta. “I can’t take a week of her teasing.” Louder, he informed her, “I am not a Templar any longer, Isabela, and that is not my title. I‘m a Knight of the Inquisition, now.” He smiled his twisty half smile at his wife.

Asta corrected him, “First Knight of the Inquisition, amongst other titles, actually,” and frowned thoughtfully at the Rivani pirate in the impossibly big hat.

“Better and better,” the Admiral came up alongside him and leaned against the rail. “Who’s the cutie?” she asked Cullen irrepressibly, as she eyed Asta approvingly and openly.

“This is my wife,” Cullen clenched his teeth and spat out the introduction from between his teeth. “Inquisitor Asta Rutherford, allow me to introduce you to Admiral Isabela.”

“I have other titles, too,“ Isabella purred in Asta‘s direction, “Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, tipping her breasts forward and nearly falling out of her signature corseted top. “So you’re the Inquisitor?” She grinned lasciviously, “So Ser Cullen the Templar Tight-ass married the Inquisitor? Varric!” She yelled again, her voice naturally pitched to carry over the sounds of a working ship. “You’ve been holding out on me! Hawke told me about you and the Seeker, and for the record, I always knew you wanted to be bossed around, but… this?! You owe me! None of this was in the damn book!  You made the desk sound like a one off, like the Inquisitor was blowing off steam!”

“There were reasons!” Varric yelled back. “I’ll explain later, Rivani!” Cassandra made a disgusted noise that could easily be overheard over the sound of the ship’s creaking and the waves.

Asta’s eyes were huge. “Cullen,” she started to ask quietly, only to be interrupted by the seductive Admiral.

“So,” the pirate took her arm, sliding down to the elbow. “You’ve got a hook. That’s a very pirate-y thing to have, even with that funny shape and no pointy end. But before that happened, you fought with knives right? Ever met a duelist?” She stroked her down her other shoulder, “I assure you, I’m very good with my hands. Want to watch me hit the target?”

“Isabela,” Cullen’s teeth ground together, “remove your hands from my wife.”

“Make me,” the pirate taunted, turning back to Asta. “Tell me, have you ever kissed a woman?”

Asta removed herself from the pirate gently, with a kind smile. “Technically, yes,” and Bull popped his head up from the other side of the ship, looking curious, even while his husband retched helplessly over the side. “But that’s really none of your business, Admiral.”

“Call me Isabela,” the pirate purred, determined. “You aren’t a pushover, are you? Good. I like them better that way.”

Asta’s face grew more firm. “Admiral, we are guests on your vessel.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Isabela flicked her lip stud with her tongue and scraped her lower lip with her teeth. “Vessel. It makes my big boat sound so… official.” Her dark eyes flashed with challenge.

“As paying customers, I would ask that you stay professional,” Asta continued politely. “I assure you, Cullen is quite enough for me, and I am not seeking… further companionship.”

“What a pity,” the pirate sighed, but not noticeably disappointed. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” She winked. “At the helm, using my clever hands.” She passed Cullen, and murmured into his ear. “Lucky man. She’s fun, I bet. Good luck keeping up with her,” and cackled when he blushed to his ears. “Glad you aren’t wasting that body on the Templar Order any longer,” she continued, sauntering by, her hips swinging and short tunic flapping in the breeze. Cullen averted his eyes. “You always were far too pretty to be a Templar.”

“She’s right about that,” Asta giggled, showing her amusement now that the threat was over. “How does she keep that hat on her head in these high winds?”

“This is going to be a very long week,” Cullen deadpanned. “And I can’t even hide in the cabin without going slowly insane. Don’t leave me alone, Asta. I beg you.”

“As long as you don’t leave me alone either,” Asta leaned against him, prompting him to put his arm around her. “Maker’s Mercy, I didn’t realize that she was so determined. How did Hawke manage to keep from falling into bed with her?” Cullen frowned. “Don’t worry, Cullen, I meant what I said,” she assured him. “She holds no attraction for me.”

Varric sidled up next to her, smirking. “Don’t tell anybody, but… she didn’t,” he muttered.

“Varric!” Cassandra was shocked. “I thought… you said that she was in love with Prince Vael!”

“Yeah, well,” Varric winked at the Seeker. “She was. Rivani doesn’t specialize in love, though, does she? And Hawke had needs, like any one else.” He wandered off and the Seeker followed him, breathing heavily and scolding him.

“He never tells everything,” Asta shook her head. “How much of The Tale of the Champion is misdirection and lies? Most of it, if my book is any indication.”

“That’s for the best,” Cullen frowned. “I hate to think what you would have thought of me if…”

Varric called back, “Oh, I didn’t leave anything out about you, Curly. Right up to you in the Blooming Rose. Even managed to insinuate you were there for other reasons than missing Templar recruits.” Cullen blushed bright red and Asta giggled and nodded in confirmation.

“Maybe you should read the book,” she suggested gently, still snickering.

“No,” Cullen refused bluntly.

“Maybe you should read the book,” Cassandra threw back seriously. “It might help you face some of the things that happened before you land in Kirkwall.”

“No!” He insisted. “I won’t. It’s demeaning and I have no desire to relive…”

“I thought he did a good job with you,” Asta reassured him. “I certainly wasn’t prejudiced against you from anything he wrote, though I can't speak for everyone in Thedas, obviously.” She tugged on his coat and pulled him down towards her.

“Really?” He asked hesitantly. “Not even when I first met Hawke? And said those horrible things?”

“Truly,” she laughed and kissed him gently. “You weren’t nearly as sympathetic to the mage plight as Emeric, but you were no where near as bad as Alrik. And Meredith was clearly insane, almost from the beginning, but you seemed... bothered by her orders and paranoia. You were made out as a product of your own experiences. In retrospect, Varric was… kind to you. He didn’t go into any details, even if he knew them. And you helped the Champion escape the city afterward. You were very heroic, right at the end.” She kissed him again. “My hero,” she murmured flirtatiously.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured against her persuasive lips. “But I‘m not promising anything. I‘m a different person now. I don‘t want to remember who I was then.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get my copy out for you, just in case. It’s signed and everything.” She tilted her head so that Varric couldn‘t read her lips. “Maybe I’ll read it to you. Do you think that would help?”

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen sighed. “I should have known you’d have a signed copy. What’s the inscription?”

“’For Asta,’” She quoted, “’Who was fortunate enough to escape the wrong place at the right time. May she always be so lucky. Yours, Varric Tethras.’”

Cullen laughed, “How did you get him to write that?”

Asta shrugged, “I sent him my copy and told him I was only in Kirkwall for the first few years of the book. He sent it back with that inscription.” The sails flapped in the wind and the ropes whistled in the sudden silence from her husband.

Cullen swallowed in realization, “So that was before…”

“Before the Conclave,” Asta noted cheerfully. “More than a little eerie now, isn’t it?”

“You might say that,” Cullen said slowly, turning to watch Varric with Cassandra. “Does he remember…”

“No, and I’ll never remind him,” she said softly. “As far as he knows, I picked it up at a book stall already signed. Let it stay that way.” Cullen only nodded.

“You do have amazing timing, love,” he whispered. “May we both always be so lucky.” He tightened his arm around her and together they turned away from Ferelden’s shores to stare out across the Waking Sea.  Asta leaned closer against him, enjoying his body heat. “I’m not sleeping, right?” He asked her randomly, wrapping his cloak around them both. “This is happening?”

Asta cuddled in closer, “This is real, Cullen, I assure you. I’ve been exiled, you’re coming with me to Kirkwall, of all the worst places on Thedas, and Josie’s scathing letter about the bed will be waiting when we get there. Once we arrange for the bed to be replaced and inspect the Gallows, and have many, many discussions with both Cassandra and the Viscount, we have to go visit my brother, who will promptly make our lives miserable, I‘m sure, because that‘s what he does best.”

“Just checking,” he laughed, looking down at her with a teasing look, “I thought for a moment that it wasn’t possible to be this happy and be awake. You have quite thoroughly put my bliss into perspective.”

Asta tipped her head to look up at him, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d associate dreaming with being happy any longer.”

Cullen shrugged, “I don’t, exactly,” he said self-consciously, “but… none of this seems…” he ran out of words. “It doesn’t…” he trailed off again, staring at her, impatient with himself.

“I know,” she placed her hand on his arm. “I know, Cullen. I‘m happy, too.” She sighed and leaned back against him. “So impossibly happy, in spite of everything."  She paused, and continued in a flirting tone, "It’s a shame those cabins are too tiny to move around in."

Cullen chuckled, “I’ve had some thoughts on that, actually.” He bent down and whispered a few little things in her ear that made Asta bite her lip and blush. “What do you think?” Asta didn’t reply, but gave him a quick push towards the stairs to the cabins. “Should I take that as a yes?” he laughed.

“You should take that as a ‘hurry up’,” Asta flashed him a smile that stopped his breath,“Quick, before anyone realizes we’re missing.” The two stifled their laughter and made their way below deck, trying to be stealthy and failing absolutely in the attempt.

Varric turned Cassandra away to avoid her commenting on their departure, “Let them be,” he said softly, “Surely those two have earned their privacy?”

Cassandra huffed a small laugh, “On that we completely agree,” and she twisted her fingers tightly in the dwarf’s, smiling down at him, a serenity in her expression that wasn‘t often there. “They have suffered enough."  Her face grew stern, "and you need to tell me exactly what else you left out of that... book.  Isabela and Hawke?!  Anders and Hawke would have been more believable!"

Varric grinned endearingly, and Cassandra whacked him on his shoulder, but lightly, in response.  "Seeker, would I lie to you?"  He leaned towards her, "I'll tell you all the stories," he promised sincerely.  "Just ask."

 


	173. Epilogue: Paying the Piper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, last chapter. See the notes at the end for my inevitable gushing.

_My Dear Inquisitor,_

_I regret to inform you that somehow the bed in your personal quarters has managed to break its frame. I am unsure how, exactly, such a sturdy piece of furniture managed to crack so… thoroughly, but it will need to be replaced before your return._

_Inquisitor-Elect Loranil and his wife assure me they will make do with something far simpler, so there is no rush, but I knew that you would be concerned, lest we have a pair of vandals destroying furniture in unoccupied rooms. Rest assured that I am having all the furniture checked to make sure there has been no further… sabotage._

_I would like to remind you that the furniture in Skyhold is the property of the Inquisition and not of the Inquisitor or her husband. Please, Asta, keep that in mind before you destroy any more private property. That bed was made of Ironwood and the curtains were Royale Sea Silk. I do not appreciate your wanton destruction of such a piece of art._

_If, as I suspect, you and your husband are responsible for this… travesty, I expect you to replace the bed with something more to your liking, at your own expense, before you return to Skyhold. I shudder to think what you will find appropriate for your station, but at least I will not have to deal with any more complaints._

_I have attached pictures of several suitable pieces that would fit the décor of the room overall. Only one is Orlesian, as I am sure that anything that carries that particular nationality will be tossed into the Kirkwall Harbor by your Knight-Protector. Fereldans have such… simple tastes._

_I am also attaching several requisitions for improvements to Skyhold itself, including the mending of the wall between my office and the War Room, the gap in the battlements, and an improved stairwell to the Inquisitor’s quarters, as Mireille has told me it’s a death trap for Sunniva. We are having to baby proof your quarters (that open fireplace… asking for trouble) and fit the top of the stairs with a gate. Do you think we could arrange for a shipment of Starkhaven marble for the stairs? I know we don’t have the best relationship with Starkhaven, but business is business. That would be lovely, don’t you think? Or perhaps alabaster… something stately at any rate. Upon your return, Skyhold will finally be something worth being proud of, I assure you._

_Commander Rylen sends his greetings, and wishes me to tell Cullen that he has no idea how he put up with such ‘gormless’ recruits for so long, and that he understands entirely now why Cullen wanted to retire. He wants to retire too, and it has only been two weeks in his new position. You can also tell the Knight-Protector that he has already requested that I help him find an assistant. Two weeks, it took, for Rylen to decide he needed an assistant. How many months, Knight-Protector? I am too kind to call Cullen stubborn, but… honestly, Asta. MONTHS._

_Otherwise, we are getting along quite well, and hope to hear from you soon. Loranil will be sending a separate letter with a few questions about the Inquisition’s relationship with the Chargers, and the possibility of them taking on the dragon in the Hinterlands, and I am instructing him in the Game. He’s hardly a natural, but he will manage, I am sure. His wife is brilliant at it - I would never have guessed she had a provincial upbringing._

_Tell Cassandra that the shipment of pineapple she asked about will arrive in Kirkwall quite soon, and that I don’t think Hawke is a unisex name at all, whatever Varric says. They would be better off going with Marian, if they are looking for something to honor the Champion. Antivans rarely name people after the living, however, so my opinion is just that, an opinion.  Don't Nevarrans usually try to honor their ancestors with names?  But Cassandra has always been one to dismiss her connections too readily._

_Despite the bed, you are all missed. Skyhold is rather quiet, at least until the College of Enchanters representatives arrive to consult with us next month. I’m very busy in the preparations for that. Loranil has assured me that he has experience working with mages from his Dalish tribe, so I’m hopeful this will go well.  How much trouble can a few grown Enchanters be, after all?_

_Maker be with you all,_

_Lady Josephine Montilyet_

_Ambassador to the Inquisition_

***

_Dear Josie,_

_We aren’t really sorry about the bed. I’ve hated that thing since I moved in, but we’ve already taken steps to see it replaced. I’m sure you’ll love the Avvar furniture we’ve ordered to replace it. Fur everywhere!_

_I’m kidding, Josie. Take a deep breath. It was just a joke. We decided together on a practical Free Marches bed, with a good mattress, and simple carvings. Will that be acceptable? It’s being made, and will be sent in pieces from Val Royeaux upon completion. Just store it somewhere until we get back, unless Loranil and Mireille want to use it?  They should feel free - it's only furniture._

_Dorian and Bull leave tomorrow for the Tevinter border. Cassandra and Varric are settling back in, and Cassandra seems… less volatile, being here. I think Kirkwall relaxes her, as strange as it sounds. By all indications Squirt seems to be doing well - the midwife they’ve hired is amazed at how active Cassandra is managing to stay, but has warned her thoroughly to rest more often and not overdo it. Because of her_ age _, Josie. You can imagine the Seeker’s face, I’m sure. Cullen had to leave the room before he exploded in laughter. Varric took over damage control, and we all pitched in to assure her she wasn’t too old for anything. They think they have several months left before he should arrive - though again, it’s just too rare a situation for anyone to know for sure. The midwife left with a page full of notes to send to her colleagues in the other city-states._

_The Gallows needs significant improvements, and I am trying to find a source for stone, but as Starkhaven refuses to speak with the Inquisition and Varric refuses to write to Prince Vael… I believe we are at an impasse for now. Kirkwall does have a quarry, but there are recent rumors of dragons, and Varric has flatly refused to visit what the locals call ‘The Bone Pit’. A very ominous name, I agree, but there has always been rumors of dragons there. I hardly thought to credit them when I was here before._

_On the other hand, perhaps I should. I have dealt with far more unbelievable things than a dragon choosing to live in a quarry. Cullen has informed me that we do not have the ability to take on dragons without Cassandra or Varric, so it will have to wait until more Inquisition personnel can be accommodated in Kirkwall. Again, an impasse. If you find someone that can ship stone from your side of the Waking Sea, I’m sure Cassandra would appreciate work beginning sooner rather than later. She is bored. Very bored. So many destroyed training dummies. And yes, she’s still glowing.  Don't tell her I said so._

_Kirkwall itself is a mess. Sinkholes, Josie, and a massive hole that used to be the Chantry. I was horrified, and Cullen hasn’t been well. I don’t think we will stay longer than we must. Our next destination is Markham, and from there, a brief stop outside Ostwick, but write to us in care of the Sour Lemon Inn in Markham - don’t attempt to contact my brother or send mail for me through him. Keeping my presence quiet is going to be difficult enough, I am sure, and if the Chantry is monitoring his mail, it could get messy._

_You don’t think Hawke is unisex? Having met the woman herself, I found it incredibly appropriate. Tastes differ I suppose. But even Marian is better than Evelyn et al.  I'm sure Cassandra and Varric will find something they agree on.  Or perhaps Varric will just let her win._

_I am glad things are going well with Rylen, and Cullen sends his regards, as well as a more personal message to Rylen that he knew the old man couldn‘t hack it on his own for long. A jest, I’m sure. Give my formal greetings to the Enchanters, and inform them I was sorry to miss the discussions, and wish them well in their decisions._

_Dorian assures me that a small group of adult Enchanters can cause a lot of trouble.  Have buckets handy, and perhaps Ellandra on call in case of injuries._

_Sincerely,_

_Asta Rutherford_

_Inquisitor in Exile_

 

*Not The End, but a New Beginning*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I need to thank some people - first of all, everyone who read, both with and without comments. I finished this because people loved it, and I'm still surprised that anyone did. I need to thank my sister and husband, because they told me I should do it, that I needed to get over hiding my writing, that it was better than I thought. I love you both. T, have those three little words: You Were Right. And my kids, who were patient when I was channeling Cole and kept the 'Mom, you're sounding weird again,' comments to a minimum, even under extreme duress. Sorry, you two. I'm probably not insane, really. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends - but you should probably get used to it. And finally, to my select group of friends that I was brave enough to let read a chapter or two before posting, worrying about reactions - I can never thank you enough. Some of the stuff was hard for you, I know, but you made the story better with the feedback you gave me.
> 
> And now, I get to strike out completely on my own and try to continue this saga. So intimidating. For now, the sequel is going to be called 'Asta's After'. Hey, it's better than going with the Harry Potter-esque titles that kept running through my brain, and I don't want to spoiler my own story for those still making their way through the first one. I'm really, really bad about that.
> 
> I'm going to try to update it on Mondays (because my Mondays usually suck and this will give me something to look forward to). However, I live in an odd time zone, so it will probably look like Tuesdays for those of you in Europe. I'll probably still make Mondays on the East Coast of North America.
> 
> Demands of the Champion will be updating on Thursdays, I hope. If that continues to be my weekday off, anyway.
> 
> As for the Society of Rebellious Archivists... that's still a work in progress, but it's getting there. I'll post about it in both Demands and Asta's After as soon as I get the first chapter done. It's largely epistolary, though, as it tracks the events of Inquisition from a group not precisely attached to the Inquisition itself. Tricky. Also, there are a ton of characters that I need to limit a bit or people will get very, very confused. Formatting is proving to be an issue. And as you can imagine, I have to do a lot of fact checking. The Society would approve. To Fact! (Asta is a correspondent - I'm including the letters I cut from her to Sister Dorcas and Brother Genetivi.)
> 
> I might get the first chapter of Asta's After up today. It picks up a week after this ends. Demands of the Champion starts a few months down in the timeline, for those of you that might want to read it. It doesn't really spoiler anything, even though it takes place in the same 'verse. At least... not yet. ;)


End file.
